#anyway thinking about the way the class divide in this city is Such a divide. Thanks

[readychilledwine]

A Helping Hand

Rhysand Week Day 4 : Lord of Night

Summary - High Lord, Husband, father. Rhysand's plate is just far too full, leading the Inner Circle to take over some duties.

Warnings - workaholic Rhysand, discussions of classism, new dad Rhys, platonic bond, loose editing so forgive me if I fix things later

A/N - I am so sorry this is late! I think someone *cough baby daddy cough* accidently deleted it when he did a run through for me. But anyways, happy late day 4 and day 5 of @officialrhysandweek! It'll be a double post day 💕

✨️Rhysand Week Masterlist✨️Rhys Masterlist✨️Master Masterlist✨️

“Please just let me handle this for you,” you were firm in the request, hand still on the request of approval to renovate the Opera house in the Rainbow. “We both know this project is completely unneeded. There is no reason for you to waste your time penning the letter.”

Rhysand stared at where your hand met the paper. His eyes were heavy with exhaustion, “I-”

“No. It's time for us to have a serious discussion.” You took the paper from him and then held his hands. “Rhysand, you have spread yourself far too thin. You are not sleeping well with a newborn, you are helping Feyre as she's healing, you are recovering from trauma. Let me help you by organizing the report by who should actually be handling them.”

Rhys seemed to consider your words before nodding, “I want final-”

“Rhysand, we have known each other for 500 years. Do you truly not trust me enough to make a decision based on your preferences?”

He tugged that power exchange bond between the two of you, silently asking for a bit of your energy. You offered it to him without hesitation, without even so much as thinking about your well-being over his. “I do not want the fae in this court knowing I'm not the one running the court.” You couldn't help but sigh and roll your eyes and stare at him, blinking as if to say, “Duh.” His lips twitched into a smile at you, “What are you going to do, sweetheart? Forge my signat..” His eyes went wide as he realized that was exactly what you had planned. “I expect brief rundowns first.”

“And you will have them. Now go take a nap.”

The Inner Circle gathered in the new father's office claiming reports left and right. Cassian took anything involving Illyria and the training camps. Azriel took anything involving newcomers to the City of Starlight, border related issues, and requests for visiting. Mor and Amren split Hewn City. Dividing those reports among issues relating to rumors of uprisings or requests for help and sanctuary from tortured females. It left you with things regarding the inner workings of Velaris. You were curled in your own office, writing the rejection letter for the Opera House Project. The Opera House had been a gift to Velaris after Rhysand's return home. It was barely more than a few years old and every single feature had been planned to perfection by you and Rhysand as a way to heal the odd bind that tied you two together. The wealthy fae of Velaris were asking to redo the seating. Specifically, they wanted the seats to be made larger. 

You knew this wasn't for comfort. You had fallen in love with studying the patterns of consumerism throughout Prythian history. You knew this project was aimed at accessibility. Less sears meant higher prices for shows. Higher prices meant exclusion of the middle and lower classes. Exclusion from the arts was dangerous, though. Something you, Rhysand, and Feyre stood firmly against. 

Hours seemed to pass as you finished one thing and moved to the next, realizing how far behind Rhysand had gotten. He was hardly sleeping, rotating nights with Feyre, or just forcing her to sleep while he handled nights with a newborn alone. He was being the father he never had. One who earned the title of Dad, and you knew the last thing he'd want was the fae he cared so much for to suffer because of it. 

The sunset when Cassian arrived, his work completed. “Rhys has been given the gist of everything. I am to only have to send one thing to the camp leaders,” Cassian slid a letter, one penned by himself over to you. “Rhysie is having them start to direct all issues to me first. Using your whole chain of command idea.” 

Silence. 

Cassian's words were met with silence as you swallowed hard, holding in tears of pride. “He's delegating?!”

The commander nodded, scarred lips twitching to smirk. “He is.”

You'd never faked his signature so fast, quill flying across the parchments, “This is good.”

Azriel was next with Nuala and Cerridwen in tow, “City guard is to report issues to the twins from now on,” he leaned into his chair. “If they deem it serious enough, they will handle it unless I need to get involved.”

“And if you can't handle it,” you questioned as a joke. 

Azriel scoffed before schooling his reaction to your jab, “Then, and only then, is Rhys to get involved. My part of his reports are done and sent. I didn't think anyone would have issues with me answering security related issues.” 

They'd be a fool to, is what you wanted to reply with. Azriel was not the type of male to fuck with unless you had a death wish. He was petty at times and loved to plot. 

Mor came next, throwing herself dramatically into the chair. “I hate how your Office is a dry zone,” she groaned. “I'll be visiting daddy dearest.” 

You gagged at that and the two of you launched into a gossip session. Turns out, her father had taken Rhysand's recent absence in Hewn City as an open invitation to run a few illegal trade rings. Rings Mor was all too happy to be putting an end to. 

“That summarizes what Amren and I will both be dealing with,” she yawned, perfect red nails flying to her lips. “I'm going to bed.”

10.

11. 

Midnight.

2am rolled around and your door opened again, a sleepy Rhysand carrying a sleeping Nyx. “Go to bed,” his tone was commanding but held an air of affection to you. “You're no better than me.”

You only maintained eye contact, smirking as you put his name on a document approving a community vegetable garden and greenhouse, “Yet here we are,” you whispered. “All your reports, acquisitions, and petitions done and handled.”

His face fell, eyes shutting as he nodded, “You all got me caught up?”

With a wave of your hand, all the stacks vanished to their proper locations where they would sit and wait to be opened by their receivers. “We did,” you stood as silently as possible and moved to him and Nyx, “Do you want me to go lay him down?”

Rhysand only responded by pulling you into a tight side hug, his face burying in your hair, “How can I repay you for this? You have no clue what this meant to Feyre and I.”

The hug was payment enough. Contact with your best friend making that power bond hum as you hugged him back, “No repayment is necessary, Rhys. We all need help sometimes.”

“But-”

You whispered again, interrupting him, “We all need help sometimes.”

Understand, gratefulness, and admiration filled his almost violet colored gaze, “How did I get blessed with Feyre as my mate and you as my carranam?”

“Good question,” you shot back. “Maybe it was so we could keep you humble.” You took Nyx slowly, moving to walk the little heir back to his nursery. “Or maybe it was to keep you from dying in your office. Goodnight, Rhysand.”

You could tell he wanted to sass you back, to have the last word. It had been so long since that side of him came out, and you were glad to see a day of rest brought some fire back to him. He seemed to settle with nodding, walking backwards as he watched you take Nyx, “This isn't over. Once I wake up refreshed tomorrow, it's on. Goodnight, Y/n.”

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[foone]

The way it works is it's a surgery to make you immune to a bullet.

Note, that's not the same as being immune to bullets. You're only immune to a single shot: if someone shoots you twice, you're dead.

You can take the surgery again, though. The only real limitation is that you gotta wait 2-3 weeks between each time. But if you've got the money and the time, you can be as bulletproof as you want.

It doesn't "refill", by the way. Often when the surgery is explained people think it's like "a bullet a day" or "you can get shot once a year" or whatever. Nope! Once you've been shot it's just like you never had that surgery to begin with. If you want to "refill" that immunity? You have the surgery again.

No, there's no upper limit to how many times you can go, that we know of at least. There's one guy in Florida who has made it "his thing" to get the surgery as often as he can. He's currently up to about 50. Obviously there's some people online who've said they're gonna shoot this guy and lower his "record", just to be countrary.

Anyway I'm sure there'd be people who have even higher numbers (anyone who has "getting shot" as a major occupational risk, ie, politicians, soldiers, cops, and anyone doing any kind of residental survey in rural areas), but they only invented the surgery like three years ago, it's just simple math: you can't do much better than that guy.

The invention of the surgery hasn't done much to decrease gun sales, though. I mean, there's been a slight increase in people buying guns with larger capacity, for what I'd consider obvious reasons.

I did see an article suggesting that in the long run it might end up increasing the sale of guns. See their analysis is that two factors are going to drive up gun ownership:

1. People will be more willing to shoot at trespassers and thieves and such, because it'll be more like a warning shot: if they have some immunity, it won't be murder. So far that hasn't really happened as not that many people have the surgery yet. Although it's spreading fast, only major cities have surgeons trained in it, and often waits for surgery can be months long.

2. Conversely, people are going to be more likely to break in and rob and trespass if they know they can't be shot dead for it, because they got the surgery. There'll be a minor uptick in home invasions and such and this'll cause a big predictable panic among middle class homeowners who are now terrified some hooligan is gonna break into their house to steal their iPads. Thus they go throw money at security systems and cameras and guns.

So who knows at this point. If the cost (in both time and money) comes down, maybe it becomes super common for people to be so effectively invulnerable to guns that there's really no point in owning one?

I do agree with the common consensus that this is going to drive a big increase in crimes committed with knives and such. Why take a risk that your target might be immune?

Which reminds me of another thing to clarify because sometimes people online get this very wrong: it's only for bullets! You are not immune to getting hit by a car or poisoned or set on fire. Don't walk into traffic or anything, jesus.

Oh one last thing: there is a blood test that can tell if you have immunity, but it can't tell how many times you've had the surgery. You gotta figure that out yourself: so ask your doctor, search your emails, something. Every day I'm hearing from healthcare workers saying someone came in to get the blood test and it had to be explained to them that we can't tell how much protection you have: only if it's there or not. And I feel like a fool for having to say this, but REMEMBER to subtract any times you've got shot! (if you have been) Obviously!

EDIT: In light of recent events, people are sharing this post and arguing about it a lot, but let me be clear: grazes and small cuts do not count! The exact dividing line is too complicated to explain here (look up "circulatory shock" on Wikipedia), but basically if you don't end up with a big hole in you, the shot doesn't trigger the immunity.

That's how it works: you could have an ear blown clean off, and you'd still not trigger an immunity. So please stop spreading that idiotic conspiracy theory that a former president didn't have any immunity. You can barely run a high-school without being required to have immunity to hold the position, because what if someone shoots you? Come on! Of course he has immunity.

For all we know he's got some prototype experimental shit they use on president's that got him up to 200 in a couple days. There's endless rumors of the DoD funding billions in black budget items to that sort of thing, because of course. Who wouldn't want a way to make bulletproof soldiers? You don't think the soviets are pouring even more into it?

[lambtotheslaughterr]

bitch!

A Rafe Cameron Oneshot

[THIS STORY WILL CONTAIN THEMES OF NON-CON/DUB-CON, MENTAL-EMOTIONAL-PHYSICAL ABUSE, ETC. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. 18+. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT]

WC: 5.1k

Dividers provided by @firefly-graphics

OONA'S MASTERLIST

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Summary: Reader has been a no-good, money-hungry mean girl her whole life, but after moving to the city & being humbled by the impracticality of it all, she runs into an old face who is willing to provide her what she longs for most... that is if she is willing to give herself first.

            Living in the city wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. You were eager to move away from your hometown & embark on your first solo adventure. It wasn’t like there was really anything keeping you anyway. Your relationship with your parents was tumultuous, having been practically raised by the housemaid your whole life. And you had no true friends that would shed a tear about you leaving.

            At one point in your high school career, you thought the world was in your hands, but it wasn’t until graduating & realizing that you had no idea what you even wanted to do with your life that your world shrunk. You had been a mean girl in school, the stereotypical kind who only had people that surrounded you because of your money & looks. To you, that was everything. But when your senior year drew to a close, & your ‘friends’ began to stray, excited about their own college dreams & growing up & being independent, you learned quite harshly that your bad attitude only landed you in more loneliness.

            Now, you weren’t ignorant enough to believe that it wasn’t well-deserved, after all, you were quite the bully, but it still came as a surprise to you that once summer began you couldn’t keep your posse under thumb. They were becoming their own people.

            So, you thought to yourself that you’d show them. Show them that you could do better, be better, & not in the means of bettering your character, but your livelihood. You thought moving to a big city, like most small town teens dreamed about, would be the first step in outshining your former classmates. Your parents cared little about what you wanted to do, so it was easy enough to find an apartment in the city to your tastes. But once you were there, you had no clue what to do next.

            You tried applying to the local universities, wanting to earn yourself a distinguished degree that would certainly secure you a lavish future. But your applications were all denied. Apparently, not everything you wanted would drop into your lap. You were a straight B student in high school with no electives or real skills to show that you were worth a submission to any university, at least the ones with a reputation they cared to keep. And applying for scholarships proved much the same, your parents making way too much to qualify you for any admittance.

            So, with getting an education out of the question, even for a spoiled, snobby rich girl like yourself, you thought ‘what would be even greater than a degree’. Your answer? Fame.

            But in a city full of dreamers, the competition was fierce. You took some acting classes, thinking you, of course, would be a shoe in for the lifestyle, but you weren’t the only entitled pretty girl who had what it took to knock people out of your way. Any potential friends you could have made was quickly tarnished by the equally devious young women you competed against for small roles in television or film, all of you vying for your big break. After a couple months of many auditions with no call-backs & your competition spreading nasty rumors about you throughout the tough industry, you surprised even yourself when you called it quits.

            So the road to fame wasn’t your road to take. So what? You were never one to really give up on the luxurious plans you dreamt for yourself. But to get there, you had to resort to the path your mother once took that eventually landed her your wealthy father. You became a sugar baby.

            It was fun at first, ego-filling even—as if you really needed any more of that—but soon enough the novelty of it wore off. Yes, the men were more than happy to give you money & materialistic gifts as long as you were their date for a night or two, but it was you who failed to fill satisfied. After a year of being the sugar baby for a handful of men, you decided that you wanted a real relationship, even if it was just for the money & lavish lifestyle. But you refused to entertain those thoughts with any of the handy, elder men you babied for.

            What you wanted next was a wealthy young man with the world in his hands, much like how you held it when you were younger. But how to put yourself in their target path was a difficult one. You began with the dating apps, but those only proved to be catfishes or men who invested their money, not filled their wallets with it. Then you tried the up-scale clubs on the finer side of town where you lived. However, the men you met there, while young & rich & handsome, were proud bachelor’s & couldn’t be tied down. Every path you took to upkeep your lifestyle continued to prove to be a dead end.

            It wasn’t that your parents weren’t giving you an allowance, they were. A check came every month but it was only enough to really cover your rent, which was rather expensive. Everything else was up to you. So after a year of living in the city & you failed to get into school, failed to kick start a career in the entertainment industry, & failed to get a man to support your tastes, you swallowed your pride & got a job.

            Fortunately it was a nice job, meaning the reputation & vibe of the place would have been a place even you would visit. The position you secured was as a server. It was for a rooftop restaurant & bar that had regular clientele, a majority of them cut from the same cloth as you. In your first week, you then realized that you had been granted an opportunity. As long as you worked hard & pulled your weight in the fast-paced position, you were sure your pocket-full prince charming would come & whisk you away.

            Of course, you weren’t ignorant to what that made you out to be. After all, there was a special term for women similar to you: gold digger. But gold digger’s came from nothing. You didn’t. You just didn’t want it to be from your parents any longer.

            It was a slow night at your work, a Sunday night to be exact. It was 9:30 at night & the restaurant would close at 10. You were in the middle of polishing some silverware at a booth in the corner when one of the bartender’s whistled at you, stealing your attention.

            You made a face, clearly annoyed that they whistled instead of walked over, but they nodded their head in the direction of a table near the windows. A single man sat by himself, waiting to be waited on.

            “Seriously?” You mumbled under your breath, knowing the restaurant closed in 30 minutes. If he ordered food, the kitchen was going to be pissed off & it was going to be closed in 30 minutes. If he ordered food, the kitchen was going to be pissed off & it was going to be you they took it out on.

            Swallowing your annoyance, you stood up, rubbing out the wrinkles of your black waist-apron & black blouse before crossing the restaurant to the lone man.

            As you grew closer, he glanced up, having sensed your approach, but you very subtly paused in your step, recognizing those eyes & that face.

            Great. You reeled internally. This was going to be humiliating.

            “Good evening,” You greeted, faking your sweetest smile, “can I get you started with a glass of wine? I recommend—”

            “A beer would be fine.” He smirked up at you, “Whatever’s on top.”

            You pressed your lips together, suppressing your irritation, “Right away.”

            Spinning on your heel, you went up to the bar to lean over the fine wood & place your order with the bartender. As the bartender began to fill a glass, he spoke to you over his shoulder, “You alright?”

            Despite working there for some time, you never made any friends among your coworkers. You were known as ‘that girl’, or in more obvious terms ‘that bitch’.

            “Yes.” You replied tersely, not wanting to entertain a conversation when you were already on edge.

            The bartender placed a 20 oz beer on the bar near your hand, “Just askin’. You looked like you were dreading talking to the guy.”

            “Just someone I used to know.” You muttered, a lilt on the edge of your tone.

            “Yeah? How’s that?”

            Snatching the beer, you gave your coworker a sneer of a smile, “None of your business.”

            Walking away with the beer, you were sure to flick your hair over your shoulder.

            It was true, though. The man who sat waiting for his beer was someone you used to know. His name was Rafe Cameron, & he was from your hometown. If you were the queen of the hallways in your high school, Rafe Cameron was king. You two weren’t exactly friends, or even close for that matter, but you ran the same circle & attended the same parties & did plenty of coke together. But you knew very little about him otherwise.

            “Your beer.” You announced, placing it on the table before him, “Have you decided on what you want to eat?”

            “Sirloin. 8oz. Medium-rare.” He replied coolly & cockily, a trademark of his he you knew well.

            Yup, the cooks were gonna eat you alive.

            “Alrighty.” Turning away from him, you crossed to the far end of the bar where your POS system was & punched in the order. As you heard the ticket machine in the kitchen behind the bar chitter out, you also didn’t miss the groans of the cooks.

            “Fucking kidding me?” A voice sounded. You rolled your eyes. It’s not like it was your fault you had to do your job.

            Returning back to Rafe’s table, you placed down a steak knife before telling him his food would be out in ten minutes. But just as you were about to depart to go back to polishing silverware, Rafe’s voice halted you.

            “So, this is what you’re doing now, huh?” He commented, that familiar judgmental drawl in his voice.

            You paused to turn & face him, “Yup. Living the life.”

            Of course, you couldn’t show your own dissatisfaction, having a spine to up-keep in the face of old acquaintances, but you knew as well as Rafe did that people like the two of you could always see through other’s bullshit.

            “I gotta say, I’m surprised. Never expected _____ _____, of all people, to wait on others. It’s not in our blood. But I guess I forget about where your mom comes from.”

            The insult was apparent. You narrowed your eyes, “And you’re still an asshole that gets a hard on from bullying others. Shocker.”

            Rafe smirked at that, leaning forward so his elbows were on the table as he peered up at you, “Wasn’t so long ago you were bullying them alongside me.”

            “Things change.” You lied through your teeth.

            “I doubt that.”

            Rolling your eyes, completely done with the conversation & dick measuring contest, you marched away. As you continued polishing the silverware, you felt Rafe’s eyes on you from across the restaurant. You made it apparent that you would not be indulging in a stare-off as you shifted your head so your hair blocked him in your peripheral. But after a few minutes, you heard the familiar dinging of a bell emanating from the kitchen, alerting you to food being ready.

            Still ignoring Rafe’s trailing of you, you marched to the kitchen window behind the bar & began gathering the plate & side. The head cook glared at you through the gap in the wall, “Mind not accepting more orders? We’re nearly finished back here.”

            You puckered your lower lip, feigning sympathy, “No promises, customer looks hungry so I think I’ll drop a dessert menu at his table.”

            You grinned wryly to yourself as you walked away, the bitching & insults of the cooks fading behind you.

            Back at Rafe’s table, you avoided his eyes as you set his meal down, “Enjoy your meal.”

            “When are you off?” His question took you by surprise. You were quick to hide your shock with a firm response, “When I feel like it.”

            You were about to walk away but a hand reached out & snagged your wrist, “Want to get a drink later?”

            Ripping your arm from his grip, you sneered down at him, “I’d rather drink bleach.”

            Walking away from him, you gathered the polished silverware from your booth in the corner & took them to the kitchen. The cooks grumbled & glared as you entered the back but you ignored them. Your shift ended at 10 & the clock on the wall read 9:48. It wouldn’t be the first time you clocked-out early, & you knew you’d get another talk to about doing so, but you didn’t care. You had dealt with enough assholes for one day.

            Surpassing the kitchen to a back hallway, you entered the women’s locker room. At your locker, you swung it open & begin pulling out your clothes. After changing & putting your uniform back in the locker, you put on your jacket & hung your purse over your shoulder. By the time you left the locker room, the cooks had cleared out from the kitchen. You re-entered the main part of the restaurant, intending on clocking out without saying another word to Rafe. You’d get your tip from serving him in the morning. But as you unwillingly peered in his direction, his table was empty.

            “Where’s…?”

            The bartender followed your line of sight, shrugging, “He wanted a box. Paid then left.”

            “Oh.” You breathed out, evidently relieved you wouldn’t have to see or hear from him.

            “Here.” The bartender handed you the familiar black plastic plate that held a receipt.

            Rafe’s payment.

            You accepted the plate & approached the POS system. You were pulling up his tab, preparing to enter the tip he left when you only realized just then that he had left none. Instead, on the tip line where you at least expected to see a 20% tip, was just a frowny face.

            “Asshole!” You slammed the plastic plate down.

            “What’s wrong?” The bartender asked from a few feet away.

            Turning your glare onto him, you just shook your head, “Nothing.”

            He raised his brows in disbelief but didn’t question further.

            Tossing the receipt into a nearby trash, you angrily clocked out, waving your hand in dismissal as the bartender threw you a parting greeting. In the elevator, you felt your foot tapping irritably.

            That fucking prick. You grumbled internally.

            Once the elevator doors opened on the ground floor of the building, you stomped out, pulling your jacket tighter against you as you approached the main doors. It was late autumn & the weather was wicked outside. Fortunately, it was only two blocks to your apartment building, so you wouldn’t be in the heavy, chilly rain for long.

            But just as you exited the building, your chin tucked into your chest, you heard your name being called. Pausing on the street & peering through the rainwater that had collected in your eyes, you spotted a sleek black Mercedes idling beside you in the street. Rafe Cameron sat behind the wheel.

            “How ‘bout that drink?”

            With his lack of a tip on top of you’re already bad mood, you stomped forward to lean into his passenger window, his untouched leftovers in the passenger seat.

            “How ‘bout you take that steak & choke on it!” You sneered.

            But Rafe only chuckled amusingly at that, “Still as fiery as ever.”

            Tearing yourself away from his car, you began to walk away, but the light hum of a car’s engine continued to follow.

            “Oh, c’mon. I was only giving you a hard time! I’ll still give you a tip.”

            “Fuck you.” You hollered back through the rain, no longer interested in his tip.

            “Well, that’s one way to tip, I’ll admit, just didn’t think it was how you preferred getting paid.”

            His suggestive retort was not lost on you. But you refused to react. It’s what he wanted.

            “C’mon!” Rafe laughed jovially from the warm & dry confines of his car, “I was just kidding! Hey, how ‘bout this?”

            You rolled your eyes, wishing more than anything he’d pop a tire or run out of gas, but no such things ever happened.

            “You come have a drink with me, & I’ll give you your well-deserved tip.”

            You shook your head, smiling unimpressively to yourself.

            “No?” Rafe called out, “How ‘bout $500?”

            Now that, that made you stop in your tracks. You finally looked at him, narrowing your eyes suspiciously.

            He only smiled charmingly.

            “What’s the catch?” You questioned, not wanting to fully reveal that your time could indeed be bought for a measly $500, but it would give you means to go out & shop on your next day off, something you hadn’t done in quite some time.

            “No catch.” Rafe shrugged, “Just the pleasure of your company & catching up with an old friend.”

            “’Friend’ is a generous term.” You commented sucking your lip in between your teeth in contemplation.

            “Interested or not?”

            You sighed. He couldn’t have all the power, you couldn’t give in so easily.

            “Make it $1000 & you have yourself a deal.”

            Rafe scoffed at that but his grin only grew wider, “Thinking highly of yourself still, I see.”

            You stepped forward, your arms crossed over your chest, “Interested or not?” You repeated his question with ten times the attitude.

            A tense, challenging stare-off occurred as Rafe eyed you deep in thought. Then, just when you thought he would back out of the deal & you’d lose yourself $500, he moved his leftovers from the passenger seat to the back seat.

            “Hop in.”

            A winning smile appeared on your face.

            One drink quickly turned into two. Then three. Then four, & after that you stopped keeping count, too inebriated to do so. Your bitchy & sassy attitude disappearing with every sip until all that was left was a sad & lonesome young woman.

            Rafe insisted on driving you home & you didn’t have the energy to argue. Besides, you were so drunk that you were regrettably dependent on him to get you home, not nearly sober enough to trust yourself to get the job done.

            He found a convenient spot in front of your building & you were forced to lean into him as he helped you into the lobby of your building. At that point you had trusted in your own abilities to get yourself the rest of the way up to your apartment but said nothing as Rafe helped you into the elevator before pressing a button for the 12th floor. You drunkenly frowned at that, not remembering having told him what floor you lived on. But the thought came & went & before you knew it your floor had arrived.

            Rafe carried you against him as he led the way to your door without asking which one was yours. Another red flag raised in your mind but you shook it away. You must’ve said something at point in your alcohol-riddled brain. You leaned against the wall, reaching into your purse to fetch your keys but Rafe snagged the bag away from you, seeking them out himself. You peered at him through blurry vision as he sunk the keys into your door & swung it open.

            Your apartment was a studio but luxurious enough to your tastes. As you stumbled forward into the kitchen, desperate for some water, you vaguely heard as Rafe closed the door behind the two of you, locking it.

            His presence was no longer necessary but you didn’t trust yourself to say anything, knowing your speech would be embarrassingly slurred.

            As you filled a glass with water from the sink, you felt a shadow appear behind you before a pair of hands found themselves on your hips & a warm set of lip began kissing along the side of your neck.

            Your eyes widened at the unexpected come-on. As best as you could, you slithered out of Rafe’s grasp, subtly pushing him away. You placed the glass on the counter & glared at him.

            “What are you… what are you doing?”

            Rafe chuckled lightly at that, reaching for the top of your jacket & shoving it off you, “Getting my money’s worth.”

            You’d be lying if you didn’t admit that his warm body pressed against yours & how his feather-light kisses going across your collarbone felt sinfully good, but it was his comment that forced you to shove him back harder.

            “Speaking of,” you stabilized yourself against the counter, “pay up.”

            Rafe sighed but reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, revealing a wad of cash before tossing it onto the counter.

            The sound of the money slapping against your granite countertop was music to your ears. And it was all because you had a drink with a face from the past. You reached for the wad, intending on counting it but Rafe’s body pressed against your own once more, his hands deftly reaching for the hem of your crop top.

            “Stop.” You grumbled, wriggling in his grip, your only care at that moment being for the money.

            “It’s all there.” He said lowly, his lips kissing along your jawline.

            “Ugh.” You made a sound of disgust when his tongue darted out to graze against the corner of your mouth.

            Alright, enough was enough.

            Using what little strength you had left, you shoved Rafe again, though this time much harder. He stumbled backwards & into your fridge, shaking the grocery objects on top of it.

            “The fuck is your problem?” He growled in disbelief.

            “I’m not a fucking whore.” You spit out, glaring hotly at him, “You said it was for a drink, I had a drink. You can leave now.”

            Rafe’s eyes darkened at that as he stared at you. He pursed his lips then in irritation before reaching into his jacket once more. He produced another wad of money.

            “Another $1000, that enough?”

            You felt your heart quicken at what he was suggesting.

            “No.” You responded as a pulsing started in your head. Damnit, you shouldn’t have drank as much as you had. “You couldn’t pay me enough to sleep with the likes of you.”

            “The likes of me?” His brows raised in mild shock. “You mean someone with money? Isn’t that what you’re after? Someone to support your lifestyle?”

            Well, yes, but you wouldn’t admit that to him of all people. And even if you had, you wouldn’t choose Rafe fucking Cameron to be your provider. It had occurred to you once before that you could always return home & seduce someone from the island, much like your mother had, but you wanted better than that. And Rafe Cameron was not better.

            “Keep your money.” You snarled, “Now leave.”

            Rafe bit his lip at that, shaking his head knowingly, “You & I both know I didn’t pay you $1000 for a fucking drink. I want one thing from you & you’re going to give it to me.”

            His confession had your stomach twisting into knots, but you couldn’t show your fear or discomfort.

            “No. A deal’s a deal. If you wanted more you should’ve been clearer.”

            Rafe scoffed at that, “I offered you another grand & you spit in my face.”

            “Like I said,” you glowered, “I’m not a whore.”

            “Please, _____.” Rafe’s tone shifted as if he was explaining a complex concept to a child, “It runs in your blood.”

            Boiling over with anger & motivated by the alcohol coursing your veins, you snatched his $1000 off the counter & threw it at him, “Then taking your fucking money.”

            His face darkened as the wad of cash hit him square in the chest before dropping to the ground, $100 dollar bills littering your kitchen floor.

            “I don’t want my money.” His eyes glared into your own, “I want you on your fucking back.”

            Before you could react, Rafe closed the distance between the two of you, catching you by the throat as he dragged you from the kitchen to your bed nestled in a corner at the farthest end of your studio.

            You landed on top of your bed with a resounding ‘oomph’ before Rafe shrugged his jacket off & climbed on top of you.

            “Fucking stop it!” You raised your voice, your hands reaching blindly out to resist against him.

            “Ya know, I was always curious about you in high school.” Rafe began as he wrestled with your raised arms, “Such a spoiled brat that had nothing to offer. I thought there had to be more to you, something that wasn’t predictable but I guess I was wrong. You’re just like your whore mother, thinking you’re just as upper-class as the rest of us, but you’re not. You’re a fucking phony. All you want is a man with money to take care of you.”

            You couldn’t help the whimpers that came from you as Rafe fought with you to get your jeans off.

            “I don’t need anyone!” You hollered.

            “Oh, yes you do.” Rafe retorted harshly, “I’ve been watching you for a month now, having spotted you working that pitiful job of yours when I was there on a date. And I saw in you what your father saw in your mother. A poor little thing desperate for the finer things in life. Laughing & flirting your way into better tips & potentially a man. It was so obvious, so pathetic.”

            He had been watching you. The admittance scared you more than you liked to admit.

            “So, I figured ‘why not me’? At least for a while. Get my kicks in while you thought naively to yourself that I would supplement your tastes for however long. All I wanted was a taste, a way to knock you down a bit, but no, you even had the balls to reject me.”

            A shudder parted your lips as you felt your jeans get ripped completely off you before Rafe began reaching for his own, his hand pressing against the center of your chest, holding you securely against your plush mattress.

            “Me?” Rafe laughed maniacally, “I’m not even good enough for you?”

            Reluctant tears forced their way out as your heart raced. This was really happening.

            “You’re such a fucking….” Rafe paused to glare down at you with evident contempt, “bitch!”

            A shrill scream tore from your throat but Rafe covered your mouth with his hand as he nestled himself between your legs. He didn’t even bother removing your underwear, just tugged them to the side, the elastic of them digging into the sensitive skin there as he forced his cock against your entrance.

            You beat your fists against his back but it had no effect. And before you knew it, a white hot pain flashed before your eyes as Rafe tore into you, your hymen ripping in the process.

            Rafe released a tense groan as he stilled above you, realization coming over him as he felt your untouched cunt fill with blood around him.

            “Wow.” He breathed in mild surprise, “I’m honored.”

            You kept crying, whimpering under his hand as he began to thrust, his movements harsh & painful against your pulsing center. Your walls were dry & burned with every stretch as he made himself a home within you.

            He leaned down then, his lips hot against your skin as he kissed, licked, & nipped along your shoulder. Your vision blurred from the tears as you could only lie there & take it as he fucked you against your will.

            You never had any idealized fantasies about when you would first have sex, not one of those foolish young girls who dreamt about saving themselves for ‘the right one’, but you did want to at least save your first time to be with someone who would be your end all. The idea of giving it to just anyone never sat well with you, even if it was what your mother had done for years before landing your father. And you loathed being anything like her, even if you knew deep down that you were exactly like her.

            Rafe’s groans filled the studio space of your apartment & you desperately sought out anything else to distract yourself from the reality of your situation. Your eyes blinked through tears as you finally eyed the window above your bed. It was still raining outside but it had lightened at that point. Droplets dribbled down the pane of the glass. Your eyes would latch onto one, watching as it disappeared near the bottom before finding another, repeating the habit.

            It felt like you were watching rain beat lightly against your window for hours before Rafe finally came. He fisted his hands in your hair, earning you a silent gasp as your body pulsed from his rough ministrations. He shuddered on top of you before collapsing against you.

            You shook beneath him, licking at your dry parted lips, willing yourself to fall into a deep sleep & forget any of it had ever happened. But just as you felt your consciousness begin to sleep from exhaustion, Rafe chuckled against your neck.

            “That was…something.” He pushed him upwards, your legs immediately pressing against one another the second he stood from the bed.

            He gathered his jacket from the floor & put it back on, eyeing you in the dimly lit interior of your apartment as you stared unfeelingly at your ceiling.

            A soft thud sounded by your head & you blinked, eyeing whatever was just thrown beside you. The second wad of $1000.

            “Worth every penny.” Rafe commented, but followed it with salt for your literal open wound, “Though I’ve had better.”

            You winced.

            Sighing to himself, he stared out your window for some time before finally looking back at your used & abused form lying still on your bed.

            “I already know you won’t run crying to mommy & daddy, let alone the cops, but just know that if you do, I’ve got more money where that came from. Much more. And you don’t want to be the sad little thing that cried ‘rape’ just to have it brushed under the carpet, do you?”

            Rafe caught your jaw, forcing you to look at him. He feigned concern, “That would just be embarrassing.”

            With what little energy you had left, you yanked your head from his grip, turning your back on him as you curled into a fetal position.

            “Hmm.” Rafe exhaled heavily, his eyes burning into the center of your back, “Well, thanks for your time, _____. We should do it again soon.”

            The possibility made you nauseous.

            “After all, I know where you work. And live.” There was a devilish lilt to his tone, “So, don’t go far. I may get hungry for seconds.”

this is 8/10 requests from my 500 followers celebration request opening!

big thank you to the anon who requested. anon, please share w me your feedback<3

as always, please drop a comment, reblog w reviews, or talk to me via ask box with your thoughts/feelings.

thank you for reading!

oona<3

Read this post on why doing more than liking a tumblr writers work is essential to our content creation.

[my love language is words of affirmation, it would make my day if you could comment your thoughts, reblog with tags, or drop an ask that shows your support. thank you for reading tumblr writers, we appreciate you]

taglist: @jsrafesgirl @bunnycvnts @ditzyzombiesblog

to be added to a taglist read rule 11 here. requests will be dismissed otherwise.

[plussizefantasia]

Cozy Corner

Flufftober Day 5: Book Shop

Loki Laufeyson x f!reader

Word Count: 1.0k

AN: I loved writing this one. I love Austen and you can absolutely tell haha. I feel like I probably should have said this before but I don't have a beta reader, any mistakes are my own. (if you want to be a beta reader for me let me know) Please reblog if you enjoyed it!

divider credit: @royallaesthetics

Your favorite part of living in New York was the fact that you could find pretty much any kind of store you could ever think of, and it would only be a short walk and a subway ride away. Take your favorite bookstore, Cozy Corner. The owner was an older woman who had introduced herself as Martha to you within the first few minutes of your first visit. Martha had been a librarian at an elementary school in Brooklyn for 45 years before she decided that she wanted to open her store.

You had stumbled upon this place by accident. You had been looking for a new store to buy books from when you had decided that the huge Barnes and Noble in the city was way too hard for you to navigate. So you went for a walk and decided to see if you could find a small one on your path.

You had, and it turned out to be one of the best things to happen to you since you moved into the city. You could spend hours of your day here, lounging in the plush chairs that sit by Martha’s front window, reading whatever new books she had gotten. She keeps bringing you mugs of coffee, and you're not exactly sure where they come from given that she doesn't sell coffee but you’re grateful for it anyway. 

Your favorite way to spend your day had become reading at the store, and the other regular that you have seen come in increasing frequency is just a bonus. At least that is what you tell Martha when she asks you what you think of the handsome man who keeps smiling at you without ever saying anything.

He is nice to look at, you won’t deny that. He’s tall and lithe and has an aura of confidence and power that you can’t seem to forget. Martha tells you he’s a fan of the classics, that he’s bought a copy of every Hemingway that she has in stock and she’s sure that the two of you would get along. You don’t know if she just wants to matchmake or if she genuinely thinks the two of you would get along but you don’t have the heart to tell her that you don’t think it’ll work out. 

He’s gorgeous and intimidating and everything you’d want in a man but is too afraid to go for. Luckily you don’t have to muster up the confidence to speak to him, he speaks to you first.

“Is this seat taken?” He asks gesturing to the only other plush chair in the store. It doesn’t exactly match the one that you’re sat in but it doesn’t take away from the ambiance in the room at all. 

You’re taken aback by his request but still manage to nod your assent. He’s never stayed this long before. Usually, he just comes in and presses the stacks for an hour or so before making a purchase and smiling at you as he leaves. Today he seems inclined to sit and start his newest purchase right away.

“Loki,” he says and reaches his hand out for you to shake. You do and give him your name in response. You don’t try to continue the conversation beyond that, afraid to interrupt Loki’s reading. He however doesn’t seem to have any qualms with conversation.

“Haven’t you read that before?” He references the semi-battered copy of Pride and Prejudice in your hands. You’re stunned by his observational skills and you admit to yourself, also a little flattered.

“It’s my favorite Austen novel. I read it at least three times a year.” You admit, pulling the book closer to your chest. You move it closer to your heart.

“I’m partial to Persuasion myself but I enjoy all of Austen’s work,” he replies and fully closes and puts down his book. It’s a leatherbound copy of Crime and Punishment, you remember reading it for a college literature class and are excited to be able to talk to him about something else.

You don’t even realize how long the two of you are talking until Martha rounds the corner with a sheepish expression on her face.

“I hate to interrupt you two but it’s time to close.” You take a glance at the clock and are surprised at how late it’s gotten. But what catches your eye is the fact that technically the shop should’ve closed two hours ago.

‘Martha!” you exclaimed “Why on earth did you let us stay for so long?” You quickly stand and go to collect your things grabbing the book on the table in front of you without really looking. Loki moves to the same. Martha tuts at you, “I was going to, but I saw how wonderfully you two were getting along and I didn’t want to stop you.” 

Your chest swells with affection for the older woman and you fondly shake your head at her. “Well next time feel free to interrupt, you don't have to stay open just for us.”

‘Next time?” Loki asks and you turn to him.

“Yeah, unless you don’t want to continue our riveting conversation on philosophy in fiction?” You ask teasingly but with an undercurrent of seriousness. You thought the conversation was going well but now you worry that maybe he didn’t think the same.

“I’d be delighted to.” He tells you “But I also believe that it is much past our dear Martha’s bedtime and we should postpone our discussion for at least a few hours.” He smirks and looks towards the woman. She takes the cue and goes to collect the rest of her belongings so that the three of you can leave and she can lock up the store behind you.

With your jacket on, ready to face the slight fall chill that permeates the late-night New York air you step out of the comfort of the store. You turn to Loki and wish him a good night before making your way down the street and towards your apartment. 

It isn’t until you get back to your palace and unpack your bag that you realize you’ve grabbed the wrong book. You smile without meaning to, it seems you have another reason to see Loki again soon.

[ladydeath-vanserra]

Rural Communities, Illyria, Yt Liberalism/Leftism + Classism

I'm having a hard time putting into words how I feel performative activism and political pandering plays into the way the IC works with Illyria

like

ok so I'm from rural Iowa. I am from a community of people who are prideful and hate handouts. we'd rather break our backs working ourselves into the ground instead of asking for help

now, I am looking at these Illyrians. these close-knit peoples who are prideful and work themselves ragged. As someone from a poor family, in a poor, prideful, relatively 'conservative' area, I can see a lot of similarities between Ilyria and my home. Not so much the rampant wing clipping and violent misogyny, but the pride and stubbornness that gets in our own way (note: misogyny, racism, ableism, etc etc etc are often the results of settler colonialism + yt supremacy. they just don't come out of NOwhere and were/are used as a tool to keep yt rich folks in places of power by causing class divide)

enter Cassian and the IC, people who greatly dislike the Illyrians, who routinely look down on them and call them backwards, uneducated, etc (note: this stereotypical language is due to racist undertones, canonically. This is just from my own perspective as someone from a low class rural area)

Cassian, who somehow has a victim complex due to the systemic problems of Illyria, but also does not actively push for Real Systemic Change outside of making the women Also be warriors, comes into the camps, he brings blankets, small tokens to help aid them and personally, if I saw someone from my home town who had made it very clear of how he actually feels about us try to give us blankets? I would not take a damn thing from him bec which is it? are we just the absolute Worst People Ever or do you feel *sorry* for us. And even if that is not his intention, which I don't think it is at all, he has proven time and again he's "better" than them

Cassian more-or-less scorned the Illyrians, as did Rhys and Azriel, and the more Cassian keeps aligning with Rhys compared to finding solidarity and alliances and progressivism with the Illyrians, the more alienated and isolated he's going to make himself from them

Cassian aligning himself with Rhys and the IC and Velaris and the High Lord's family removed him from the class and community solidarity if his own community. He profits off of the systemic problems that are in place despite having been a victim of the same problems

a lot of the ICs performative actions and pandering towards the Illyrians, just enough to get what they want out of them (bodies for a war), and their inability to push for actual, progressive and real change quite honestly reminds me a lot of the yt liberal and democratic politicians who look down on rural folks and have called us backwards and uneducated and hicks.

The IC hide their own prejudices and bigotry behind a shield of contempt and the systemic problems of the Illyrians, the same way I see from a lot of leftist + yt liberals here in the cities

The Illyrians have very real problematic systemic issues that need addressed and actively changed. And it's very interesting, for me, that the wing clipping and violence towards Illyrian women are so highlighted when violent misogyny seems to be fairly normal/common among the fae, in general, according to SJM, anyways

The way you combat systemic issues is through education, social programs and funding, policy changing, etc

what, exactly, is the IC doing for the people of Illyria outside of small performative gestures and "change takes time"

I see the same social problems of "change takes time" with democratic policies and I look at rural areas, and the Illyrians, who need help NOW. they're people getting routinely abandoned or forgotten unless we're needed for something bec they're "backwards" and "uneducated" and "hicks"

I'm not sure if I'm wording this well, tbh, but it feels very... familiar to what I have experienced living in rural Iowa for most of my life compared with the last few years here in the city

tagging: @bookishfeylin @kateprincessofbluewhales @acotardeservesbetter @ae-neon @andramoreaux

[crackedpumpkin]

ok hi you know this is coming :))

so could i have a uhhh… 12 casey with a side of him realising he has feelings for y/n and an added he’s never had a crush before so he doesn’t know wtf is happening.

thank you ilysm <33333

Hello there lovely~!! I hope you enjoy this one!

|| ᴡᴇɪʀᴅ || 2ᴋ12! ᴄᴀꜱᴇʏ ᴊᴏɴᴇꜱ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ||

“Chill out, sweetheart. It’s just a hockey puck.” 

“You almost broke my nose!” You all but yell, eyes narrowed into a glare. You’re practically hugging the wall beside you, having flinched away at the hockey puck Casey Jones had sent ricocheting off the goalpost in the ice rink.

He slides up to where you sit, the wall divider separating him from your frustrated punch. You sigh in defeat, picking up the hockey puck when your racing heart calms and tossing it back to him. 

You grab the textbooks next to you, rearranging them with a few pieces of paper with math equations scribbled on them. Casey eyes it with disdain, leaning onto the divider. 

“C’mon, you need to study. You have a test coming up soon.”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he rolls his eyes at your anxious expression, “I’ll ace the quiz, no problem.” You cross your arms at this statement, looking at him with deadpan eyes. You don’t believe a single word of it; his past history of bad grades only proves otherwise.

“Trust me! I’ll be fine. In fact, I should be rewarded for how good I’m gonna ace it.” His lips quirk up into a lazy smirk. You straighten your back. 

“A bet? Interesting. What do you think should be your reward, though?” Your question stumps him, and Casey’s lips purse in thought.

What should he ask for? A free meal? A date? What would be something only you could give that wasn’t too outrageous?

“A kiss.” The decision tumbles past his lips before he can process it, and he’s about to laugh it off, but the way you grimace only makes his smirk grow. To his surprise, however, you nod with a roll of your eyes. 

“Sure,” You snort, “If you get an A on the quiz, I’ll give you a kiss.” You were confident he wouldn’t be able to ever get that high of a grade, so your lips were safe and remained unkissed. 

“Shake on it?” He holds out his gloved hand, and you grab it firmly, a smug grin on your lips. You pump your hand up and down, sealing the deal.

— — — — — — — — 

Casey groans in frustration, hunched over his messy desk. Scrunched-up wads of paper fill his table, some scattered on the floor. He slumps down with a sigh onto the open textbook, cheek squished against the paper and fiddling with his pencil. 

Why was he working so hard anyway? It wasn’t like he wanted that kiss for real or anything. 

He recalls your smug grin, almost taunting. He sits back upright with a scowl. He’d show you! He was Casey Jones, the saviour of New York City and soon to be the highest scorer in class! He’d prove you wrong and get that kiss from you, picturing your surprised face and the frustrated scowl on your smooth, pink lips.

Yeah, he’d prove you wrong.

— — — — — — — — 

The bell rings, signalling the end of the test paper. He heads off to lunch in a daze. He was pretty sure he nailed most of the questions, save for the trick one at the end. He’d do alright, wouldn’t he?

Yeah, he’d get an ‘A’ easily.

“Nervous?” He’s snapped out of his thoughts when you nudge him gently, having queued up beside him. He picks up the last mini parfait in front of you both, absentmindedly setting it down on your tray without as much of a glance. You like parfaits, he recalls, having shown up to many tutoring sessions with you snacking on one.

He misses the flicker of surprise in your eyes, your gaze softening when you realize he noticed and even remembered your favourite dessert. 

He turns to face you, surprised when he sees your dyed hair. “Woah! Nice highlights!” He remarks, and your cheeks blossom pink from embarrassment. He smiles widely at the sight. 

“Thanks. I just wanted to try something new, I guess.” You fiddle with the ends of your hair, looking away. He wants to add how good the colour looks on you, but the words die in his throat once your friends call you away.

“Hey, good luck on that test. Even if you don’t get an A, you’ll definitely have improved from the last one.” You add before walking away, a genuine smile on your lips. 

He chooses to forego his unsaid compliment, grinning widely. “Thanks, sweetheart.” He watches you walk away with the tray in your hands, sitting down with your usual group. He almost walks into a wall, stumbling back just in time and tearing his gaze away from where he’s watching you laugh. Were your eyes always this bright?

Weird.

— — — — — — — — 

Casey holds the piece of paper, gulping before turning it around. He opens his eyes, having subconsciously squeezed them shut in anticipation. A large ‘A’ is circled on the top next to his name, and he whoops in delight.

The teacher frowns at him, and he quickly shuts up and sits back in his seat. He’s practically vibrating in his chair, adrenaline and excitement coursing through his veins. He couldn’t wait to show you and rub the result in your face while gloating. And, of course, the kiss!

The kiss?

He pauses. Why had that been what he was most excited for?

Of course, he was excited about the kiss. It was what you had bet on, after all, he reasons. But a slight feeling nags him in the corner of his mind, unable to pinpoint exactly what was so odd.

It’s not like he has a crush on you or anything. That’d be weird. You’re just his tutor, after all. It’d be bizarre if he did. That’s why he doesn’t have a crush on you.

Right?

[dorokora]

Chapter 15 Episode 5 Part 2

We start with a backstory narration about Baphomet. Baphomet appeared in Tokyo without knowing their true identity. In search of who they are, they visit the futuristic city and undergo test after test under the guidance of a renowned professor. As a result, all they learned was that they didn't understand anything. A being called a god at witches' feasts or Sabbaths, and worshiped in the closed environment of another world. Baphomet's rule is to make others believe as they want to believe. It can also be said to be the ability to manipulate how one perceives oneself in a narrow, closed realm. So here in Tokyo, they could become anything they wanted to be. Because in this closed city, what the majority believes is the truth. Baphomet can be male, female, human, beast, or anything else. No matter what shape you have, you can be free. Even changing the person you love to someone else is free. Baphomet ask then why do they have to be something specific? If only they could change their wishes as they wish for themselves. Baphomet says: They have nothing. It is truly a "zero" that does not exist in this world. Back to present, Baphomet is defeated.

Prometheus and Pazuzu show up as well. Prometheus heals Bohemio (maybe some light flirting), while Pazuzu heals Sanzo. Ganglie explains the whole child bearing thing. Some time ago, the guys in the Asakusa guild got caught up in some strange ``otherworlding''. Beyond that, they drank water from a rare place called the Chimu River, where anyone can give birth to a child in three months. If the timing had been a little slower, it would have been born a long time ago. So yeah Sanzo is actually pregnant. Baphomet overhears this and gets back up wanting to know more. The second generation after the "wall" was built in Tokyo, their consciousness is inside their bodies, making them first-class future transplant aptitude? A man being pregnant is not uncommon. Zeus in another world, Olympus, gives birth to a child from his forehead. Loki from the other world Yggdrasil also turned into a horse and gave birth to triplets (that’s not quite accurate but okay). Eventually, this technology will spread to Tokyo and become something that anyone can do (guess Xanadu won’t be so special anymore). Anyway Baphomet introduce themselves. Baphomet says they love humans. They can’t bear to leave the professor experiment unfinished. So Baphomet use their sacred artifact to its maximum and their body started to grow bigger. Back with Onyankopon, He says Baphomet’s rule is to manipulate the faith that is directed towards them from those around them. If you make everyone think you are a god, you can become a god.

We cut to Masashi who expresses dissatisfaction with the fact that Baphomet moved the soldiers without permission. However, at this moment he cannot denounce Baphomet, who is a direct subordinate of Onyankopon. The Rule Makers are divided. Ahura Mazda and Horus take a step back, and Koropokkur is deepening his distrust of Michael. In this situation, the Michael and Amaterasu faction cannot hurt Onyankopon's position. Something similar is happening with the Hakkenshi. The eight of them are now divided into their respective camps, and spend all their time in bloody battles like this. That's because the structure of this Tokyo ``game'' is designed to work that way in the first place. What the majority believes is true. This is the truly disgusting part of this "game." At the beginning of each loop, each faction attempts to corral forces into its own. That’s why the Rule Makers made that drastic move against the Yurakucho Guild who violated the prohibitions of operating a "game". In the current management, that seat and role is left vacant.

We cut to the Game Masters, Christine is still a mess after losing Solomon. Alice suggests the Game Master don’t put themselves in a similar situation or they’ll end up like the Entertainers. Back to the giant Baphomet, Baphomet says they’ll create a new god and picks up Sanzo. But Nyarl timeleaped him back to the prison area. Sanzo ask why is Baphomet obsessed with him maybe Baphomet is in love with him. Then Sanzo freaks out about the possibility of havin sex. Motosumi says Sanzo is misunderstanding the situation again.

We cut to Masashi who is trying to reach out to his mother but she doesn’t answer. Masashi is crying and Nobumichi hugs and comforts him. Masashi goal is unite the Hakkenshi and win the game and reach to where mother is maybe then she’ll praise him. But he wonders if this is really the goal here. If I were to put what Azuma (Utopia WR??) calls future prediction into words, it would be similar to asking the right question and getting an answer. Therefore, the boy asks the question again, assuming the present. “What will happen after this situation now?” Back to game masters, Raven says they can’t intervene but those outside the game will. Enter the Exters.

[letters-to-rosie]

Sorry I'm sending so many asks, tho I'm curious if you have any tips on writing race in the Arcane universe. Clearly it's not the same as the real word but it a showrunner were to say point blank that racism doesn't exist in Arcane I think I'd get really mad. Idk, if you're still figuring it out sorry, I I'm just curious

lmao no problem I never stop talking anyway

but not only do I never mind getting asks, I was THRILLED to get this one. this isn't in my wheelhouse. it IS my wheelhouse. it's what I'm getting the phd for so they'll let me teach this sort of shit lol. I was literally so excited when I saw this that I had to make myself get to a certain stopping point on my final paper for my history of race class (how fitting) as a motivation so I could come answer afterward lol

the real key to it is something you've already identified in the ask itself: that it's not the same as the real world, but it's definitely there. and with that in mind we can think of talking about how race comes about

so I'mma break this into two sections. the first is about dealing with race (or racialization) in a fantasy setting like Arcane, and the second will be on how real-world structures still have a bearing on what we write about those fictional worlds and how they're perceived. okay, let's get into it (and let me type properly lol)

Because race isn't rooted in biological reality, it's constantly shifting. It's meanings are never fixed, but because race is a way we naturalize the world around us (much like gender stereotypes), it appears more permanent than it is. Now, this isn't discounting racialized violence any group has endured. But the process of defining who belongs to what group, where the dividing lines are, what racial stereotypes mean, and so on, is ongoing.

Race is a popular way of dealing with difference, but it's far from the only one. So what we have to ask is how a group of people become not just different but fundamentally different in ways you can assign supposed traits and behaviors to them. There are a lot of ways this can happen, and every instance has its own historical specificity. Also, every instance is caught up in a "web," so to speak, of cultural context, understandings, and referents (riffing Clifford Geertz and Stuart Hall a little here) that allow people in that web to make sense of the world around them and to understand themselves. So it's very messy, but often we can find some key events that set the process of making a race, racialization, in motion. A good example IRL is the way that brown people of all backgrounds were racialized as vaguely threatening in post-9/11 America. Another is the Transatlantic slave trade, which gave economic incentives for dehumanizing black people and, eventually in the U.S., created a social structure where people who were only partially black could still be enslaved, which is how you get tan black people like me lol. Another example could be the absorption of various European immigrant groups into whiteness throughout U.S. history, or the effort to separate the Japanese from other East Asians after they beat Russia in a war in 1905.

In general, we're asking "what set racialization in motion?" A war? Colonial expansion? Mass immigration? Capitalism? Usually you don't have just one, and usually race combines with one of those forces to exacerbate a previously-held idea of difference in a society. So all of a sudden those people aren't just different, but they might as well be a different species.

In Arcane, we don't get enough backstory to say anything definitively, but we can assume that the divide between Piltover and Zaun is primarily economic. The game lore suggests some colonization, too. In any case, by the time of the show, there are already:

firmly-established delineations between Piltovans and Zaunites

a stereotyping that hides the complexity of the problems the cities face (see Jayce saying to Viktor that the Zaunites are criminals; of course, he's worried about Jinx, but he's operating on the assumption that the Zaunites are acting up because of their criminality, which hides other motivations for their behavior; in all likelihood, most of them were upset because they couldn't get to work, which would lead to a loss of wages and more economic precarity than they already experience)

a robust system of incarceration, police brutality, and environmental racism leading to disparate health outcomes across groups

and a division of labor that relies on all of the above (though I REALLY wish they'd explain more about the mines I need to KNOW)

So, again, it's not race as such, but it's helpful because we can see that it's not entirely reducible to social class, ether. If it were, Viktor would have had a much easier time, and there would be more economic mobility both up and down the ladder. I think it's more than fair to say that racilization is at work, even though the characters have a wide array of physical features on both sides of the river. Racialization can most certainly happen even when the people involved look mostly alike (see the English and the Irish for the classic example).

Okay, so we've established that some race-y things are going on. What about the second part? What about the real world?

We have to be honest and note that our real-world experiences are going to affect how we engage with these characters. This isn't inherently a bad thing, but it's important that we're aware and cautious, handling the question of race delicately. I, for one, have been really disappointed in some of the audience reception of the show's black characters (and a teeny bit in how I feel like their arcs were rushed compared to the wider cast). I'm not really invested in any ship involving Jayce, not gonna lie (though I will say it takes a lot for me to get invested in a ship in general; I have to really click with it to care), but the hate Mel gets over shipping cannot be separated from mysognoir. It just can't. Likewise, with Ekko, I'm sometimes nervous about descriptions of his body that remind me of the VERY long tradition of fetishizing black men to hell and back. But he also gets the short end of the stick in shipping sometimes, and I think his relatively lower popularity in fandom is likely related to his race.

This is me, a black woman, calling it as I see it. We could also get into Sky, but that's a whole other thing. I think that when we engage with these characters, it's important to note what is actually in the text and what might be a projection of our world's current concepts of race onto the fantasy world.

So, for example, assuming Caitlyn is better at math than Vi because her facial features are East Asian. Vi is Jinx's sister. Vi is better at math, presumably, at least in terms of talent, since Vi wouldn't have gotten to go to school. A way to work in the racialization of the show's setting could be for Vi to express frustration with people think ing she's dumb just because of where she's from, or she could be upset she doesn't know something not because she is a Zaunite but because Zaun is so oppressed that Vi never got a proper education.

Mel is a pretty calm character. If someone wrote her as very angry, for example, I'd be like whoa, sounds like the stereotype that black women are angry is at work here. Mel expresses anger at her mother, but otherwise she's very level-headed. For an example in the setting, perhaps Mel tells a close confidante she's a bit tired of the veneer of civility Piltover can put on. Race works in multiple directions. By saying the Zaunite are the rowdy ones, it's saying Piltovans can't be (not that they actually can't, just under their world's racial logic). How would this play out in Mel's life? Could make for an interesting fic.

One example I can speak on personally, because I'm writing it, is my attempt to engage elements of real-world black radicalism with the Arcane universe. Like, I have lines that Ekko says in one chapter that are deeply inspired by one of the most famous Pan-Africanists in U.S. history. But I can't map that thought onto, say, Mel, just because she's black. Her position in the society is such that real-world blackness doesn't really have anything to do with her outside of her reception by the audience. I do, however, engage that sort of thought with other Zaunite characters, mainly Jinx, despite her being white in the real-world framework. In the setting, she's racialized as a Zaunite, and I'm proceeding accordingly, working with those categories of race instead of the ones I deal with in my real life.

Another thing I'm very wary of is beauty being attached to skin color. I'm a bit wary of skin color being mentioned a lot in fics in general, honestly. In a world where skin color isn't the means by which people are divided, it wouldn't be nearly as worth noting. What about...accents? Perceived intelligence? Did Viktor go to Piltover and have people go "oh, you're so articulate"? I bet he did.

Okay, this is getting very long. Pretty much what I'm trying to say is that the answer is to think about what race does in the real world and then think about how it would work in Arcane or any other fantasy setting. What gets people designated as a race? What stereotypes are associated with them? How do people resist this? and so on.

And on the flip side, we have to be attentive to how race in the real world might be coloring our perceptions of certain characters. By being conscious of this, we can avoid potentially reinforcing real-world racial logic. And by examining what racial logic is and what it does, we can become prepared to deal with it in the real world.

(and yeah I would also not enjoy a showrunner saying it doesn't exist in the universe lol)

[rosekushina]

Everything GREAT about RWBY Volume 7 that Volume 8 Completely Ruined (A Retrospect / Salty Opinion) 

You can disagree with me if you like, but everything below is 100% canon :)

~~~

V7: Maiden Powers recognize Penny as a “real girl” even though she’s a robot and has the aura of a man (her father) - an incredible subversion of the Pinocchio trope that validates Penny and sets up her journey as a Maiden

V8: Penny is turned human against her will and DIES (again), the powers transfer to someone else - copy/paste of Pinocchio

V7: Salem is moments away and fast approaching, so the heroes have literal SECONDS to come up with a plan before she invades Atlas. Salem arrives at the end of the season, ready to strike

V8: Salem WAITS in her whale and doesn’t attack right away, completely retconning the urgency and stakes at the end of Volume 7

V7: Ruby, Blake(?), and Nora want to help Mantle the whole Volume. Team RWBY is angry Ironwood is leaving Mantle behind and want to do something about it - have no plan but are willing to try anyway (very noble but naive)

V8: Ruby abandons Mantle in episode 1 and steals Ironwood’s idea for Amity, Blake and Nora go with her. Yang helps out in Mantle for one episode before abandoning it (everyone abandons Mantle, Salem doesn’t even attack Mantle)

V7: The Staff can only be used for one purpose at a time and if someone else uses it, the previous creation will disappear, foreshadowing that Atlas will inevitably fall and Salem will get the Relic. Ironwood establishes the Staff is keeping Amity up and that the Gravity Dust is a cover-up story for the public

V8: Gravity Dust is apparently holding up Atlas anyway so they have time to use the Staff and evacuate people before it crashes. Team RWBY PURPOSEFULLY destroy a whole continent and takes the Relic out of the Vault for no reason (they do Salem's job for her)

V7: Ironwood wants to save all of Atlas’s citizens, Mantle citizens already evacuated, TWO RELICS = saving Remnant (keeping them away from Salem), and a Maiden. Wants to save who he can in the VERY short time he can, knows that in war there are consequences and you cannot save everyone. They cannot beat Salem so why risk his entire city/two Relics in a battle he knows he cannot win? (Salem is immortal). A HERO/war veteran who recognizes the cost of war

V8: Ironwood kills his own citizens for no reason, threatens to bomb his own city for no reason AFTER Salem is already defeated, and only cares about the “plot of land” that Atlas is on, the upper class, and technology. Turned into a one-dimensional antagonist because he disagrees with the protagonists 

V7: Ironwood sacrifices his own arm to successfully stop a bad guy in the greatest act of heroism the show has ever seen (“Hero” plays in the background)

V8: Ironwood "losing limbs represents him losing his humanity" and how he “has sacrificed everyone else”. Now has a Semblance that he cannot control that can potentially control his mind against his will (never brought up and can be attributed to mental health)

V7: Ruby VS Ironwood - different ideologies on how to save people, but neither of them are wrong. Will they come together and stop their common enemy (Salem), or give-in to fear and become divided? No right or wrong answer - complicated, morally grey, trolley-problem

V8: Ruby denounces Ironwood to the world as she preaches about being united, Ironwood is the big-bad of the season and dies a villain while Salem is right there (common enemy). Team RWBY’s way of thinking was right all along even though they only came up with a plan after Salem was defeated and ended up evacuating anyway, the same thing Ironwood wanted to do from the beginning. Do not acknowledge the parallels between them and how team RWBY did more harm than good - Ren tries to bring this up but is later forced to apologize and treated as wrong even though he was spitting straight facts

V7: Ruby lies to Ironwood and gets called out for it, arrested and loses Ironwood’s trust (immediate consequences of her actions). Ruby did the same thing Ozpin did (lie with good intentions), which they got mad at him for but now she is put in his shoes - start of some great character development for Ruby!

V8: Ruby’s lie is never brought up again and there are no long-term consequences for her actions. She gets away scott-free and never admits to her mistakes. Ruby never realizes that she did the same thing Ozpin did and shows no empathy toward him, makes OZPIN apologize to them while Emerald (a bad guy) sits on the steps and watches that happen

V7: Ruby is put in the same position as Ironwood - who can you save in the short amount of time you have ? Has to learn what it truly means to be a leader in a time of war

V8: Ruby sits and drinks tea for half the Volume wondering what to do and then destroys an entire continent on purpose and loses two Relics in the span of two days - does not acknowledge that Ironowod had a point

V7: Salem cannot be beaten, how will they fight her and her Whale?

V8: Oscar blows her and the Whale up half-way through the Volume after Salem does absolutely nothing the whole season. Ozpin now has a magical bomb in his staff he could have used any time

V7: There is NO WAY to save everyone

V8: The Staff has the power to do literally anything so let's create portals to get everyone out

V7: Vacuo is the next target

V8: Team RWBY dump the entire population of Atlas and Mantle into Vacuo, causing a refugee crisis with the knowledge that Salem is heading there next (Emerald knows this and is on their side now, she would have told them)

V7: Ironwood instantly trusts team RWBY with his entire plan, gives them back the Relic, gives them their huntsman licenses. Meanwhile the girls do not trust their allies (good-guys) and lie to them and go behind their backs and betray their trust - a good message on trust the girls will eventually have to learn

V8: Trust Emerald and tell her everything about their plan, trust Hazel with the password to the Lamp. “Trust is a risk” now after they didn’t trust a GOOD GUY for an entire Volume (hypocrites)

V7: Qrow is indirectly responsible for Clover’s death but takes it out on Ironwood in his anger, wants to fight Ironwood and probably kill him in rage. Probably lets himself be arrested so he can get closer to Ironwood

V8: Qrow gets over his grudge and never confronts Ironwood (we all wanted this to happen right?) after sitting out in prison the whole Volume. Doesn't seem to care that his nieces are out there facing Salem as he's in jail

V7: One question left in the Lamp, but they cannot summon Jynn unless they actually have a question this time (via. Volume 6)

V8: Oscar shows Jynn to Hazel and Emerald, and she lets them go without asking a question

V7: Weiss’ mother tells her not to forget about her brother

V8: Weiss sticks a sword in her brother’s face and only thanks him after he proves himself useful 

V7: Fall of Beacon 2.0 promised

V8: Battle of Atlas lasts one episode while the girls drink tea and watch it happen, none of the main characters (or villains for that matter) take part in the battle (it is pushed to the background)

V7: Salem vs Ozpin epic fight/reunion approaching

V8: Salem and Ozpin say two sentences to each other and do not discuss their pasts and/or fight (Oscar is the one who fights Salem)

V7: Amity is NOT finished so they cannot get a message out

V8: Amity IS finished it just needs more dust to launch

V7: Oscar is separated from the group at the end of V7, will the heroes get to him before Salem does??

V8: The heroes instantly find Oscar in the first few minutes of Volume 8, but then Salem gets him anyway (what was the point)

V7: Every single bad-guy ALIVE in the show is present at the end of the Volume

V8: Mercury and Tyrian leave half-way through the Volume after doing nothing, Ironwood is now the main villain even though Salem is right there. Ruby never comes face-to-face with Salem.

~~~

Volume 7 was (still is?) my favorite Volume. It wasn't perfect, it had flaws, but for what it's worth it gave us an INCREDIBLE set-up for what should have been the best Volume ever (Volume 8). I was beyond excited when Volume 8 came out - we were going to see legendary fights! Ruby was going to get some much-needed character development. But instead, the show completely fumbled the ball HARD, ignored everything amazing it had established the previous Volume, and completely buffered every theme, fight, character, and story-line it had going for it. :( As a fan, and as a Screenwriting Major, this is just disappointing. I'm more sad than I am angry, and this leads me to believe that everything I loved about Volume 7 was created by accident.

[lutethebodies]

Tav Deep Dives: Olini/Wyll Friendship

On my Olini "Tav Tuesday" post, @n1ghtmeri asked:

"I was like, 'I like her,' then I saw Evangeline Navarro mentioned and went 'I LIKE HER.' I wonder what is her relationship with Wyll like?"

Good question! I think it's important to answer because it's a relationship that should be obvious based on Olini's backstory, but it's one that I hadn't considered enough when integrating her into the overall BG3 plot (I am not a Wyll expert). Mechanically, the answer is simple: Olini's approval with Wyll maxed at an exceptional 100 in early Act 3 of her solo run (he's an infrequent party member but they talk a lot) but sits at a neutral 14 in my multiplayer-Tav run (where I divided play between four Tavs so approval came at a premium, with romances taking priority, and hers is with Shadowheart).

The mechanical stuff can be fascinating, but it often feels bloodless and easy to metagame, so the less-quantifiable ways to measure relationships can often be more compelling. That's not news to most people who've played this game, but as someone who literally got back into video games after a 30-year layoff thanks to BG3's character relationships, it’s been a fun revelation for me. That goes double for those I haven't considered yet, like this one. The TL;DR is "their relationship is very good, like one of close siblings." Maybe the best way to go about this is addressing each of their overlapping connections.

Ulder Ravengard

Olini and Wyll are connected via his father the Grand Duke, and Ulder's background as the Flaming Fist's leader. Olini's 5e backstory involves investigating her own unit for war crimes against frontier nomads; in BG3 I translated that to her being an ex-Fist who's back in the city to expose her unit commander's war crimes in Chult. She tends to be annoyed by the unwritten rules of social hierarchy (she grew up mid-to-low class), and she has no patience for the subtleties of political power and how it works. Her misadventures with the Flaming Fist destroyed any respect she might have had for military rank, because she's seen how it can be abused.

So she'd soured on the Fist's general corruption anyway, but is perhaps naively convinced that Ulder (who was not born rich and powerful) would quickly right that ship if he hadn't been waylaid in Elturel. Learning about Wyll's complicated relationship with his father might disabuse that notion, but it would definitely strengthen an Olini-Wyll bond. She has a similar rocky past with her drow exile mother (a mage who became incapacitated by her own Weave experiments) and hyper-idealized memories of her long-lost human father (also a ranger).

Mizora

Olini is ambivalent about Wyll's warlock powers. As a ranger she's only a half-caster, and understands the Weave can be dangerously volatile. She's sympathetic to Wyll's situation—protecting the city from a dragon cult's abuse would have been an easy choice for her as well—but surely there were better options than a literal devil's deal. Though maybe not more successful options, which Wyll persuaded her to understand (here's where mechanics come in, i.e. Wyll's high CHA and Olini's high WIS/low INT).

As for Mizora herself, Olini despises her. The cambion's smarmy legalism reeks of hierarchy's sneaky tools of leverage and abuse, which flusters and frustrates Olini. The mental lanceboard of trying to outwit Mizora is utterly beyond Olini's ability, even if she were interested in doing so. She's an experienced ranger, but she's yet to fully appreciate the natures of other planes (though only in BG3; in 5e she's a Horizon Walker), so the fact that Wyll's survived Avernus' fine print to this point is certainly something admirable and worth emulating.

Shadowheart

Our favorite faux-goth princess is the most important reason why Olini and Wyll aren't going to be more than friends. Olini prefers women anyway, so if it's a contest between two attractive people who could help her understand the finer points of subtlety and tact, Wyll's always gonna lose out to Shadowheart. For all that Wyll and Olini have in common, the ranger and cleric have more (and more to learn from each other). That goes beyond whatever a shadow priestess and gloom stalker could talk shop about, too. I mean, two half-elves with nebulous parental issues, plus a shared thing for frontier fauna and urban wildlife? Sorry, Wyll.

Strong Siblings

An Olini-Wyll romance was always gonna be off the table for umpteen reasons. They really are like siblings from different parents. I don't care how clichéd that sounds; clichés exist for a reason, because their truth can be so frequent and common. Meeting and recruiting Wyll at the Grove would have been a relief for Olini well before he revealed whose son he was, because by even that early date the other companions had all rubbed her the wrong way. Sure, Wyll's a bit of a pompous dork at first, but she respected his ideals and the way he behaved when teaching the refugee kids how to defend themselves.

She also handwaved his "hunt the devil" quest as the cost of doing business, especially since he was relatively forthcoming about motivation compared to everyone else (except maybe Lae'zel). However, once Karlach was recruited and that truth unraveled, Olini backed Karlach immediately (another good reason to hate Mizora) and, as awkwardly as she and the tiefling could do so, conspired to set up Wyll and Karlach. The fact that this worked out well for Karlach in the end was an unintented bonus—but who do you think might have inspired Wyll to be a ranger-in-hell Blade of Avernus anyway? Perhaps his ranger sister from another mister.

That's all I've got for now. I hope that answered the question! Thanks again for asking and as always I'm open to more similar Tav-deep-dive prompts.

Whiny Side Note

Would it kill Larian to clean up the way gear clips on itself? I get that it might be a frustrating whack-a-mole task to do every piece, but so is slapdash-photoshopping Olini's scale mail scarf to match the Hood of the Weave every time I want to post a screen shot.

[intogenshin]

Fontaine and the Bible

I know Remuria’s references to the Roman Empire are very obvious but the whole thing is also unequivocally influenced by the Bible. The reference to golems from Jewish folklore just confirms it anyway, there’s no way that’s just one random Jewish reference thrown in for no reason.

First of all - the flood, pretty self explanatory.

Second of all, and more importantly - the symbol of the city.

After the flood destroys the first civilization in Genshin for coveting celestia’s power, people are said to wander in the wilderness, like humans were when they were thrown out from the garden of eden in the Bible.

In biblical lore, Caín is marked as a sinner later for killing his brother, and goes on to build a city instead of seeking redemption, further isolating himself from God. The walls surrounding it are what characterize this early concept of city, something man made that isolates and concentrates the worst of humanity in it.

This concept is later expanded with the metaphorical and the real Babylon, the city that symbolizes humanity’s sins constantly happening through humanity’s history.

What I find super interesting is how two things can be considered an extension of the symbol of the city:

First, technology. And second, music.

The first is what we witness being developed in current Fontaine. The second was developed by king Remus in Remuria.

They’re both man made creations, and they might seem unrelated at first, but genshin has already mediated a relationship between the two:

Back in Liyue, we found out Madam Ping and Guizhong used to fight about the authenticity of music created with an instrument and music created by the latter’s inventions, by technology. In the end, Madam Ping came to accept Guizhong’s views.

Music and technology are thus mirrors of each other, exactly like Remuria and Fontaine.

King Remus thought he could avoid the prophecy of Remuria’s destruction by cultivating a relationship with his people through music, even sharing his power to govern with four humans, and this is what’s said to have provoked their demise. His attempt at avoiding a prophecy was the catalyst for the prophecy to be fulfilled.

Fontaine has its own prophecy, and I wonder if they’ll meet the same fate exactly the same way.

While the symbol of the city is developed in Remuria through music, in Fontaine it’s developed through the industrial revolution and technology. And I can’t help but think about this other reference that might as well encompass both the dystopian dangers of technology during the industrial revolution, and an allegory for the Bible:

To put it short, Metropolis is an allegorical Babylon (the metaphorical city) that tells the story of a city divided by class: the elite lives on the surface and the workers who produce energy for the city live underground. While the workers move mechanically, as if they were part of the machines’ mechanisms themselves, the upper class is also enslaved by their own desires.

Maria, Virgin Mary expy, promises the underground workers that a mediator (a messiah, if u will) will come to help them. Maria doesn’t condemn technology itself, she thinks there has to be a mediator between “head” and “hands”, referring to the upper and lower class, which she calls the “heart”. This Jesus role is fulfilled by the son of the city’s ruler, who then orders his personal mad scientist (also stand-in for the devil, with satanic imagery and all) to give the robot he’s created the image of Maria, so that she can twist Maria’s ideology before the workers.

This robot Maria is represented above the city through the symbol of the Whore of Babylon, a prophetic vision in the Bible encarnating all sins and vices. And she encourages the workers to revolt and destroy the very machines they’re enslaved to, against the unity that the real Maria intended. This causes a flood in which the workers’s children almost die, but are saved last minute by Maria and the Jesus guy (who fall in love cue jesse pinkman’s “he can’t keep getting away with this” meme)

What’s happening here is a false idol has twisted the beliefs of the people and made those in power give in to their desires. There’s a lot more going on in relation to Christian motifs, but let’s just focus on what’s important.

At some point, the real Maria tells the workers a revisionist version of the Tower of Babel: another story that’s basically the same as Babylon - humans tried to construct something to match or surpass god’s power and they got nuked, but in Maria’s story the tower is framed in a positive light, it’s just the ones who had the intelligence to design it and those enslaved to build it couldn’t understand each other.

In Metropolis’ point of view, technology is not to be condemned, they just needed a mediator. Likewise, in the Bible the city might be a catalyst for chaos, but god intends to bring his garden of eden into the world by sending his son and cleansing humanity from sin, the messiah figure of Jesus. The problem faced in both is the belief in a false idol which destroys what humans have built and humans themselves, god’s creation.

Now let’s take this to Fontaine: a city divided by class, where the elite lives above and the walls of the city stand tall, while another subset of second class citizens dwell underground.

The retro futuristic design of Fontaine also matches that envisioned in Metropolis:

It’s too early to tell if something will happen with the workers of the city, and this might just be one single exception, but there’s an npc at the cafe who seems very unhappy with the current situation of the city. And although he’s painted rather as a fraud, he also has to say this about the energy issue:

“For the future generations, for our descendants, we must refuse to work, refuse the trials, and oppose Indemnitum!”

Idemnitum is the energy produced with trials, which is used to power the city. Traveler speculates it works the same way faith in an archon works in other nations.

Now let’s analyze the parallels closely:

Interpreting this energy as a form of belief, we find that just like in Metropolis the upper class has given into their desires and vices, the people of Fontaine fuel this power with the spectacle of the court instead of a real sense of justice.

The working class might or might not oppose this belief altogether, just like the lower class of Metropolis were fooled into destroying the machines that powered the city

This destruction causes a flood in Metropolis, and we know Fontaine is prophesied to drown until only the hydro archon remains above

I wonder then, that if just like Remus tried to escape Remuria’s fate by creating a city of music, so will Fontaine meet their demise precisely because Furina built the Oratrice machine that produces idemnitium.

And who might be incarnate the figure spreading false beliefs and indulging desires that make people walk away from their real faith

[cuteteacakes]

s1lxcs

//more info about the characters, the families, what they like & dislike & more about their world- :3

ALRIGHT THIS MIGHT GET LONG BUT HERE WE GO (under a read more because spoiler alert: it did get long)

I better start with the world setting because that would help other things make sense. Fogs Keep is a self-contained city divided into five sections: North Quarter, South Quarter, East Quarter, West Quarter, and the Center. There are also two classes of elves, Sky Elves and Tree Elves. The North Quarter is where all the farming/agriculture takes place (at least as much as a damp and foggy place can allow), the South Quarter is where the government buildings are, and the Center is where the shops and entertainment districts are. Sky Elves live in the West Quarter and are the higher class (get all the fancy clothes, nice houses, carriages, jobs, etc etc). Tree Elves live in the East Quarter and are the working class. Their quarter kind of looks like the Mumbai slums but not as bad? But they do live kind of packed into an area, small families/single Tree Elves get a small shack while sometimes multiple families live in one building or families take in elderly that can't fend for themselves, as is with one of my narrators Ransom.

Ransom lives in the East Quarter with his family; older sister Kay and younger sibling Ohanko, and an old man the family shares their house with. His father died when Ransom was still a kid and his mother died when she gave birth to Ohanko, so Kay and him had to raise them by themselves. He's a Tree Elf through and through, and absolutely hates Sky Elves. He thinks they don't deserve the lives they have because they don't do nearly half the work that Tree Elves do for half the pay and resources. He likes sweets, his friend Tanner, Tree Elf pride, and his family. He'd get run over by a carriage for his family. He dislikes Sky Elves (very much), his boot-blacking job (esp. since his clients are all Sky Elves), and horses. He thinks animals shouldn't be allowed to be that big.

ANYWAY so my story follows Ransom the Tree Elf and Cornelius, who is a Sky Elf. Cornelius lives in the West Quarter with his great grand-aunt Penelope and live-in maid Theodora. His mother also died in childbirth (with him) and his father passed from pneumonia. He doesn't have any siblings or other family, but used to have another Tree Elf maid named Ivy who would keep him company and be his friend. She had to be let go though because Cornelius was running out of money to support her. He's basically the only Sky Elf that believes Tree Elves should be treated fairly and better, and other Sky Elves think he's crazy for it because this is the way things have always been, it's just the way things are. He's even taken it upon himself to learn the Tree Elf dialect (although he's a total beginner and can offend with his horrible accent). Others think he's also crazy because he wants to see the world outside of Fogs Keep, but not only is he sickly and frail, nobody has ever left Fogs Keep as there's a huge ravine surrounding its boarders, and the fog makes it impossible to see the other side. It's basically cut off from the rest of the world. Cornelius likes his horse Annabelle, tea, working on maps (his father was Fogs Keep's cartographer and he took up the position once he died), and Tree Elves. He dislikes the prejudice Tree Elves get, his weak constitution, and being alone. He also dislikes his ex-friend Benjamin but that's another story haha-

I think that answered all your questions?? I hope it generates some interest??? I didn't reveal any of the plot (apart from Cornelius wanting to leave and Ransom hating Sky Elves) I think, so..... ta-da???

[endversewinchester]

Alright, chapter 5! (This is being such a fun read).

The darkling and his crew are taking Alina by horse to Os Alta. Pause to fangirl he only got her a separate horse on day two.

Here is where it gets fun to me: he’s trying to make friends with her. Knowing the plot, it is very ambiguous whether he is being genuine or not, and I love Leigh for letting us decide.

I would argue it is a bit of both. Oh I know current teens love to paint this as black and white and cement the idea that he is fully rotten, but that’s not what the story is telling me. He did not risk sending his men into the forest for more food. He sat with them and ate with them, the tiny bit of chicken that was his share. It is core to the darkling that he wanted to protect Grisha, and clearly this still matters to him.

And then he lies to Alina about his age, and who he is, but I don’t think he was lying about regretting the fold. We also learn his body parts would be extremely valuable to all grisha, but that he doesn’t fear that happening. I believe him. At least, his adult self on this.

We are then introduced to the notion that the grisha seek him out because life for them is terrible. Experiments. Slavery. Burning alive. It adds to what I said last chapter about how they seem to appreciate the life he gives them, despite being afraid of him.

I think his curiously about what the regular humans think of him is genuine. I don’t know that he cares about their opinions, but I do think he wanted to know. It’s followed by Alina realizing the army has a bias against him and the grisha in general, which is great.

Then we follow with motivation. He tells us the world is changing. Technology is replacing the value grisha would have, which imo is a very valid concern. Ravkans seem to tolerate them only because they can’t replace them. If that changes, it would remove the protection he built.

They finish by talking about the cut, and Alina examining her biases (yes, she would prefer it if it was a sword. Even though the end result is the same.) which I think genuinely upsets him. Not in a sadness way, more like an anger way imo. Grisha prejudice is one of his triggers.

And then we get to Os Alta and see how the social classes are divided, even in the “best” city of the country. Ditto for the palace area, with the grisha living in a separate building behind the first. So even here they aren’t fully respected.

Then we get some flirting and Alina really loves the little palace architecture.

And then a servant tells Alina to lock her door, which is unsettling for far more than just the threat of murder (which would be really low here anyway).

[christmasintheloonybin]

when I was in school I swear we went over the history of the United States every single year until graduation, repeating the same shit over and over and over. most of what is taught in schools could be dropped and it would not have any kind of negative impact on society, even with all the nonsense they teach in schools, many graduates are borderline illiterate! so clearly it doesn't work very well.

I would say that school should be divided into four hours of learning and four hours of physical activity, I mean training and also outdoor time, tending to some kind of garden and walking around in the woods, which is what children want to do naturally! it's really a crime against humanity to beat the life out of children at such a young age. the learning part of the day would focus on basic math going up to maybe geometry, you really don't need anything more than that. and history, English, etc, basic shit. but this would really only be to guarantee that children do not grow up to be complete morons, they really only need to know the basics. the rest of the classes would be based around local people teaching children about what they do in the community, a much stronger emphasis would be put on apprenticeships in the community and working with whatever environment the community is situated in (for example, green pastures would have many cattle farmers, coastal villages would have many fishermen, etc). schooling should be a representation of the community and of what is beneficial to the community, not what is beneficial to the economy or what will get you a job etc.

I would also say that school should start later in life, maybe age ten, and go for a shorter time, maybe eight to ten years. if a child is drawn to a specific niche then this should be appreciated and applauded, and the child should be allowed to focus on this even at the expense of other subjects (after all, it is quite easy to learn the basics of math, and if someone is interested exclusively in history then math would be of very little use, and anyways they can always learn it later). it is insane to force everyone to be semi educated in everything when different people have different inherent strengths and weaknesses. if someone is born interested only in math why should he be punished for not having an interest in literature? school should accommodate differences, and this would be made easier by significantly smaller class sizes due to the inherently LOCAL and community centered approach to schooling. in my utopia also there would be limits on reproduction as well and cities would not exist beyond being slightly larger cultural and government centers, most people would live in rural areas and the focus would be on rural life. cars and planes would be completely illegal, the only way to get around would be on horseback, on bicycle or on foot. most roads would be closed. if someone for whatever reason needs to travel across the country they could either go on a quest (which I think would be a beneficial experience to most young people) or take the one train which goes on a loop and would arrive in major settlements once a month or so.

[rhijp]

June 5: Guest Lecture and Exchange Activity at Musashi University

Today, we were able to talk with local Japanese students and receive a guest lecture at Musashi University (武蔵大学).

One thing I was able to take away from the lecture is that the way language is learned in different parts of the world is completely opposite to how language is learned in the U.S.

In Japan, many people dislike being seen as show offs, so, for example, even if someone is quite good at a language they are learning, they will sometimes speak with a strong Japanese accent on purpose so as to not stand out. While the professor continued to talk about the effects this has on learning, my thoughts headed more so in the direction of how such a cultural difference could affect a nation or people group on the macro scale.

In the U.S., I would argue that most people still probably don’t want to be seen as arrogant, but the distinction here is that most people (at least the ones I have had classes with) also don’t mind showing off once in a while when they get the opportunity. I would posit that the difference comes from the desire to stand out. In the U.S., standing out is generally considered a good thing as we have a highly individualistic society, and people tend to seek personal recognition for their achievements. Many people of Japan, on the other hand, value the effort of a group far more than the effort of an individual, and standing out is not necessarily a good thing in many cases.

You might ask: what is the significance of this? Or maybe even: why do you keep waffling on about this silly subject? Well to answer your questions, I believe considering cultural differences such as these could, even on the surface, bring people closer together as they can better communicate how they feel and less frequently get the wrong message across. However, if you look deeper than this and are able to recognize that it is possible to go about your life in a completely different (but not necessarily less correct) manner, you can look at the world much more objectively and strive for changes to make your own life and community better. The more we can think objectively, the easier it will be to break free of cultural vices that hold us back as a society. I believe this is the key advantage those of us who study abroad are able to gain and why I have become a true believer in the practice after my two trips.

Anyway, although I could probably write a 20 page paper on that subject, I will stop here to help my professor keep his sanity (although I’m sure he and all of you have probably given up by now).

After the lecture, we were able to do an interactive activity where we shared about ourselves with the local students in small groups. Our group was full of quiet girls who were a bit shy at first, but after some prodding we were able to have a very interesting conversation which I will talk a bit about for the academic reflection section.

When we were finished with the activity we were able to grab lunch and were given a brief tour of the campus before being dismissed. I chose to walk back after taking the train to Ilebukuro and got to explore more of the city.

Academic Reflection:

The activity today was a treat because we were all able to learn from each other and examine the cultural differences between ourselves. The question our group was asked was whether one day A.I. will become companions to many of us humans and what effects this could have on society. It seemed that those of us from the U.S. were unilaterally against the idea of having A.I. be our companions and were concerned about the loneliness such a societal change could bring. The Japanese students on the other hand were a bit more divided and some seemed to think such a development could help certain people who are isolated feel less lonely.

From what I have been able to observe, here in Japan, people are much more isolated from each other than in the U.S. (A good example of this in practice is that many restaurants have dividers between peoples seats to make interaction more difficult. I have not been able to determine a specific source to this issue, but I do have a few hypotheses). I am thinking that it is this increased isolation from one another that is the cause of this difference in answer.

Based on what I have learned about human psychology from my own observations and what I have learned from others, the more isolated someone feels, the more willing they are to fabricate a world in which they are not isolated (Our class’s prior conversation about otaku culture relates nicely to this). I believe what I have observed in my short time here in Japan is this very phenomenon, and I am excited to test this hypothesis as I continue my observations.

P.S. although I call it a hypothesis, at this point it is much more of an opinion based on my observations. I have no evidence to back up these observations, so there is a high possibility of outliers.

More tomorrow!

[yurious-george]

"my family isn't rich" and your family literally had hired help around the house. girl my family is poor as shit and we have never once moved to a foreign country and enlisted locals to clean our house ok

Have you heard of this fun thing called “being middle class”

Genuinely, we just got lucky. The company covered the vast majority of our expenses, and a thousand Ugandan shillings is like, 30¢. Not 30$, 30¢. Obviously my dad being paid a USA salary went a long way over there. I’m pretty sure housekeeping was covered by the company as well, until we moved from Kenya to Uganda (Info my bio is not 100% accurate, i lived about a year and a half in Kenya and the remaining three ish in Uganda. Gotta keep ‘em guessing.) anyway, if $30 is enough to feed someone for a week, you have no dishwasher and a house that regularly gets coated in iron-rich, staining Ugandan dust, and people are willing to work, why not pay them to make your life a little easier? They get money, we get a clean house, what’s the downside.

Cannot stress enough that $30 in USD, aka more than 10,000/= in USh, was enough to feed someone for a week, or at least several days. 20 pounds of bananas was equivalent to $5 USD. Don’t be like this man

I will say we were objectively much richer in east Africa than we ever were in the United States, especially because our permanent US home is in a very expensive city. We can’t afford a regular housekeeper here, in east Africa we had two and helped one of them pay for college. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ conversion rates & buying power

If you want to make up a narrative of me secretly being the top 1% I can’t stop you, but you would appear severely uneducated. I have the incredible good fortune of never risking homelessness or food insecurity, and to be able to afford to make other people’s lives better financially in a very poor country. That doesn’t make me upper class. I’m never gonna be able to afford a private mansion in this life or the next, or a billion dollars, or even regular opera tickets (TT_TT) - I think the class divide in the USA has gotten so severe that people can’t recognize when a middle class family got lucky. Like, when I was a kid middle class families could afford this stuff. A trip overseas every few years, college, the occasional big donation, owning a house, companies paying major finances for the good of their employees, etc. that doesn’t exist anymore. I’m sitting in a house that is currently worth 1.5 MILLION usd, that wasn’t half that much when my parents bought it 20 years ago. We do not have a million dollars. No one in my family has ever had a million dollars. I probably won’t be able to have the life and financial security my parents have, and tbh? that frightens me to hell.

I think my parents know that too. We hope for better times, live comfortably within our means, and try not to talk about it.