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jotarobutcat · 8 months

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Turns out sometimes you have to force yourself to heal

Healing can feel impossibly hard, especially when you've internalized unhealthy values from both your parents and the culture around you. This may look like a pretentious middle school essay, but the truth is, I just needed to write about my healing process, and where it all started, somewhere. This will be a long ride, so buckle up.

I might be happier right now if I had just stayed a bigot, and given all the hate inside me just the right amount of fuel it needs to prosper, but I just couldn't do that to my friends. Funnily enough, this whole process started from my best friend coming out to me as transgender, not from some "a-ha!" moment in the middle of the night like most of my decisions.

Back then, I was your average "good Christian girl", or at least that's what I strived for. I didn't have many friends, especially when it came to people I was in contact with outside of the internet. I'd pretty much lost two of the three friends I had in middle school after it ended; one completely cut contact with me and my remaining friend, and one I just... didn't see again, since we took different paths in life and weren't really that close anyway. I'd recently become friends with another person online, and this person was very much open about being LGBTQ+ when asked. I didn't have a problem with that, because "well, he doesn't rub his homosexuality in my face". She knew my views on things as well, since I was open about my religion and how my values followed what I had been taught by my mother and the church as morally right or wrong. Back then, my views on the topic of LGBTQ+ people were, in a nutshell, "I think it's wrong to date a person of the same sex, and so is changing your body from how God created it, but I'm not going to insult, degrade, misgender or deadname people because I'm not an asshole". So in short, I was a bigot, but not a zealot. When my best and only in-real-life friend came out to me as a trans man, I assured him that I had no problem with him being transgender, and would be using his chosen name and pronouns from then on forwards if he wished me to do so. In reality, I was full of confusion, since I didn't really know what being transgender *actually* meant. Now, I could've just left it at that, but I felt that in order to give my friend the full support he needs and deserves, I should be able to at least understand what he's actually going through. At that point, my knowledge of the term trans, when talking about gender, was limited to "people who have changed their sex". It's not too far off, but I had no idea why someone would change it and what exactly counts as a transgender person, since my friend was pre-everything at the time and thus obviously did not fit the definition I had known before.

So, I decided to investigate what being transgender really means. During that time I watched videos a lot from a certain youtuber, and I knew his friend, who had been in some of his videos, had a channel as well and often posted videos reading memes and posts from different LGBTQ+ subreddits. I previously had had no interest in them, but I figured I could give some trans-themed videos a try, because humour is usually what gives the most authentic image of a person, as long as you know how to actually read people, and it's also a popular way to share life experiences and thoughts without making it too serious. I think the first one of these videos I checked out was on the r/egg_irl subreddit. That video was eye-opening. Some of the memes were scarily relatable, and I ended up realizing a while later, after doing some more proper research on what being transgender meant, that I fit the definition myself. Suddenly a lot of things made sense; why I always felt a prideful joy whenever being sorted together with boys or men, and hated it when someone added my name or "and girl" after referring to the group with a masculine term. Why I hated being called pretty or beautiful, and would rather substitute it for being called ugly. Why I had little to no interest in barbies and baby dolls and was fascinated by dinosaurs and my brother's Hot Wheels cars instead. Why I would rather play alone than join other girls in their play in kindergarten, and felt excited and happy whenever any of the boys would let me play together with them instead. Why I always hated dresses so much and secretly wished I could wear a suit, being exhilarated when I finally asked permission to do so and was given the okay without an argument or a fight. Why I always found interest in what the boys in my class were talking about, even if they were annoying, and why I kept secretly wishing I could join their friend group instead even though I got along with the girls just fine. Why I was annoyed by girly things or topics to the point I would actively avoid them, and feel proud for not participating in "girl stuff". Why I'd feel proud of myself whenever I acted "boyish" or "manly" enough. Why I felt proud of being able to sing the national anthem in a low voice. Why I wasn't able to appreciate having a near ideal body for the local female beauty standards. Why I felt ashamed of my breasts and "birthing hips". Why I felt disappointed to the point of near crying when I was given permission by my mother to get my hair cut short, and the hairdresser cut it into a butterfly bob instead of the kind of "boy hair" I had imagined. There were so. many. things. I could lengthen the list even more, especially if I added in things I've only recently realized likely had a connection with my gender incongruence.

This realization eventually led to a big battle between the values I had adopted in early childhood and followed ever since, and the new information about myself that clashed with what I believed was "right by God". This contradiction coupled with all the transphobic gaslighting, both from my family and random people on the internet, and drove me to what I have only been able to describe as an episode of psychotic depression, at least up until now. I felt awful, and hated myself for not being how I thought I "should be". I started wondering if I had just been influenced by the internet and gotten brainwashed, and began doubting the authenticity of my own feelings and thoughts. I couldn't trust myself at all anymore, and now that I think about it, I guess this was probably how my OCD manifested for the first time. It was like my mind split into two, one of which was "me" or "I", the other one being, well, the brain, I guess, and it was hell trying to figure out which thoughts were *mine* and not just something my brain pushed into my head... or something I, or another person, put in my head either on accident or on purpose. It's something I still struggle with sometimes, but being able to identify the problem(s) has helped a lot, and made things a lot less excruciating to deal with at times.

Well, I got over that. Somewhat, at least. I ended up pretty much avoiding thinking about my views on religion in general and basing my life principles on my own opinions instead of "God's". I still have my doubts and guilt, and sometimes fall back into the anxiety of not knowing what I'm doing is right or not. I will definitely have to work these things out in therapy, but I'd like to believe I've made a lot of progress outside of it on my own as well. Transphobia and homophobia aren't the only kinds of unhealthy values I've had to heal myself from. One of the biggest things that has kept me from healing for a long time is the teachings of toxic masculinity, particularly the idea of "only women are emotional". Being a trans man who almost nobody dear to me recognizes as a man, I've been clinging to every little thing that would validate my masculinity, even if it's extremely unhealthy, for years. This didn't start from my realization about my gender, but instead had been going on since elementary school, possibly even longer than that.

I have a tendency of turning into my friends' therapist whenever I get to know they're having a rough time. I feel it's much easier to give advice to people than to look for a solution to my own problems. Maybe it's empathy, maybe it's just avoidance of the shit I should actually sort out, but turns out these backyard therapy sessions can be mutually beneficial. On the internet, different people dealing with similar problems are often drawn together, kind of like stand users. At one point, the advice I gave to my friends dealing with the same problems I had started feeling pretentious. "I go around giving people advice I don't even follow myself... I guess it's grand time I take my own advice and cut myself some slack."

That's where the actual healing process started. When I felt ashamed of the fact I made mistakes and felt like condemning myself for having emotions, I forced myself to tell myself the same things I had told my friends; "Everybody makes mistakes, and while it may feel awful, it's a natural part of life. You're not worth any less for that. We don't have to look for a solution right away." "You're hurting right now, but that's okay. You're allowed to hurt. You don't have to be all happy and bubbly all the time." "That's right. You're angry right now. And that's fine. You're allowed these feelings just like everyone else. Let yourself be angry."

Notice how all of these have to do with self-acceptance? Yeah, that's what a lot of us lack. We condemn the parts of us we, or others, don't like and give ourselves more and more wounds. All of these parts have their right spaces in our hearts, but we keep trying to "heal" those spots, thinking we need to make sure none of these "unpleasant" parts of us have no place in our hearts before we can start healing the actual wounds. In reality, trying to close up the spaces just results in more wounds.

Think about your heart like a crow playing with one of those boxes with different holes for different-shaped objects; if you hide one of the holes, the crow will keep trying to push the corresponding object through a different hole. Some of these objects are small but sharp, and they make scratches on the box when the crow tries to push them through the wrong holes. These scratches hurt a lot, but are often quite quick to heal. Some of these objects are big, but more blunt. They might not hurt as much immediately, but they leave large wounds that affect a bigger area and take a much longer time to heal. Some of these objects have two sides, one big and blunt, one sharp and small, and thus cause different types of wounds depending on where and how you try to put them.

We all have this crow and these objects. The crow is stubborn, and will keep looking for the right places to put the objects until it finds them. None of our crows know where to put these objects from birth, and aren't really that smart, so they will naturally make mistakes and try to shove them in the wrong spots. This causes a lot of scratches and dents on our hearts along the years, and it's easy to feel like it's better to just close your heart to these objects altogether. The crow, though, has no other place to put them, so it will keep looking for the right hole for the object it's holding, because it knows there's supposed to be one, and that will just cause more scratches and dents in the long run.

Our crows also have assigned instructors. Some have prepared in every possible way to make sure the box gets damaged as little as possible. They put in extra effort, even before becoming an instructor, and do a great job at taking care of both the box and the crow. Some try their best to take care of the crow, but haven't really internalized that they also have to teach it to handle the objects and the box. Some are there just because it was on their checklist, and either don't really care about the task at hand, or quickly become overwhelmed and end up hurting the crow, making it confused and unable to find the right places for the objects. Some end up with the job on accident, some were forced into it, some are never around, and some came thinking they were prepared, but ended up giving the crow the worst kind of instructions possible. You could probably guess that the objects are these less pleasant parts of us. Most of them are negative emotions like fear and anger, some of them are painful or traumatic experiences. The crow is the person itself. None of us know how to handle our emotions and experiences from birth, and that's exactly why most of us have been given instructors, which are typically our parents. Our parents can teach us to handle these "objects" properly, but most aren't capable or just willing enough to teach all of the in-and-outs of the subject, so we'll naturally have to figure some stuff out ourselves. After all, we'll be stuck with these objects for the rest of our lives, whether we like them or not. So right now this little crow is trying to figure out the proper way to handle these things, hopefully with an extra instructor (a therapist) in the future. I think I'm doing good at it, especially considering the fact that the only thing I was taught was to keep the objects to myself.

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freeuselandonorris · 10 months

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7, 24, 32 for the writer ask!

writing asks!!!

annoyingly i filled most of this out and then tumblr ate my answers SO take two!

What is your deepest joy about writing?

so this isn’t joy, per se, but i had a conversation with @lost-decade recently where i mentioned that i think a lot of my attraction to writing comes from the fact that i am, at heart, a horrible little control freak (positively unheard of in kink community etc etc) and thus it is very satisfying to me on a deep lizard brain level to put characters in situations and then make those situations conform to my wishes. my writing output always goes up dramatically when i am feeling overwhelmed or uncertain in life and i think this is a big part of it.

but also, i am a person who gets obsessed with things! i am all or nothing! i get obsessed with people (or rather their public personas, fourth wall and all that) and media and scenarios and kinks and tiny little details and big philosophical concepts. writing lets me poke at all those things. picture me like gollum holding a snow globe, shaking it up over and over again to watch how the flakes fall.

24. How much prep work do you put into your stories? What does that look like for you? Do you enjoy this part or do you just want to get on with it?

i’ll talk about fic first as that’s what people on here know me for writing-wise. the answer here is: it depends! for my slutty little one-shots i tend to do very little research; stuff like crosstown traffic or a lot like life are largely unplanned or inspired by one real-life event that sparks an idea (although i guess you could say i researched the njoy plug in a lot like life in the sense that i own one lmao).

with longer fics, particularly RPF, i LOVE fitting my fic timelines into real-life events. this is particularly satisfying with motorsport RPF because the races give the year a very particular and easy-to-research structure. so for longer fics like there was always warmth between us i watched a ton of youtube videos and clips of max and daniel for both timeline inspiration and characterisation (although honestly i read that fic back the other day and my dialogue for them is so generic at times gjrskjfs), plus i wrote it relatively soon after the season itself.

with the toto/christian sequel to all the blood runs hot before it’s cold i’m working on, i wrote myself some notes of what themes i want to explore, plus a timeline of last season so that i could tie those themes into the arc of the season, like so:

i probably won’t use all those notes in the final piece, but it gives me a structure to work from.

for original writing, again it depends. for short stories and poetry i tend to free write for a bit beforehand until something appears from the ether that i can use as a starting point. for my novel-in-progress, when i wrote the first draft i basically did…maybe a page of planning? this was a bad idea. it was a mess. i resisted planning for ages but eventually i had to admit that for long-form pieces i cannot adequately structure my writing without one. so i went back and wrote a very elaborate plan using the six-arc story structure, which allows for much more freedom than a traditional ‘save the cat’ style beat sheet. highly recommend. i try not to do too much research beforehand (which is hard given i’m writing a novel about AI, something i have very little practical knowledge of!) because i just get bogged down and end up procrastinating.

jeez, that was an essay.

32. What is a line from a poem/novel/fanfic etc that you return to from time and time again? How did you find it? What does it mean to you?

oh lol there are SO MANY. i have a few of them tattooed on me. let me answer all three of those with the first example that comes to mind:

for poem, ‘turning and turning in the widening gyre / the falcon cannot hear the falconer’ from the second coming by wb yeats haunts me. the whole poem haunts me, actually, for reasons that should be obvious upon reading. but those lines utterly terrify me.

for novel, again there’s hundreds but the one that first came to mind was ‘you can always count on a murderer for a fancy prose style’ from lolita by vladimir nabokov. lolita is one of the books i’ve re-read the most because it is a complete masterpiece, and this line embodies that to me. it’s clever, it’s funny, it’s defensive, it slides in a fantastically important plot point in the shape of a joke. amazing.

from fic, this is maybe a random example but the first one i thought of was this line from darkest little paradise (F1, pierre/charles) by heroics: 'Charles clutches him for another moment, squeezes the back of Pierre’s neck, resists the urge to drop to his knees right here and let Pierre do whatever he wants with Charles’s soft body.' i don’t know what it is about it, something about ‘soft body’. it’s just a line that has really stuck with me as a beautiful example of a dynamic (both in the relationship sense and, a bit, in the kink sense) described with such restraint.

eta: fuck at risk of making this post even more unnecessarily long i just realised i would be utterly remiss not to mention ‘She wants to know where this moral fortitude was when he had her flat on her back in that dark little cottage. Wonders if he had to fuck her to find it. If she has to always be the one to pay for it.’ from @widespindriftgaze’s astonishing taskmaster RPF masterpiece broke both early and late (part 2 in a series), which i have never managed to read without crying.

thank you for asking! ❤️

from this writing asks post. i love shit like this (as you can see from how fuckin long this got); please feel free to ask more if you're reading this!

#ask meme #fic meta

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randomleafoflove · 2 years

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Lan Qiren is away for a Discussion Conference, Wuxian continues poking holes in his arguments.

Wuxian plopped opposite of Lan Zhan and set his armful of reference books on the table between them. Lan-xiansheng had assigned them an essay for the time he’d be away at the discussion conference. Wuxian wanted at least an outline and his source list done before dinner. Then he could write the final essay at any given point, rather than scramble to get it all done during the last day before classes resumed. The topic was something shijie’d call sexist garbage, Why women are more likely to become ghosts? Discuss yin energy and the ease with which it gets corrupted.

Lan Zhan glanced at his reference books, and then did a double take.

“Like them?” Wuxian grinned. “I think most of the answers for xiansheng’s essay can be found in these.”

“Those are law books.”

“Yes, they are. And collected reports of your sect’s ghost hunts. I had no idea you kept such thorough records.”

“It’s an essay on yin energy.”

“No it’s not. The question is worded so that it leads the reader to think the only reason women become ghosts more often than men is that they are easier to corrupt, rather than asking why female ghost are more common. Have you ever talked to a minor government official who’s so puffed up on his own importance that he treats his underlings terribly? Or a poor farmer who seems like geniality personified, but whose wife and children flinch from him? Don’t answer that, of course you haven’t. My point is, men can be corrupted just as easily as women, but their corruption is more secular, and they more often than not get their burial rites. Women, on the other hand, are often treated like possessions, and in many cases do not get their burial rites. Being treated like a possession would create resentment in anyone, not just women. It’s why most of the male ghosts that do appear were slaves or prisoners, who also do not merit their rites. Or murder victims. So I am going to argue that yin energy is in fact not any more easily corruptible than yang energy, but the problem is how society treats women.” He grinned at the stunned Lan Zhan. “I hope your uncle keeps calming medicine nearby when he grades these.”

Wuxian started reading though his research material and absently noted the Lan Zhan started to read them too.

‘*’*’*’*’*’*’*’*’*’

Wuxian grinned the whole time in class when Lan-xiansheng collected their essays. Oh, to be a fly on the wall when he read them!

And to think Lan Zhan had thought he might have a point! Of course, Wuxian hadn’t read Lan Zhan’s essay, and for all he knew, Lan Zhan had argued the exact opposite of his point, but they’d shared the source material AND a table the whole time they’d been working. Wuxian had also sent a copy of his essay back home for his cohort.

Wuxian pouted inwardly. Letters took so long to arrive. He wanted to know what shijie thought of his essay now, when it was still fresh, and not in a tenday’s time when his excitement had burnt out already. Someone really should do something about the slow communication between faraway places. The Jin butterfly messages hardly counted; they could only deliver a very short message.

He remembered the way shijie’s voice had been projected into the isolation chamber. Shijie called it a far speaker, but it only went one way for a short distance. What he wanted, was something that let him speak to shijie while still in Gusu and have shijie answer back immediately. In far speaker he already had the part that captured voice, and the part that released the voice, the speaker part. He just had to figure out the distance part of it.

He'd read what the Lan sect library had on space manipulation, like qiankun seals and hidden chambers. If… Maybe a qiankun space that could be opened in two places at once?

Drowning out Lan-xiansheng’s droning voice going on about the dangers of female cultivators (what was his problem with women anyway? Did he get rejected so badly he never recovered and now he hated the entire sex?), Wuxian sunk into thought, his eyes glazing over.

Lan Wangji couldn’t pay proper attention to his uncle, Wen Wuxian was very prettily framed by the window from his angle, even with his disgraceful posture.

No waterborn abyss in Biling lake this time. There was some water ghouls, but Lan Xichen took care of those easily enough on his own.

@seafoamsandwhich you wanted to be tagged, right?

#mo dao zu shi #grand master of demonic cultivation #fanfic #wei wuxian #lan wangji #lan qiren #wen xiachen #cloud recesses #owe it all 'verse #wen wuxian

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wobspots · 25 days

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Toyhouse progress log #3

(this is from two days ago, may 26th. i just got too lazy to post here at the time)

i spent the whole day coding/organizing things!

first i finished filling in that directory template from yesterday, but halfway through i knew it wasn't what i wanted. still, i finished it for practice and bc its nice to see it all working and with my images and whatnot x33 i still left it as the default page that opens when you access "characters", since it looks so nice.

also! i realized in the middle of making the gifs to put in this entry that i can just paste the code as it is directly onto the comment on toyhouse. tbh its so much work for little result to make the demonstration gifs just for a tumblr version of a post, so ill just skip it lol here's the link to my th comment, where i pasted the code as it was as of writing this

i do love the way it turned out, but i really wanted to have ALL my characters at easy(er) access. ideally, i'd have, like, three really simple folder pages. I tried messing with the code above to include more, but ended up just breaking everything and learned the hard way to keep backups of my code between changes lol.

so i decided to just do everything from scratch. what confuses the the most in fill-in codes is the styling and div part, so by doing something simple from the ground up i can avoid breaking the code bc i dont understand how it works! So i reorganized my folders in a way where i can group all characters from a season (in an rpg campaign) in one page, which also meant refiling my characters into those, ordering them and making character profiles for the other PCs in the party, like this:

(peep the 7hr who's lila video essay i was watching)

note to self: i should add a warning explaining the whole "characters that are not mine and not credited bc creators are ppl ik irl that have given me permission to do this but dont want to link their personal ig accs to this random furry site theyve never heard of" thing... dont think it needs to be on my profie, but maybe on the rpg folder. could also make a ribbon.

smth else i need to figure out is how im gonna make miyamoto and tanaka show up on both the seasons1n2 party folder and the season 3 party folder... i wanted to just use the raw toyhouse folder ui but i cant add a character into more than one folder... maybe i can make just the party folders in html?

so. since now i have two folders that just have other folders inside them and no characters, ill just use those to host a simple html page that looks a bit nicer and maybe explains its contents. to make it clearer, i have my rpg folders organized like this:

that means that when you open the "RPG" folder all you get is a link to the "ordem" and the "xogunato" folders. just a rlly boring unnecessary page. so what i did is i wrote some html (from scratch!!!!! look at meee!!!!!!) and made that into a prettier page, where instead of just the plain text link you get a themed image for each campaign!

once again linking to the th comment that archives how that page looked then

the other page i need to do is the "xogunato", so im thinking of even adding some text explaining what each season was and the whole "i rlly wanted this to be historically accurate and absolutely spot free of any stereotypes but i couldnt bc that is A LOT of research and reflection and energy i didnt have as a 15 y/o failing online school and barely keeping my sanity during a fucking pandemic. also i needed to make a character in 2 days bc my gm invited me last minute. and also even if i somehow just obtained that knowledge instantly it still wouldnt be enough to be 100% "clean" bc ttrpgs are collaborative storytelling and all the other players INCLUDING THE GM were absolutely NOT down to doing that work, yk, as other 15 y/os going through the same shit" context/content warning. hold on i lost my train of thought

so yeah this is what i did todayyyy!!! im rlly happy with my first big boy code hehe :3c

#my progress #th progress log #toyhouse

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mikpan · 8 months

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Just Write About Yourself: Easier Said Than Done

When thinking about college, you usually think it is all fun and games, but the process to get there can be a nightmare. Many will struggle through the process, if not given the necessary help and explanations of every step. I am fortunate enough to have teachers and counselors who explain the process step by step, and help with anything that might be confusing. That can not be said for other students who do not have that same privilege. This is especially true for the process of writing the college admissions essay. This is not just any essay, it is a summary of the last 17 years of your life. You are supposed to write about challenges you faced and how you overcame them in 650 words or less. Anyone who is asked to do that, and not taught properly about it, would have a difficult time. It is a difficult thing to do. When asking admissions officers what colleges want in the admissions essay, they will often say “Colleges just want to get to know you better”, but what does that actually mean?

The genre of the college admissions essay is “personal statement”. You are supposed to write about your personal experiences and how you have grown from that. That is easier said than done. James Warren, professor at the University of Arlington Texas and author of the study “The Rhetoric of College Admissions Essays”, believes that the essay is a “personal statement masquerading as a personal narrative”. I find this to be very true considering the whole point of the essay is to convince college admissions counselors that you are a good candidate for their school based on the challenges you have faced in life and how you learn from them. This can prove to be an issue for the kids who believe they have never faced significant challenges in life. What are they supposed to write about? Picking the topic of the college essay is another thing that needs to be taught to students who are applying to college. They shouldn’t have to figure it out on their own without any help. That help could be the difference between a college acceptance or rejection. The college essay is supposed to be all about how you can bring diversity to the college campus. Diversity, according to the study "How Do I Bring Diversity?" Race and Class in the College Admissions Essay” by Anna Kirkland and Ben B. Hansen, is not just race and ethnicity, but what makes you different and sets you apart from the other students on campus. This should be shown through your essay, but how do you do that? How are we supposed to figure out what separates us from other candidates?

In the articles “Social class influences where even valedictorians go to college, research finds”by Paul Fain and “Getting In” by Malcolm Gladwell, a common theme of teachers not fully going in depth about the college admissions essay and process is recurring. Glaswell specifically mentions how he was not taught how to even apply, granted the process was very simple and only required ranking the colleges he wanted to go to. Warren taps into this theme in his study, and explains that students are unfamiliar with the college essay prompts, which can lead to them writing an essay that doesn’t even answer the question. Warren suggests that teachers should teach their students to tailor their essays to the specific expectations of particular institutions. Warren also believes that students should consider their audience when writing their admissions essay. Not everyone is going to be able to understand and relate to the struggle you talk about in your essay. It is important to remember that when writing. June Jordan, famous poet and author, also believes this when it comes to writing in Black English Versus “proper English”. In her essay “Nobody Mean More to Me than You And the Future Life of Willie Jordan'', she talks about how it is more difficult to write in a language that is not your dominant language, for example writing in “proper English” when you mainly communicate in Black English. Despite this she emphasizes considering your audience, and how most people in the world do not understand Black English. If you write your essay in Black English, and the admissions officer reading it does not understand this type of English, it might undermine the point you are trying to make.

The college admissions essay is supposed to be the factor that helps determine if you are the right person for that particular college. If you are the best candidate to help diversify the institution, or the person who will best connect with the community already established by that university. The college admissions essay is the most difficult, yet most rewarding essay you will ever have to write.

This is a picture of three of the many necklaces I own. These ones in particular are my favorite. Each one holds special memories that range from when I received them to special moments in my life that happened while I was wearing them. I never leave the house without at least one around my neck. They have all been gifted to me by various family members and each one holds a special place in my heart. The first one was gifted to me by my aunts. It was for my conformation, which happened in the middle of COVID, so we did not get the ceremony we deserved. This was the first of the three necklaces I received. The second necklace was a gift from my dad for Christmas. What makes this one special is we picked it out together. We went into the store and picked out the necklace that we both liked the best and one that we thought I would get the most use out of. To this day, this is the necklace that I wear the most out of all of the ones I own. The last necklace was the most recent edition to my collection. It was a gift from my grandma, and I feel that this is the most special to me out of all of them. She bought it from a jewelry store from her hometown in Italy, which already makes it special. On top of that, my aunts, my cousins, my sister, and I all have the same one. The charm is an Italian horn which is a good luck charm and is meant to protect whoever wears it. I was in a completely different time in my life when I received all three of these necklaces, but they each hold a special place in my heart.

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desiredmalfoy · 3 years

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Future Mrs. Malfoy

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader

Genre: Fluff! So much Fluff!

Universe: No Voldemort. No War :) No trauma

Word Count: 1.3k

Masterlist

(Credit to the owner of the gif)

I’m back with more Draco fluff! My speciality! :) Draco calls with reader Malfoy instead of by her last name.

”This assignment must be completed with your partner. Only turn in one set with both names written on it” Professor Slughorn paced the room in between the tables filled with Slytherin and Gryffindor students. “You must research the ingredients needed for the Draught of Living Death Potion, how to make this potion, and what is it that it does.”

“This must be done by the next class before you actually brew the potion.” Professor Slughorn stopped in front of Dean and Seamus for the next part, as if directly speaking to them. “This is a very powerful potion and you must get it right.”

You turned to Draco who was sitting next to you and gave him a smile, he saw you and winked. Having the best potions student as your boyfriend had its perks.

“You will be given the remaining of the class to finish this assignment, but I expect you to have the assignment completed by the next class.”

“Let’s get started darling”, Draco pulled out parchment paper from his bag and set it on the table.

“I’m so glad I have you as my partner for potions.”

“What would you do without me” Draco teased you lightly as he poked your side with his quill.

“Go and partner up with Potter”, you giggled into your palm as Draco looked over at you, definitely not amused with your joke. “I’m joking babe. I wouldn’t even go near Potter.”

“Good”, he muttered underneath his breath. “Now let’s get started. I want to finish this here so we don’t have to worry about it later.”

“You owe me a kiss for that joke by the way,” Draco added with a smirk as he wrote your names on the top of the parchment. You didn’t even pay attention to that at the moment. But he had written Draco & (Y/N) Malfoy on the top of it.

“Fine, you’ll get all the kisses you want later.”

“All that I want?”

You were currently in Draco’s dorm after a tiring day of class. Both of you had just finished your days and had returned from dinner. You grabbed your bag looking for your favorite lip gloss when you pulled out the graded assignment that Slughorn had handed back today. You hadn’t noticed before but the top of the paper where your names were placed read: Draco & (Y/N) Malfoy.

You walked to where Draco was laying on the bed after just showering and getting ready to relax for a bit. You laid down next to him with the parchment paper still in your hand.

“Draco it seems you forgot to write my full name.” You sat up and handed him the parchment papers so he could see his mistake. He grabbed them from you and barely looked at them.

“I didn’t darling.” He stated simply as he handed them back to you. “I’m just using the last name you’ll have one day so you can get used to it.”

“Draco”, you whined as you placed your head in a pillow in an attempt to hide your reddening cheeks.

“You know we are practically engaged,” he lifted your head gently off the pillow so that you were looking at him.

“We were five when you proposed to me”, you laughed at the memory of you and Draco when you were younger.

You had come over to Malfoy Manor with your mother who was having tea with Narcissa Malfoy. You were currently playing in the garden with Draco who you had known since you both were babies. Many playdates later and the both of you were basically inseparable. He was your best friend in the whole world.

“I have a surprise for you”, Draco said as his tiny hand grabbed yours to guide you in the direction of the bench near Narcissa’s garden.

“What is it “, you asked excitedly, smiling widely as you sat on the bench as Draco stood in front of you.

“This ring”, Draco grabbed a small box from his pocket. He opened the box and pulled out a ring with an emerald in the middle. “Mother let me get it for you.”

“It's so pretty”, you squealed as you let him put it on your finger.

“My mommy has one that my dad gave to her when they got married.” You explained to him as you were still looking at the ring on your finger.

“We should get married when we’re older. Do you want to marry me when we're older?” Draco said as he now took the seat right next to you.

“Okay!”

Your parents thought it was the cutest thing ever.

“You still have that ring and wear it everyday darling”, he grabbed the small ring on the necklace around your neck, playing with the tiny ring. When it had become too small to wear, you had placed it on a necklace to wear instead. It was a simple silver band with a tiny green emerald in the middle. The Malfoy’s didn’t play when it came to jewelry, even when it was little Draco giving it to you.

“Plus remember when I gave you these”, Draco grabbed your hand and pointed at the matching snake ring you both had as well as the small diamond ring, a Malfoy family heirloom.

“Of course I do babe” you remembered fondly the summer before sixth year when you had stayed at Malfoy Manor for a month. Your parents had gone off on a trip, which you did not want to go on, had allowed you to stay with the Malfoys. They had been long family friends and they didn’t see any issue staying with them for a long extended period of time.

“Do you remember what I said to you darling”, he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you into a hug. You threw the papers in your hand to the floor as laughter escaped to you. He placed multiple kisses all over your face.

“Yes! You said it’s just a placeholder for my actual engagement ring.” You snuggled in closer to him as he tickled your side lightly. “And you said it would also let any other guy know to not even get near me.”

“I wasn’t joking you know”, Draco mumbled as he kissed the top of your hair.

“I know.”

“You’re the future Mrs. Malfoy you should get used to being called your future last name now.”

----

“(Y/L/N), I need to borrow your notes for Divination.” Theo said as he walked to the table that you and Draco were currently sitting at. “I accidentally lost mine.”

“Malfoy”, Draco said without turning his attention from his essay in front of him. The both of you were currently sitting in the Slytherin common room studying when Theo came up to you.

“What’, Theo looked over to you confused at what Draco had said.

“Malfoy, that is her future last name so please refer to her as that instead”, Draco said while still looking down at his work, as if to imply that this should be common knowledge by now.

“Okay, (Y/L/N)-- I mean Malfoy or whatever last name you are using, can I please borrow them?” You playfully rolled your eyes at your boyfriend's antics.

“Here you go Theo”, you said as you handed a still confused Theo the notes from the table. “Don’t lose these too.”

“Thanks Malfoy”, Theo said teasingly as he walked away from you. “And I won’t.”

“See I told you it would catch on.”

“It will if you tell everyone to call me Malfoy.”

------

It was only a year after you had graduated from Hogwarts that you were officially engaged to Draco Malfoy.

He had gotten down on one knee on your anniversary and asked you to be his wife.

You excitedly agreed with tears streaming down your face. He gave you a ring that was a combination of both your previous rings. This one though had your first name initial and Malfoy engraved in the inside of the band.

-----

Months later you stood in the front of all your friends and family where you were officially announced as Mrs. Draco Malfoy.

You were now a Malfoy. Even though he had been calling you Malfoy for years now.

(Y/N) Malfoy.

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devildomimagines · 3 years

Note

Solomon: Simeon broke the Purgatory Hall's router, so I'm borrowing your guys' router for a bit. Hope you don't mind.

How do bros react?

I'm not gonna lie, I laughed when this came in. I took this as Solomon hanging around the HOL but as I was writing I realized you might have meant Solomon taking the router so I put that in Levi’s part.

Belphegor

He probably wouldn’t notice at first.

Rudely awakened, in his opinion, by an explosion below his room in the attic.

He was going to go back to sleep but when he smelled the lingering smoke, he figured he should check it out.

Yawning, he opens the door and finds Solomon fanning a cauldron while reading through his tablet.

“Belphegor! Did I wake you? I’m sorry, there was an unexpected reaction.”

Always one to get right to the point, Belphie asks, “Why are you here?”

“MC said I could come over. Simeon broke the Purgatory Hall’s router, so I’m borrowing your guys’ for a bit. Hope you don’t mind.”

Belphie furrowed his brow and answered, “No, just keep it down or move somewhere else.” Ultimately he didn’t care as long as his naps wouldn’t be interrupted.

Beelzebub

Beel was on the way out of the kitchen and passed Solomon sitting on the couch in the common room.

He was a few steps from passing the room completely when the sight of Solomon finally registered. He took a few steps back.

Solomon giggled as Beel came back into view. “Hello~”

Beel popped a chip in his mouth as he replied, “Hi Solomon, no offense but what are you doing here?”

“No offense taken, Simeon broke the Purgatory Hall’s router, so I’m borrowing your internet for a bit. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Ah. I don’t mind.” Then a thought popped up, “Does Lucifer know you’re here?”

“MC invited me so I assumed they asked permission.”

Beel nodded, “Probably. See you.” He then headed towards his room to get ready for a run. He also doesn’t really care.

Asmodeus

“Solomon!?” Asmo gasps, “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming over!?”

Solomon sighed, “If I told you then I wouldn’t get any work done.”

“Work?” Asmo walked over and rubbed Solomon’s shoulders. Asmo scanned the papers spread over the dining room table and the website pulled up on Solomon’s laptop.

“Simeon broke the Purgatory Hall's router, so I'm borrowing your guys' router for a bit. Hope you don't mind.”

“Of course not! You’re always welcome!” Asmo smiled warmly at his pact partner.

Solomon couldn’t help smiling back, “Do you want to join us? MC should be back shortly with some snacks.”

“How can I say no to my two favorite humans?” Asmo giggled, “I’ll go grab my school bag.”

Satan

Irritation flared as he came across someone sitting in his favorite chair in the HOL’s library.

The flash of white hair had him seeing red, he was ready to rip Mammon out of the chair with force if needed.

When he stomped around to be face to face with the wrongdoer, he was taken back, “S-Solomon?”

“Oh hi Satan! Doing some reading?” Solomon gestured to the book in the blond’s hand.

“Mhm,” he hummed as he wrangled in his wrath but he couldn’t stop his next statement’s bite, “What are you doing in our library?”

“Simeon broke the Purgatory Hall's router, so I'm borrowing your guys' router a bit for research on this project. Hope you don't mind.”

Satan nodded, “That’s fine.” He resigned himself to his second favorite chair, “Simeon sure does have a penchant for breaking technology in unexplainable ways.”

“Right?” Solomon laughed and the two settled into an amiable silence.

Leviathan

30 minutes to release, Levi reminded himself. One of his favorite animes was premiering their season and series finale and he was binge watching the show to be ready. He had it timed perfectly, he’d wrap up 5 minutes before, get some water and snacks and settle in.

At 20 minutes, his TV and computer both went black. He freaked out and when they both booted up with an interrupted connection error he stormed from his room.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing!?” Levi yelled with a pointed finger as he found Solomon packing up the router.

“Simeon broke the Purgatory Hall's router, so I'm borrowing your guys' router for a bit. Hope you don't mind.”

“I absolutely do mind!” Levi ripped the router from the bag and started plugging it back in. As it reestablished the connection, he looked at the time, 10 minutes!

“Well what am I supposed to do, MC said I could use it for a bit?” Solomon looked to Levi for answers.

Hating to cross MC and also running out of time Levi said, “I don’t know, just work on the project here? I need the internet for the release of the season finale that’s dropping…” another glance at the time, “in 5 minutes! Whatever you do, don’t unplug that router or I’ll come hunt you down.” Levi made a gesture that he was watching the sorcerer and then bolted from the room.

Mammon

He wasn’t doing anything important, just scrolling through Devilgram when the video wouldn’t load. Weird, he thought, refreshed and now his whole timeline wouldn’t load. His D.D.D. was still connected to the internet so he figured Levi was playing around with too many devices.

He pushed himself up out of bed to give the third born a piece of his mind.

On his way to Levi’s room, he found Solomon posted up in the common room. He had his laptop and tablet on the table with paperwork scattered around. It looked like he was taking a break by looking at his D.D.D. just as Mammon had been.

“So it was you, sucking up all the internet,” Mammon accosted.

Solomon jumped, he looked embarrassed to have been caught on his phone, “Hello Mammon. Simeon broke the Purgatory Hall's router, MC said I could borrow your guys' router for a bit. Hope you don't mind.”

Mammon wanted to tell Solomon to get lost but if MC had given the ok... Mammon felt conflicted and when Solomon smiled, he knew he was right where the wizard wanted him.

“Whatever! I’m heading out anyway,” Mammon grumbled and decided to head to a casino, he deserved to blow off some steam.

Lucifer

Lucifer sighed, how did I end up like this? He looked up from his office chair at Solomon typing away on his laptop.

Originally MC asked if Solomon could come over to finish his essay. He hadn’t minded as long as MC was with him, not totally trusting the sorcerer to keep his nose out of the secrets of the House of Lamentation.

Solomon had come over earlier than MC had mentioned, “Simeon broke the Purgatory Hall's router. I hope you don't mind that I’m early but I have other assignments that I need to get done.”

MC wasn’t back yet so Lucifer led him inside and to his office, offering it was a good quiet spot to focus until MC returned. The unsaid added benefit that he could keep Solomon under his watchful eye.

The next time Lucifer looked up, he caught Solomon’s gaze. He narrowed his eyes, “Were you watching me?”

“Maybe,” Solomon shrugged, “Were you watching me?”

Lucifer sighed again as he thought, when was MC going to be back?

#obey me #obey me crack #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me asmodeus #obey me satan #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #my writing #anon squad #obey me solomon

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elamarth-calmagol · 3 years

Text

What actually is LACE? (an informal essay)

What’s LACE?

Laws and Customs among the Eldar, or LACE, is the most popular section of the History of Middle Earth books. It's available online as a PDF here: http://faculty.smu.edu/bwheeler/tolkien/online_reader/T-LawsandCustoms.pdf . There’s a lot of LACE analysis in the fandom, Silmarillion smut fics are usually labeled “LACE compliant” or “not LACE compliant”, and I’ve been seeing the document itself show up in actual fics, meaning that the characters themselves are discussing it.

LACE is an unfinished, non-canonical essay split into several parts. It covers the sexuality of elves, which is mostly what people talk about. It also covers elvish naming (which I want to make a whole different post about), the speed at which elves grow up, changes that happen throughout their lives, their death and rebirth, and finally the legal and moral issues of Finwe remarrying after Miriel’s death. The discussion about rebirth conflicts with Tolkien’s later writings about Glorfindel’s re-embodiment, but to the best of my knowledge, LACE is the best or only source for most of the topics it covers.

However, LACE is not canon since it doesn’t show up in the Silmarillion. Counting all of the History of Middle Earth as canon is literally impossible, considering Tolkien contradicts himself all over the place. It is only useful because it has so much information that is never discussed in the actual canon. Many people consider it canon out of convenience.

Another important thing to remember is that, other than presumably the discussion of the growth of elvish children, the information is only supposed to apply to the Eldar (meaning the Vanyar, Noldor, Teleri, and Sindar) and not the dark-elves such as the Silvan elves and Avari.

The rest is behind the cut to avoid clogging your feeds.

Problems with LACE interpretations

But because it’s hidden in the History of Middle Earth (volume 10, Morgoth’s Ring), barely anyone actually gets the opportunity to read it. I don’t think most people are aware that you can get it online, so it doesn't get read much.

I feel like this leads to a handful of people saying something about LACE and everyone else going along with it. I definitely did this. I was amazed by all the things that were in the actual essay that nobody had ever told me about, or had told me incorrectly. For example, most people seem to believe that elves become married at the completion of sexual intercourse (whatever that means to the fic author). In fact, LACE explicitly says that elves must take an oath using the name of Eru in order to be legally married. Specifically:

It was the act of bodily union that achieved marriage, and after which the indissoluble bond was complete… [I]t was at all times lawful for any of the Eldar, being both unwed, to marry thus of free consent one to another without ceremony or witness (save blessings exchanged and the naming of the Name); and the union so joined was alike indissoluble.

I’ve seen a marriage oath being included in a few stories recently, but most writers leave out the oath entirely and just have sex be automatically equivalent to marriage. What would happen if elves had sex without swearing an oath? I don’t know, but I’d love to see it explored.

Then there’s a footnote that might explicitly deny the existence of transgender elves... or not, but I’ve literally only seen it mentioned once or twice. Overall, I feel like all of LACE is filtered through the handful of people who read it, and we’re missing out on a lot of metanalysis and interpretations that we could have because most fans never see the actual document.

Who wrote LACE?

I mean within the mythology of Middle Earth, of course. Since LACE appears in the History of Middle Earth and not the Silmarillion, we can be pretty sure that J.R.R. Tolkien himself wrote it and it wasn’t added to by Christopher Tolkien. But that’s not the question here. Remember that Tolkien’s frame narrative for all of his Middle Earth work is that he is a scholar of ancient times and is translating documents from Westron and Sindarin for modern audiences to read and understand. The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings come from the Red Book of Westmarch, and I believe The Silmarillion is meant to be Tolkien’s own writings based on his research (though it might also be an adaption of Bilbo’s “Translations from the Elvish”, but I haven't looked into that). So what does LACE come from?

Christopher Tolkien admits in his notes that he doesn’t know. He says, “It is clear in any case that this is presented as the work, not of one of the Eldar, but of a Man,” and I agree, because of the way it seems to be written as an ethnographic study rather than by someone who lives in the culture. Honestly, it talks too much about how elves are seen by Men (e.g. speculating that elf-children might look like the children of Men) to be written by an elf. This changes once it gets to the Doom of Finwe and Miriel, but that could be, and probably is, a story told to the writer by an elf who was there at the time.

Tolkien actually references Aelfwine in the second version of the text. The original story behind The Lost Tales, which was the abandoned first version of the Silmarillion, was that a man from the Viking period named Aelfwine/Eriol stumbled onto the Straight Road and found himself on Tol Eressea. He spoke to the elves and brought back their stories to England with him. So it makes a lot of sense that Aelfwine would also write about the lives and customs of the elves for an audience of his own people.

Does LACE exist in Middle Earth?

I keep finding fics where first age elves discuss “the Laws and Customs” openly, as if it’s a text in their own world. I usually get the impression that it was brought by the Noldor from Valinor. But did the document actually exist in that time period? For me, the answer is definitely not.

First of all, LACE was probably written by a Man, meaning it could not have dated back to Valinor in the years of the Trees, because Men hadn’t awaked yet. In fact, the closest thing to an established frame narrative for it is that it was written by Aelfwine, who comes from the time period around 1000 CE (though Tolkien doesn’t seem to have pinned him down). This is at least the fifth age, if not later.

But what if you don’t believe that it was written by a Man? It still couldn’t have been written in the First Age, because it discusses the way the relationship between elves’ bodies and souls changes as ages go by. For example:

As ages passed the dominance of their fear ever increased, ‘consuming’ their bodies... The end of this process is their ‘fading’, as Men have called it.

A lot of time has to go by in order for elves to get to the point of fading. As a bonus, here’s another reference to the perspective of Men. LACE also discusses the dangers that “houseless feas”, which are souls of elves who do not go to Mandos after their bodies died, pose to Men. How would they have known about that in the First Age? It further says that “more than one rebirth is seldom recorded” (which isn’t contradicted anywhere I know of), and that’s not something you would know during your life of joy in Valinor, where almost nobody dies. That’s something you learn after millennia of war. This has to be a document written well after the Silmarillion ends.

So what about the sex part? That’s all we care about, right? Well, it is entirely possible that this was written down by the elves and Aelfwine translated it (though my impression is that he mostly recorded stories told orally to him and that elves were not very much into writing, at least in Valinor where you could get stories directly from someone who experienced them). However, why would the elves write this down? They know how quickly their children grow up. They’ve seen actual marriages. They don’t need that described to them. And if they did have a specific document or story explaining the expectations of them when it comes to sex and marriage, why would they call it “Laws and Customs”? That’s a very strange name for a set of rules for conduct. I’m sure they had a list of laws written out somewhere in great detail, like our own state or national laws (that seems very in character for the Noldor, at least). But I seriously doubt that those laws are what we’ve been given to read. LACE is not an elvish or Valinoran document.

Is LACE prescriptive or descriptive?

Here’s the other big question I’m interested in. Prescriptive means that the document describes the way people should behave. Descriptive means that it describes how people do behave. And the more I worldbuild for Middle Earth and the culture of elves, the more I want to say that LACE is prescriptive in its discussion of sex, marriage, and gender roles.

But wait. I’ve been saying for paragraphs that I think LACE is Aelfwine or another Man’s ethnographic study of elvish culture. Then it has to be descriptive, right?

Does it? How long do we think Aelfwine stayed with the elves? Did he wait fifty years to see a child grow up? Did he get to witness a wedding ceremony? Did he meet houseless fea? I don’t think he could have done all of that. Maybe a different Man who spent his entire life with the elves could, but then when was this written? When the elves were still marrying and having children in Middle Earth or when so much time had gone by that they had begun to fade already?

Whoever wrote this was told a lot of information by elves instead of experiencing it firsthand, the same way he heard the stories from the First Age from the elves instead of being there. Maybe it was one elf who talked to him, maybe several different ones. But did those elves accurately describe their society the way it was, give him the easiest description, or explain the way it was supposed to be? If I was describing modern-day America, would I discuss premarital sex or just our dating and marriage customs? Maybe people would come away from a talk with me thinking that moving in together equated to marriage for Americans in the early 21st century. And I don’t even have an agenda to show America in a certain way, I'm just bad at explaining. Did the elves talking to what may have been the first Man they had seen in millennia have an agenda in the way they presented themselves?

Or did the writer himself have an agenda? Imagine going to see these beautiful, mythical, perfect beings, and you find out that they behave in the same immoral ways Men do. Do you want to share the truth back home? Or do you leave out things that don't match your worldview? Did Aelfwine come back wanting to tell people what elves were really like? Or did he want to say “this is how you can be holy and perfect like an elf”?

Anyone studying the Age of Exploration will tell you that Europeans neber wrote about new cultures objectively, and often things were made up to fit the writer’s idea of what savages looked like. For example, my Native American history teacher in college told a story of how explorers described one tribe who (sensibly) didn't wear clothes as cannibals, because cannibalism and going around naked went together in their minds and not because of any actual incident. Unbiased scholarship barely existed yet. Even Tolkien was extremely biased and tended to be imperialistic, as we all know. There’s absolutely no reason to think that Aelfwine wasn’t biased in his own way. (Of course, now we have to consider what biases a Danish or English man from the centuries around 1000 would have when it comes to things like gender roles. I assume he would have been more into divorce and female warriors than the elves are said to be.)

But is that what Tolkien intended? Probably not. He probably wanted LACE to be descriptive. But he also never got much of a chance to analyse the essay after the fact, which might have led to him discussing its accuracy and even the exact issues I just pointed out about explorers. Anyway, we know he's biased, and honestly, what he intended has never slowed down the fandom before.

Conclusion

In short, I take LACE to be a prescriptive document describing the way elvish culture is supposed to be, not a blueprint I have to stick to in order to correctly portray elves. I also don’t believe the document that’s available for us to read existed even in the early Fourth Age, where The Lord of the Rings leaves off. There maybe have been some document outlining the moral behavior of elves, as a set of laws, but thats not the Laws and Customs we have.

Of course, canon is up to you to interpret. If you want Feanor discussing LACE with someone back in Valinor, go ahead. If you want to throw out LACE entirely, go ahead. It’s not even a canonical essay. All of this analysis is honestly useless when you consider the fact that no part of LACE exists in any canonical book.

But that’s Tolkien analysis for you.

#lotr #silmarillion #tolkien #laws and customs of the eldar #history of middle earth #silm #analysis #meta #headcanon #long post #mine

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mithrilwren · 3 years

Text

I really, really wanted to contribute something to Essek Week, but unfortunately with two essays and a novel chapter due by Monday, I didn’t have the time or mental energy to write anything new. Cue me remembering that I’d actually started working on an Essek-centric shadowgast Pirate!AU last summer, that never saw the light of day! Though I did a whole bunch of research for it, summer ended before I could get farther than the first couple chapters. Still, I’m very fond of the premise, and I’d like to finish it one day. I can’t guarantee I will (life’s too busy to commit myself to another Big Fic Project atm) but in the meantime, here’s a little taste in the form of the first chapter.

-------------------

For @essek-week Day 7: AU

Courts of Silk (Chapter 1)

Essek startled from his trance to the crackle of blistering thunder overhead.

Mind bled of all drowsiness in an instant, he unfolded his legs and slid off the berth, drifting to the center of the room and tilting his ear towards the boards above.

A storm… but the skies were meant to be clear for days, and he trusted Avus to know it. Could the weather have turned so–

Boom.

Essek’s eyebrows flew up as the deck visibly lurched below his feet.

Not thunder.

Cannon fire.

More sounds now, hurried ones – an erratic tempo of feet pounding through the corridor outside his little room, the floorboards creaking dully under the weight of the crew scrambling over the deck above. He flinched as a louder noise pierced through the commotion: the rattling of a heavy fist falling against the door of his cabin, hard enough to shake the wooden frame.

“We’ve been boarded!” Zel’ra’s guttural shout startled him out of his confused stupor, and he flew to the door and flung it open. The quartermaster stood outside, her snarling jaw dripping with whitish battle foam, the kind that bugbears of Rosohna so seldom have occasion to sport within city walls. “Come on, magic boy, time for you to earn your– Shit!”

Then she was gone, and Essek was left staring dumbly at the empty corridor, as Zel’ra raced back the way she came. A moment later, there was a yelp, and the grisly crack of metal hitting bone. Then there was no sound at all, save the rocking of the ocean’s pulse against the hull, and the thump of confident, unfamiliar footsteps, coming closer and closer to his open door.

He had only a few moments to make his decision. The fight might still be going on above deck, but if intruders had already made it below, there was little hope of a favorable outcome for the crew of the Barren Bow. He hadn’t thought the Empire would be brazen enough to attack a diplomatic ship in open waters, but there were soldiers of all ilks on the open sea, and no government to hold them to account so far from land. He would not put it past a Dwendalian crew to sight a Dynasty flag on the horizon and decide to take the matter of revenge in their own hands. If so, there was no telling what treatment they might expect at the hands of their attackers. Rage was rarely tamed by abstract rules of engagement, and he doubted anyone would care to ask what the nature of their mission was, once the killing began.

But perhaps…

Quickly, Essek drew aside his sleeve and materialized the leather–bound contents of his wristpocket into his hands. His spellbook lay beside precious components in their embroidered fold, and there, at the bottom of the pile: the folio. He whispered a quiet word and the paper folded apart, revealing its damning – and perhaps, in the right hands, lifesaving – contents.

The letters.

If the tides were so unfavorable that he could not fight, perhaps that might be enough to–

He vanished the whole affair back into the ether as two shadows fell across the door.

From the darkness of the hallway, two figures stepped over the threshold. In front was a young woman: human, with swarthy skin made darker still by the weathering burn of long days at sea. Her hands were tucked beneath bare arms and her hip turned out to an unconcerned jaunt, adorned by a sash of deep blue. Behind her, and looming so tall that she had to hunch to fit through the frame of the door, was a giant of a woman. Taller even than Zel’ra, her bare shoulders glistening with rippling muscles and sweat, pale as moonlight – or as the steely glint of the broadsword at her back. The younger woman swept him over with piercing eyes, her confident grin not quite masking the focused gaze beneath. Though she bore no weapons, Essek could feel the stain of threat in every taut sinew of her body. He held still, waiting to see who would make the first move.

Her eyes finally paused, centered on the floor beneath his feet, and her grin dropped into something more like a startled ‘oh’. Too late, he realized his mistake – that his levitation, as natural and instinctive as standing on his own two feet, had just given him away.

“Mage!” she sputtered, and her hand was gripping his arm and twisting it behind his back before he even realized she’d moved. Essek dropped the levitation spell, hoping to get enough leverage from the sudden height difference to slip out of her grasp, but before he could so much as shuffle to the left, the taller woman was at his right, clutching his other arm with a grip strong enough to break bone.

“Shit,” the first woman spat as she stepped back, allowing the second to take both of his arms into custody. “Who the fuck did we just board?”

Essek kept silent, staring at her, searching for any sign of weakness and finding less than nothing. If he had just had his hands free for a moment longer… but that didn’t matter now. There weren’t many spells without a somatic component at his disposal, and cantrips wouldn’t save his neck, should the giantess move quicker to snap it than he could speak.

Without a means of immediate escape, he looked next for any way to identify his captors. They were human, but their loose, subdued dress – for the younger woman, a vest of blue cotton, the other, a braided grey tunic, and frayed ribbons in both their hair – was nothing like the silver and crimson finery of the Righteous Brand.

If not from the Empire, who were these people? Hired thugs? Mercenaries?

“Are there more of you skulking down here?”

He didn’t ask the woman to clarify, though he wasn’t sure exactly what she was asking. More drow? Yes, but he was not about to reveal the nature of the delegation travelling under his protection to her. More mages? No. As always, he had convinced the Bright Queen that his effort alone would be sufficient. For the first time in a very long time, he wished he’d been a little more conservative in estimating his own skills. Given the current situation, someone else’s power at his back might actually be welcome, rather than distracting.

Her burning gaze made it clear that he had to say something, and soon, but for once, the right words did not come. The truth did not matter: he knew that any unfavorable answer would be taken as a lie.

Still, Essek would not panic. The only way to regain control of the situation was by carefully gathering information, finding something that he could use to shift the balance of power at a more advantageous moment. That was his particular specialty.

“I do not know,” he answered coolly. “For I do not know who is above and below deck at all hours of the day. I can only speak for myself.”

“Beau! Fjor– fuck– Captain Tusktooth wants you on deck!” A new voice, its timbre high and grating, like glass against cold iron, echoed from around the corner. The woman – Beau, he filed away – turned her head and shouted back out the door.

“Just a second, we’ve got one more!” Then, “Tell him to get Caleb over here, we’ve got a goddamn mage to deal with!”

The giantess at his back leaned down, so close that her dreaded locks nestled amidst the silver chains that hung from tip to base of his pointed ear. “You aren’t going to give us any trouble, are you?” she murmured, and despite every ounce of training he’d undergone for exactly this sort of intimidation, he still couldn’t help the way he shivered at her dark tone. There was a deep quality to her voice that sung of violence, for violence’s sake, and though he wasn’t yet truly afraid, he had no wish to provoke her.

“How could I?” Essek gently flexed his arms in her grasp: not enough to challenge, but enough to reassure her of his helplessness.

Her lips curled back, and… yes. There was a little fear gathering there, in the back of his throat. A good kind of fear – the prudent kind. It would keep him alert, and focused, and ready to strike back when the moment was right.

When she started pushing him forward, he followed her lead willingly, and the two of them shadowed Beau into the corridor and up the steps that led back above deck. Essek winced as the bright noonday sun slipped into view, already anticipating the stinging burn that was sure to follow. He’d managed to avoid the deck for most of the voyage, much to the chagrin of the Assarian crew. He was not born into a body made for manning rigging, and certainly not under an unrepentant sky determined to scorch his face and hands and neck and leave him itching and miserable for days without relief. His better use was below deck, planning for the engagement ahead, and his hours of fresh air better taken in the evening, when the gentler light of the moons was merely a prickle beneath his skin, rather than a flame.

Everywhere he looked, he saw mismatched bodies. Though Essek hadn’t met the entire complement of the Barren Bow’s crew, he had to assume most of the scattered orcs, goblins, and bugbears belonged to their side. Most of the ones on their feet were being held in the shallow recess at the centre of the deck, where great cannons might have been lodged on a more modern ship. A handful of unremarkable humans, each equipped with a rapier – or, in one man’s case, a salt-encrusted retort – stood above them, keeping watch. Amidst all that humanity stood a wild–eyed goblin in a blaring yellow dress, hefting a crossbow composed of whirring gears and levers of an intricate make that rivaled Waccoh’s own craftsmanship. She was currently in the process of shouting threats down across the heads of his cowed compatriots. Some were clutching broken arms or wiping blood from contusions and burnt welts. Lying at the center of the group was an unconscious Zel’ra, the goose egg at the back of her skull already angry and red.

Finally, he spied the remainder of the drow contingent clustered by the ship’s rail. Diplomats, all of them, bound for a parley at sea and not trained for conflict beyond what it took to hold a dagger right-way up. He was the only one among them battle-tested, and even then, his means leaned more towards subterfuge than outright combat. Theoretically, the Assarian crew was meant to be their main line of defence in case of attack. Clearly they had not proven up to the task.

Essek would be filing a very unfavorable report with their commanders upon his return, if any of them survived the day.

“Captain!” Beau shouted, and a tall half-orc stepped away from the railing, his wide-brimmed hat only partially disguising the many scars that littered his face.

“Weather’s turning,” he said, casting his eyes towards the – as far as Essek could tell – clear horizon. Those same yellow eyes flickered up, above Essek’s head, and for a moment seemed to narrow before turning back to Beau. “You finished clearing the hold yet?”

“Didn’t make it that far.” Beau jerked her head, and Essek was thrust into the sunlight all at once. The glare was blinding, and apparently not just to him. The giantess’s hands jerked around his arms, like they wanted to fly up and shield her eyes as well. That was all the opportunity he needed.

With one quick motion, he jerked his arms from her grasp and drew his hands together, tracing familiar glyphs out of nothing but muscle memory as his mouth uttered an incantation, and the world exploded around him. The giantess was flung back against the doorframe, wood splintering beneath her weight, and both Beau and the half-orc slammed into the deck and began to hurtle towards the side of the boat. Forcing his eyes to stay focused amidst the chaos and the harsh light, Essek caught the glitter of a cutlass skittering along the boards as he took stock of his position on the newly reborn battlefield.

Nearly all of the boarders were in a concentrated area in front of him, and the rest of the Assarian crew were protected by the lip of the recess in the deck. The terrain could not be more advantageous. Essek allowed himself a small smirk as he raised his hand and prepared a vacuum blast that would level the whole of the upper deck, and deliver them all to safety in one swift stroke.

How arrogant, that this petty group of mercenaries thought they could capture–

“Counterspell.”

The magic sizzled and died in his hand, and Essek whirled, searching for whoever had spoken behind him. Thugs he could handle, but it was always best to deal with a mage first, when they could do such infuriating things as what had just occurred. But once he turned, he found himself facing an empty doorway, and an empty deck above that. No trace of whoever had cast the counterspell.

The giantess was gone as well.

He heard the click before he could parse what cold and heavy thing was tugging on his wrist, but he was horribly aware of what was happening by the time his other wrist was wrenched behind his back and small hands clasped the second iron band shut. A stomach-churning wave of exhaustion passed through him from scalp to toe, and he staggered, only barely holding on to consciousness. Head lolling towards the floor, he saw two soft-soled boots landing lightly on the deck in front of him.

With great effort, he managed to drag his head up from his chest, and found himself staring into blue eyes and dusty freckles, lips pressed into a thin line, all framed by tangles of copper-red hair.

“Good work, Nott,” the man said. His accent was one Essek had only heard once before, though through the mire of exhaustion he could not remember where.

Behind Essek, the half-orc groaned and pushed himself up off the deck. “Next time you have a brilliant plan for subduing the prisoner, maybe let’s try not putting us all in the line of fire, hm?”

The man ignored the sarcasm, still looking all too carefully at Essek.

“Are you finished?” he murmured, and though his body was lithe, his soft voice sung of as much violence as the giantess’s darker growl.

With a sigh, Essek let his shoulders drop. He could still feel the pulses of magic coursing through the iron bands around his wrists. Even if he got his arms free again, the cuffs would not be easily slipped, or broken. These people, whoever they were, came equipped to handle wizards like himself. Was that what they were, then? Assassins in disguise? Privateers? The blunt instrument of some government or another?

Not that it made much difference now. Whoever they were, he was at their mercy.

“Spin him around.”

Essek felt himself being maneuvered away from the man’s incisive gaze. Through bleary eyes he caught the looks of frustrated disbelief from the four drow delegates, lamenting their crushed hope in silent, huddled unity. He was meant to be their protection. Now that Essek was taken, what else could save them? Not one of them was brave enough to attempt it themselves. A shiver of disgust ran through Essek, as heady as the self-recrimination it concealed at having allowed himself to be captured so easily.

The half-orc strode up to Essek, the sword in his hand now replaced, though Essek hadn’t seen the man move to retrieve it. It was a silver cutlass, fine enough to cleave a person clean through and leave one half still propped up on the other. Too rich a prize by far for a simple mercenary – he must have come by it dishonestly, or been given it as boon or bribe. Neither prospect boded well.

The hand that gripped the sword told an equally foreboding story, for only the thumb was composed of green flesh. The rest of the fingers were severed at the third knuckle, and replaced by metal imitations fixed to the wrist by a harness of leather cords. Still, he held the hilt with all the confidence of a trained fighter, and the surety of his grasp left Essek little doubt as to its effectiveness, mechanical augmentation or no.

“My name,” said the half-orc, “is Captain Tusktooth.” A hint of bright teeth flashed from below the wide brim of the hat. “And this ship is mine now. Its cargo, mine too.”

The answer about the identity of his captors, at last, became clear, for what little good it did him.

Pirates.

“By whose authority?” Essek shot a harsh look at the foolish dignitary who had chosen this moment to find their courage, but Tusktooth only grinned harder.

“By my own.” Behind Essek’s back, Nott and Beau slipped back through the splintered doorframe and down into the depths of the ship once more. “Now, my crew is going to finish taking a look through your cargo. I trust that your captain has been honest about the contents of your hold. Are there any other surprises I should be warning my people of? Anybody else looking to make trouble?”

Would that there were. “You will find little of value to take. We travelled light.” He spoke the truth, having no more useful lie at his disposal. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, and another wave of exhaustion teased at the edges of his mind. He fought it with all the strength he had – which was growing less and less by the minute.

“So your captain told me. But that wasn’t my question.” Tusktooth’s voice grew as keen as the blade in his hand as he lifted it and placed the edge to the shallow of Essek’s throat. “Are there others like you aboard?”

He did not flinch. Torment and torture were old friends: his own cherished instruments. He did not fear what this man would do to him, any more than he feared death itself. At least, that is what he told his errant heart, as sweat began to bead at the nape of his neck.

“No.”

Tusktooth stared him down for a minute longer, and Essek held his gaze as best he could with the sun still searing his eyes. But at last, the sword withdrew, and Essek’s breath came a little easier. “Then let’s call this an exercise in… mutual trust.” He smiled once more, and Essek returned the expression with a vague twitch of lips.

The tense exchange was followed by ten excruciating minutes of silence, during which Essek did his best not to fidget in his heavy robes, even when his exposed skin grew so heated he felt liable to burst into flames. As they waited, the redheaded man pulled Tusktooth aside for a private conversation, and Essek sweated, and watched, and tried to formulate a plan.

The pirates would find nothing of value to steal. The Barren Bow had provisions for the voyage, but anything else aboard was the purview of the Assarian crew, who had planned to head back towards the shores of Igrathad as soon as the parley concluded. There were no scheduled stops for trade, and thus, no trade goods in their hold. There weren’t even guns to offer. Essek would never dare to admit it aloud, but the Dynasty lagged sorely behind the rest of Wildemount in outfitting its fleet with the relatively new technology of cannonry, at least of the type that lacked a magical component. Firearms had only entered the sphere of weaponmaking some thirty years prior, and with Xhorhas primarily landlocked, the navy hadn’t been high on the priority list for refurbishment.

His best hope was that some of the crew had hidden stashes of coin in their quarters. Otherwise, there would be nothing for the pirates to take, and without anything to satisfy them, well… he did not want to be in manacles when that news was delivered to a man who’d already put a sword to his throat.

If only to convince himself he was not totally beaten yet, Essek watched Tusktooth and the redhead carefully, seeing what he could glean from body language alone. Their conversation was hushed but tense, and every few moments the redhead would turn his eyes towards the drow delegation, and then to Essek himself. He made sure to drop his own eyes before they could meet again, not wanting to spark another confrontation by appearing insolent. As for the pirate captain… there was confidence, yes, but the unwavering edge of confidence seemed to drop away from his shoulders as he spoke to the other man. His arms moved more wildly; his words were more rapid, and at a higher pitch. Perhaps his earlier confidence was not so unshakeable as it at first appeared.

At last, Beau and the goblin re-emerged from the staircase. “We got shit all,” Beau said, tossing down a half-empty sack by Essek’s feet. He winced as a few bruised tubers rolled out across the warped deck.

“...Shit.” Tusktooth ran a hand over his mouth. “Shit. Nothing?”

“Nott and I checked every inch of that hold, the crew quarters, everything. No money, no timber, no – fuck, I don’t know – fine silks or–”

“No cannons,” Nott added mournfully. “No black powder.”

“We went through all this for nothing?”

“Maybe someone’s holding out on us,” Nott said, brandishing her crossbow. “I could make ‘em talk for you, Captain. Make them squeal–”

“Oh–kay, Nott,” Tusktooth said, “let’s take it down a notch.” But despite his placating tone, his look was thoughtful. Again, he turned to Essek. “You never never did say what you all were doing out here, so far from home. You don’t look like a sailor to me.”

“Yes, friend,” said the redhead, stepping up to Essek from Tusktooth’s other side, alarmingly calm, and placing altogether too much emphasis on the second word to be trusted, “what is it you do here?” Essek took a half-step back, not liking the feeling of being pressed in from all angles, and walked himself straight into the chest of the giantess.

Nowhere to hide. And with his hands bound behind his back, no way to levitate up to a level where he didn’t feel every inch of height his captors had over him. Which, at his firmly average height for a drow, was many.

Focus, Thelyss. Focus.

“Why should I answer your questions,” he sneered, “when you have not done me the same courtesy? Who are you, to board a vessel commissioned lawfully by the Bright Queen herself?” It was a dangerous ploy, but a considered one – a hastily calculated risk. If the pirates could not be convinced there was nothing of value to be found, they might decide to punish the crew for concealing their rightful prize, and when even a beating couldn’t drive his compatriots to forfeit non-existent gold, the pirates might well scuttle the ship and leave them all to drown at sea. He doubted simple brigands would care much for the particulars of a diplomatic mission if there was no treasure involved, so there was little harm in broaching a subject that might be far more dangerous to discuss with more educated captors.

But apparently, some aspect of Essek’s logic had failed him again, because the redhead immediately shot a wide-eyed look at Tusktooth, before looking back to Essek. “The Bright Queen?”

Essek gave a little bow. His head swam as he dipped back up – the handcuffs, no doubt, though it could just as easily be the beginnings of heatstroke – and he had to swallow twice to find the fortitude to speak without slurring. “Essek Thelyss, Shadowhand of the Kryn Dynasty and ambassador of the realm.” The last part was an… embellishment, and if he chanced a glance over at the true ambassadors, he imagined there would be many offended looks. But thankfully, all attention was solely focused on him. “I assure you, you won’t find the prize you’re looking for on a diplomatic vessel, gentleman. Your friends have already given you proof – we carry nothing beyond our own provision. Unless you have a particular taste for the delicacies of Xhorhasian fashion, I’m afraid we have little to offer you.”

Nott snarled, but the redhead put up a hand. “Captain,” he said slowly, looking at Tusktooth. “Might I… make a suggestion?”

“You may.”

“It’s not something I’d usually propose, but times being what they are…” Tusktooth nodded grimly.

“We haven’t got many options left.”

“Precisely. I believe that our friend Mr. Thelyss here has lied to us.” He could laugh for the irony of it all; this was the most truthful Essek had been in years. “There is indeed something very valuable aboard this ship.” His blue eyes pierced through Essek, and it was only his determination to keep the – now violently pitching – contents of his stomach where they belonged, that stopped him from speaking up in his own defense.

“And that is...?”

“Himself.”

#critical role #essek thelyss #shadowgast #essek week #my writing #also since plank king essek is a... thing??? now #the timing seems appropriate lol #this fic is not that but it is still (eventual) pirate!Essek #and who doesn't love that

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olivarryprompts · 3 years

Text

Fanfic Friday #11

Welcome to Fanfic Friday! Each Friday I post a new here and on A03. Enjoy x

Read and save it on A03 here https://archiveofourown.org/works/33567529

{fancy suits from dad}

Ships: Peter Stark & Tony Stark, Pepper Pots/Tony Stark

Warnings: swearing, just fluff otherwise :)

Wc: 2,319

Here’s the thing, Peter Parker grew up in Stark Tower, which eventually became Avengers Tower of course. So whilst his whole class was buzzing about their field trip, all he could think was, “shit, shit shit.” His dad was going to embarrass the hell out of him. His Aunts and Uncles were going to endlessly tease him.

So, no Peter was not looking forward to the field trip. Not in the slightest. He still wanted to go, though. He knew that the rumors of his internship being fake were started by Flash, the annoying teen. He also knew that Flash had not once said his real name, preferring the name Penis Parker. It didn’t bother him as much as it used to. Also since highschool began, Flash had calmed down with his bullying. Well, maybe Flash hadn’t calmed down and high school was just bigger and he had thicker skin. And a new support system with plenty of people to go to.

Peter had been adopted by the Starks when he was a mere ten years old. At first, he was terrible at receiving any gifts or even too much attention. Slowly but surely, he got more and more used to it. Now, he wouldn’t not know what to do if any of that was taken away. Plus, he really did find a liking for expensive suits, however shallow. He looked good in them, and his father always insisted on buying him more and more. Tony would always find an excuse to spoil the kid a little more, however much Pepper tried to stop him.

“Peter, please see me after class regarding an urgent matter.”

Brough out of his thoughts, Peter swiftly nodded his head.

He looked at the board to see the words from before still written on them, “Field Trip to Stark Industries!” It might as well have said, “Dig Peter Stark’s Grave!”

“So, let’s get started with today’s lesson, graphing imaginary numbers on the complex plane!” He’d done this one a while back with his father. Something about not only learning applicable science and engineering. Peter tapped his glass, and the episode of Arrow he’d been watching on the car ride over began playing. He’d be ever grateful for his father’s gift of EDITH to him. Pepper had tried to ban him from wearing them to school, but hastily gave up when Peter pulled the spiderman danger card.

“Alright, class dismissed. Please remember to do this homework pages 11-18 on this unit’s homework handout.”

Peter, forgetting his teacher's previous request, was very glad to be on his way home. He was one foot out of the door when the teacher called his name. Now, his day had gone pretty well up to that point. Bucky made pancakes for breakfast, which were delicious. There was wayyy less traffic on the way to school. He’d aced an essay and a couple of quizzes, and then he even participated in PE effectively. But alas, all good things had to come to an end.

“Mr. Parker? The discussion.”

“Right,” Peter thought, joining the teacher at his desk.

“Peter, you are truly a great kid. I know you’ve been through a lot recently and in your life, but it is no excuse to make up an internship. We both know that it is not real. Now, acknowledging that you have a bright future, the administration and I have come forward with an offer. If you agree to write an apology, expressing that you understand what you did was wrong and immoral, you will both be allowed to come on the trip and no punishment will be given to you. If you choose to not take this opportunity, you will be banned from the trip and will be chastised.

Peter just stood there, not really comprehending. Apparently Flash’s little rumors were a lot bigger than he anticipated.

“I-i-I’m not lying,” was all he could manage. He had filed all the right paperwork and proved his internship.

“I’m sorry to hear that you will not come forward with the truth. You have up until the day before the trip to hand in the letter if you change your mind. Goodbye Peter.”

Peter just let his legs take him out of the classroom, then out of the school, and then to the road, a couple blocks away, where his dad picks him up from.

“Hello mini-me.”

“Hey,” Peter said, jumping into the passenger seat.

“‘Hi Dad, thanks so much for taking time out of your busy schedule to pick me up each and every day. Sick new car by the way! I’d love to drive it sometime!”

Peter just rolled his eyes with a smile, “Car looks great dad. McLarren’s are superior yet.”

“Ungrateful, so so ungrateful. What’s got you in a mood then?”

“Nothin,” Peter said, pulling out his phone.

“Oh come on, tell me. Tell me or I’ll call Ted.”

“Ned, Dad. We’ve been friends for like three years.”

“Not the point.”

“Just something at school.”

“Wow how very descriptive. You know I’m trying to do the whole feelings thing here, and you should appreciate that coming from my emotionally stunted self.”

“You’re so dramatic. Basically we’re having a field trip to your tower, and I’m not allowed to go because the teacher doesn’t think I really have an “internship.” Which, to be fair I don’t but that’s on you and not me.”

“Nah na na. I offered you an internship, and you said I’d be bored.”

“It would be. Doing a project for your company under strict supervision of some person would be sucky. I mean I can do anything I want from the lab you built me.”

“I know, but remember technically you are my intern. Remember we did that whole personal intern bullshit for the school.”

“Oh right. Is that why you keep harassing me about submitting all my completed projects.”

“No, that’s all your mother. Something about not wanting a lawsuit over a fake internship.”

“Make sense. She tends to be a lot smarter than you.”

“Ah, I feel so attacked. The abuse I suffer.”

“You’re terrible.”

“I am internally crying, kid. Sobbing.”

“Shut up,” we laughed.

“Who’s home?”

“You saw Buck and Sam this morning. Nat and Steve came back from their mission this afternoon. Thor and Loki are back for dinner tonight.. Strange might be coming round, not sure though. Cliff and the family aren’t back for at least a couple weeks. Oh and Bruce is wholed up in his lab as usual.”

“Shit. Everyone staying till the end of the week.”

“Yeah, oh the field trip. You’re screwed. You should have not told me.”

“Ughhhhh!!!”

“I love your life Petey.”

Peter walked into the kitchen and saw Steve reading a newspaper.

“Uncle Steve! Your back!” he smiled, dropping his bag off near the sofa. Steve got up to give the smaller boy a hug.

“Yep. Mission completed.”

“Nice. Can you tell me about it?”

“Yeah, it was nothing too interesting. We just needed some more intel into a terrorist organization stationed in the US. Most of the mission was recon. The next steps are being taken in a couple weeks.”

“Good to know there’s an active terrorist organization out there,” Peter said lightly.

Steve just smiled, not quite understanding the modern humor.

“Where is everyone else?” he said, realizing the living room was not in it’s normal chaotic state that he’d come to love. The chaos was his favorite reminder that he had so many people. He liked having lots of people, even after all this time.

“Nat and Buck are training, they invited you to join if you want. Bruce is in his lab, and dont worry he slept and ate last night. Not sure about the rest.”

“Right, thanks. I think I’m going to go train.”

Before he knew it, it was Friday morning, and his school was coming to his home. He was going to try very hard to ignore them. To do so, he asked his mum to let him sit in on some meetings. He had an easy in to the R&D and mechanical side of the company via the other interns. He was actually planning on hanging out with some of the “other” interns later that day. They were always happy to let Pete in on their projects and let him give them a hand. But he was always interested in getting more detail about the business side of the company, and he liked to get a window into it. Pepper was always happy to show her son the ropes. I mean he was heir to the company after all, even if he didn’t know yet.

He asked his mum to only schedule meetings after 12 as he requested a sleep in. Pepper was always happy when Peter slept as he was a little too much like his father. So, he woke bright and early at 11:00 o’clock.

After a scroll through his phone and a quick shower, he was ready to pull on his far too expensive Brunellio’s custom suit. It was one of his favorites. His father had got it custom made when he was in Italy, and told him he simply could not resist getting one for the kid. Pepper just smiled.

He had a large breakfast (enhanced metabolism) and headed towards the 34th floor where his first meeting was located. He’d been shadowing his mum for almost a year now whenever it was convenient, so he had the rointine down. He was almost sure he could take over a few of her meetings.

“Hi honey,” Pepper said, giving the boy a quick kiss on the cheek on the way to her own chair beside him. Peter blushed before resuming his professional posture and facial expression.

“Good morning everyone, as you can see Peter will be joining us today. I want to talk about some of the services we provide for our employees and their feedback. I’m aware we have a large portion to talk about so Kendra please take it away on that front.”

The first meeting went smoothly as planned. It was a discussion on the progress of the internal services, aka the IT department. Peter hadn’t learned much about their IT department, so it was good to listen in to. Pre these meetings, he, of course, does research into the background stuff, so he’s not completely lost. Pepper’s assistant usually provides him with a packet of info about the Stark Industries side of things. He is also given a list of key words and concepts he might want to make sure he understands. The research is fun for him, it makes him feel all professional.

Usually he spoke during the meetings, asking a couple questions and suggesting some ideas, but for this one he just learned and took in. The next meeting, however, was very much so his field. He’d spoken a lot with advertising, becoming very interested in the data analysis behind it. He even took a stats class so he could keep up. In that one he asked questions Pepper was on the verge of asking twice. He also contributed to the analysis of data once. Pepper usually liked him to participate as it was good for him, but he always felt bad suggesting stuff to the senior adults. He usually spoke to his mum or dad about projects for the company, preferring that.

They hung back in the room of the second meeting.

“Good job in this one Pete. Took two questions right off my tongue.”

“Thanks ma,” he said, always appreciating some approval.

“That’s all I’ve got for you today, kid. Rest of the stuff is, ya know.”

“Course. Thanks for these two. It was good to learn about internal affairs a bit more. Have a gap of knowledge there.”

“Yeah. Was that the first time meeting our CIT?”

“I believe so.”

“Well, next time we have a broader IA meeting, I’ll pull you outta school,” Pepper suggested.

“Really? That’d be epic.”

“Course, hun. Jarvis, sort that out please.”

“Of course Mrs. Potts.”

“Thanks J,” Peter yelled.

“Anytime mini-boss. No need to disturb the entire floor.”

“Are AI supposed to be so snarky?”

“Dad programmed it, what else would it be?”

“Valid point.”

“Right, got to run. See you later.”

“Bye, love you mum!”

“Love you too, Pete.”

“Jarvis, could you send me the tour plan for the visiting tour today?”

“Absolutely, sir. They’re on your phone now.”

“Thanks J.”

Looking at the plans Peter smiled. He had successfully avoided them the entire day. It said they were supposed to head back to school at 2:30, and it was about to be three. Smile on his face, he trotted down to the lobby to grab a coffee before going to meet Loki at the arcade. Don’t judge them, it was their thing. Taking the private lift down, and then walking straight to the coffee stand and ordering.

“Mr. Parker!” he heard the angry voice of his teacher, “How dare you show up here aft-”

Shit. shit. Shit.

“Edith, call dad, and tell him it’s urgent in the lobby.”

“Of course Peter.”

“Peter, are you listening to me! You are going to face extreme consequences for this.”

“Your coffee,” the man said, not realizing it was Peter, level ten personal of the tower, that was being yelled at.

“Thanks.”

“How dare you get coffee! In this building! Security!”

Tony arrived spotting his son instantly.

“Kid this best be impor- I see.”

“Hey Mr. Stark,” Peter said weakly.

“Mr. Harrington is it? Please stop harassing my intern.”

“H-he, he is y-your intern?”

“Yes. My favorite. Please exit the building and never question him again. You will be hearing from me.”

Let’s just say, Monday was an interesting day. At least Flash backed off, he was definitely an intern at SI, and no one embarrassed him on the trip.

#peter parker field trip #irondad #ironfam #iron man #tony stark #pepper potts #steve rogers #natasha romanoff #avengers fanfiction #the avengers #mcu fanfic #bucky barnes #domestic avengers

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lovingrosewho · 3 years

Text

Flunked

Hii so, as some of you may guess by the summary, one of my teachers failed me in a project in which I put a lot of effort in:( I had to take my anger out writing this haha, I hope you like it, as usual, any feedback or suggestions are well received! English is not my first language, etc. Enjoy!

ONE SHOT

Pairing: Crowley x Reader

Rating: T.- Fluff

Word count: 2.1k words

Summary: Crowley finds you crying in your room because you failed a really important test

Warnings: mentions of sex, curse words, protective!Dean which of course counts as a warning

You had been taken under the Winchesters wing for a while now, they agreed to share the bunker with you as long as you didn’t drop out of school after that wendigo hunt that had left so many scars, physical and emotional. They had warned you about the dangers of being a hunter and how it would eventually kill you and the ones you loved around you if you decided to take it up as a job. They kind of saw you as the little sister they never had, to be protected at all costs...

But when it got to the King of Hell, well, that was a whole other story.

Crowley had been around you a few times, the boys did not want him anywhere near you, had it been for them they would’ve put up a 12 feet round salt circle with you in it, but of course you would’ve argued.

You didn’t see the King of Hell as a threat, you even found him charming. His witty comments mocking Sam and Dean made you laugh in silence more times than you could count, his confident stand and even the pace of his steps made your insides nervous, ticklish. When he was around, he’d salute you with a slight tilt from his head and a “Kitten”. Nickname which would make the Winchesters roll their eyes and tell him to focus with, frankly, nearly not any manners.

The first time you talked with him properly, even though the boys were around, was kind of cute. You were helping them with some research and he went to stand by you, eyeing whatever you were reading, you had to suppress a laugh at how his eyes squinted trying to read the tiny letters.

“Something funny, Pet?” he asked you, a hidden, smug smirk in his lips. Sam and Dean gave each other a look, which shifted to Crowley afterwards.

“No, no, nothing” you assured him smiling, returning your gaze to your book “I’m guessing this snooping around is due to boredom, your Majesty?”

Crowley now grinned notably whilst Dean’s head snapped back at you.

“What did you just call him?” the eldest Winchester asked quite annoyed, but you dismissed him anyways.

“How’s hell, Crowley?” you said turning to him, ignoring Dean’s question and Sam’s glance at you.

“It’s okay Squirrel, I think (Y/N) here can take care of herself just fine” he said without taking his eyes off of yours and winking “Hell’s fine, by the way. Sweet, boring hell, which I should be getting back to right now, I hope by next time I drop by you’ll actually have something to show me”.

His eyes flew to Dean’s flared face with annoyance, then Sam’s and finally they fell back at you.

“I’ll be seeing you around, Kitten” and with this he vanished.

After that, Dean had scolded you, repeated once again what Crowley was capable of and how you shouldn’t be joking around with him. You shrugged it off just like Sam did, because nor him nor his brother were able to keep Crowley at bay with you after that. He’d drop by even more than he did before, and most of the times his words were directed at you, not the boys, talking about Hell, hunts, and overall non-important stuff. The Winchesters finally gave up and had to deal with the fact that, inevitably, you and the King of Hell were close.

A few months passed since your first little chat with Crowley, Dean insisted in scoffing and rolling his eyes every time he made a flirty move on you, Sam just smiled, guessing you probably had a thing going on for him as well.

Things stayed that way until the last term of the semester started, then you were buried underneath books, essays and projects. You still talked on the phone with Crowley at least once a week, but seeing each other personally was nearly impossible, he did not want to distract you.

When he was sure you were just days far from finishing school, he appeared at the bunker with the classical “Hello boys”, scanning the library, but you were nowhere to be seen.

“Looking for something?” Dean mocked, which caused Crowley to gave him a boring look.

“Very funny, Squirrel. You know bloody well who I’m looking for and I don’t see her in this room” he answered giving them a sarcastic look.

“Now’s not a good time Crowley” Sam affirmed without looking up from his laptop.

“Whatever do you mean, Moose? I’ve been told (Y/N) is almost finished with the semester, she should have less deadlines now” he argues when Dean interrupts.

“She failed a test and she has been... moody, the whole day, I wouldn’t even touch her if I were you, hell, I wouldn’t even go near her” he suggests winking at him. Crowley grunts at his, yet again, unsuccessful attempt to keep him far away from you.

“That’s because you two morons don’t know how to talk to her, I’ll just go to her room” he says beginning to walk, causing Sam to stop paying attention to his laptop and instead getting up all of a sudden along with Dean, who’s decided to stop Crowley.

“Wow wow wow, you’re not going into (Y/N)’s room” Dean declares laying a hand on Crowley’s chest so he doesn’t make another move “You’ve never been to her room”.

Crowley removes Dean’s hand with visible disgust.

“Oh Dean, I thought we were past the whole ‘Stay the hell away from (Y/N)’ deal. Listen Squirrel, if you don’t let me see how (Y/N)’s doing, I’ll just zap myself over there, understood?” he demands, and Dean is about to say something when Sam interrupts.

“Dean... maybe he’ll be able to cheer her up” he encourages timidly.

“What? Oh so you’re on his side now?” Dean reclames and Crowley can’t help but roll his eyes, snap his fingers and there he is, inside your room, standing in front of you.

You are laying flat on the bed when the unexpected smell of sulfur, whiskey and citrus invades your nostrils and makes you smile slightly.

“Crowley” you greet him lifting from your bed, inviting him to sit at the edge of it.

“Hello, darling” he says smiling back and accepting your offer of taking a seat next to you. When he gets closer he notices your swollen, red eyes “Have you been crying, Pet?”

You avert your sight and say nothing.

“Pet?” Crowley prompts “Are you alright?”

“Yeah” you lie “It’s nothing really, just some stupid test”.

“It’s not ‘stupid’ if it’s important to you. What is it? I know you. You can’t tell me you forgot to study or something like that”.

“I didn’t! I-“ your voice cracks again and you have to clear your throat to keep speaking “Of course I didn’t forget. I studied. Hard. But my professor said that ‘my answers weren’t clear enough’ which I totally disagree and I... I just find it unfair”.

“Huh” he says listening to you ramble whilst he gets up and starts walking in circles around your room. You glance at him and see his thoughtful look “Perhaps we could arrange an appointment between your teacher and my hellhounds”.

You laugh lightly and shake your head.

“Whatever it’s... it’s fine, I suppose the boys told you” you say “Guess now I’ll just have to drop out of school and take up hunting again”.

Crowley rolls his eyes for the eleventh time this day. Even if you’re joking he doesn’t like the thought of you being in danger, much less getting hurt or even... or even killed.

“Quit being dramatic, (Y/N), it doesn’t suit you at all” he tells you arching an eyebrow “Besides, we both now I’m the dramatic one in this relationship”.

You chuckle.

“Is that so?” you ask.

“Yes” he answers walking towards you and cupping your face with his hands, wiping the last tears from your eyes. You let a sigh escape.

“How did the boys let you in anyways?” you say changing the subject. Crowley scoffs at your question.

“They didn’t. In fact, they surely must still be discussing my quite essential stay with you today” he answers, taking his hands off your cheeks and sitting beside you.

You nod in understandment, amused.

“Everything’s going to be okay, Kitten” he assures you, placing his hand in your leg, yours instantly flies to it.

“I know” you tell him, moving your other hand to his cheek and making him face you “Thank you, for being here...”

He grins softly.

“Anything for you, love” he says and you smile. Slowly, you start leaning forward towards his lips. Crowley stares at you perplexed, but does nothing to stop you, instead, he shifts to touch the nape of your neck and leans into the kiss.

The kiss is swift. It begins with slow, careful movements, eager lips brushing over yours, turning into a heated passion as Crowley requests for entrance with his tongue and you jump to his lap. He explores your mouth until you’re both out of air.

“Well that’s an interesting turn of events” he tells you arching his brows and you laugh giving him a mild smack in the chest with your elbow.

“Shut up” you say pecking his lips a few times “You know... if Sam or Dean come in they’ll kill you right?”

The boys are right outside the door waiting for you or Crowley to go out, conflicted if they should go in, or knock, given that they’re not able to listen to anything you say.

“They’ve been insanely quiet in there” Dean’s mind begins to wander in the possible escenarios where you’re involved with Crowley. In your room. And he doesn’t like any of them.

“So what Dean? Maybe they’re just catching up” Sam says, exasperated with his brother.

“No, no, no, I could hear murmurs just minutes ago, now it’s total silence”. Sam sighs.

“Do you really want to go in there? Like really?” he questions giving his brother a look.

Dean considers his options for a few seconds.

“You know what? I’m going in” he asserts and Sam laughs.

“Suit yourself, I’ll be right behind you, covering my eyes”.

“Don’t be a baby” Dean snorts, but to be honest, he’s praying he doesn’t find you having sex with the King of Hell.

They come in the room to spot you in Crowley’s lap, arms wrapped around his neck, eyes closed, his mouth grazing over yours.

“Crowley you son of a bitch!” Dean yells at him, taking long strides to get to you.

“Squirrel” Crowley says sighing, whereas you do the same, adding an eye roll “Didn’t your mommy teach you how to knock?”

Sam is just laughing in the back, glad that at least they didn’t find you naked.

Dean is about to continue yelling at you and Crowley just raises his hand, snaps his fingers and you’re on his throne in hell.

“I believe that was our cue, love” he tells you with a half smirk in his face. You outburst in laughter.

“After this Dean’s definitely making me sleep with the dog” you state. Crowley chuckles lightly “Well, if we had a dog”.

“I thought that was Castiel” he says pretending confusion, you snort and shake your head, a grin not leaving your face.

Crowley takes a lock of your hair between his fingers and starts playing with it. At the same time, he leaves a trail of wet kisses that go from your mouth to your neck.

“Those Winchesters are lucky I was too busy admiring you to shove them out the room and lock the door” he acknowledges, continuing tracing kisses along your skin.

“They’re lucky they found us with clothes on” you admit and he chuckles again.

“Now now, Pet, never took you for the naughty type” he jokes “Quite honestly, I figured this was eventually going to happen, but I always thought I’d be the one to invite you out”.

“You want to invite me out?” you tease “Never saw that coming”.

Crowley smirks, faking annoyance.

“I’m asking to date you, (Y/N), but of course you would tease me about it” he says. You giggle, he’s right “So, what’s your answer?”

“Yes” you speak without hesitation, covering his lips with yours in a long, deep kiss.

“See? If Dean Winchester decides to kick you out the bunker, which I’m highly doubtful, you get to sleep with the King of Hell, not the dog” he tells you with bedroom eyes.

You bite your lips and nod, proceeding to keep making out with the King for a long time, spending the night with him. Dean’s chide can wait.

MASTERLIST

#crowley x reader #crowley #crowley supernatural #crowley fic #crowley fanfiction #crowley x reader fic #crowley x reader fanfiction #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fic

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mirandalinotto · 3 years

Text

Why I hate the CAOS video essay that came out a week ago

Did anyone else get extremely angry at the way Friendly Space Ninja discussed all of the female characters in CAOS? like, don't get me wrong... I understand most of the points he's making, and agree with a lot of what he says in the video essay (Chilling Adventures of Sabrina: A Frustrating Waste of Potential), but when he speaks about Zelda, Lilith, Prudence, and Rosalind, I don't know... i just get a bad vibe. It's like he's doing a "bad faith” analysis, and it bothers me, because CAOS has so many parts to validly criticize, and yet he missed the mark more often than he hit it, in my humble opinion.

He basically says the same thing over and over again: that the actors were good, but the characters were bad, because they were all boring, shallow, and one-note, or whatever... and it's like... dude? of all the things you could say (especially about Zelda and Lilith in particular), the characters being “boring" isn't really the biggest criticism one ought to have of this show...?!? and it isn't even accurate?

Like why aren't you criticizing the trauma porn? Why aren't you criticizing the butchering of Lilith's mythology? Why are you ignoring all of the character development that does happen (particularly with regard to Zelda, whom he actively seems to hate) in favor of insisting none of these characters have an arc? It’s not beneficial to anyone if you’re going to criticize a show’s characters by actively misrepresenting them!

Which brings me to my next point: one of the things that bothered me the most was just how surface-level his analysis was. You could tell he hadn’t watched the show in a while, and clearly wasn’t interested in celebrating any part of it—which is okay, if you just want to roast Roberto for an hour, be my guest—but why does it feel like this video essay was the YouTube video equivalent of writing a book report on a novel you only skimmed…? He made a lot of generalizations that made it seem like he only watched the first season, and then paid no attention to the rest.

For example, some of his arguments are just so random and insignificant? Like why does he make shallow observations the basis of whole arguments about characters, such as when he goes on about how Zelda says 'Praise Satan' too much and “it got old"...?!?! Like what kind of bullshit analysis is that...? How is that even close to being something worthy of talking about in a video essay that is an hour and twenty minutes long...? Why are you taking such a trivial aspect of her character and making it a talking point in a video that is already much longer than it needs to be?

And while I agree with what he said about Lilith's motivations being inconsistent/unclear at times, and that Zelda's character growth wasn't as linear or developed as it could be, it really feels like he didn't even try to understand these characters at all. I realize I'm biased, because all I do is try to understand them and explain their motivations... but still! If you're making a video about the wasted potential of CAOS, why do you immediately dismiss almost the entire female cast, pretty much out of hand, when they're the foundation of the show...? They ARE the potential?! The good parts about them ought to have been given some credit? Like why does he fail to acknowledge all of the trauma these female characters went through that very much informs their decisions, and instead makes it sound like nothing the characters do make sense? While I might not always agree with every choice these characters made, there usually is something driving them to do whatever it is they’re doing, and particularly in the case of Lilith and Zelda, it’s not that hard to understand why they make irrational decisions sometimes, when they’re literally surrounded by abusers and everything is constantly blowing up in their faces.

Also, something smaller that really pisses me off is that he includes Zelda sending Blackwood out of the room during the birth of the twins as an example of the show's misandry and "bad feminism," but that's literally not what that moment is about? If he stopped to think about it for a moment, the moment is perfectly logical. Zelda is a midwife, who was most likely trained in the 1800s, when men literally weren't meant to be around when the the birth happened, so how is she being a misandrist just by doing what she’s been taught, especially when they’re all in a crisis situation? Men not being allowed in the room is an established part of the history of women’s health/childbirth, and it isn’t exactly obscure knowledge! Men used to be forced/asked to sit in the waiting room during labor, and before that, when home births were the status quo, midwives definitely wouldn’t allow men in the room as a matter of course. In fact, it wasn't until the 1970s that men being in the delivery room became a more normalized practice. So, men being present/witnessing a birth is a far more "modern" thing than I think people realize, and the exclusion of them from the delivery room has absolutely NOTHING to do with women hating men...? like fuck off with that “misandry” argument, in this instance. do some research before you start reaching that far, so as to act like Zelda was being hateful for simply following “industry standards,” if you want to call it that. There are medical articles that still come out to this very day that argue that no one should be in the delivery room besides the person giving birth and the doctors and nurses, because the husband/partner often gets in the way and distracts the medical team at critical moments. (Also men tend to faint or get sick at the sight of the birth, which then forces the team to split their focus in order to see to the unconscious man on the floor.)

And don't get me started on the anti-Zelda rant he goes on towards the end!! While I agree very much that Zelda is a flawed character, he uses an example of her degrading Hilda that isn't even something she actually did?! It's from a dream sequence!?!?!? like dude, did you even watch these episodes/scenes before you talked about them?!? He uses the example of dream-Zelda criticizing Hilda's appearance as a reason why Zelda is such a bitch, and I'm like... seriously? that literally wasn't her? just because Zelda said it in Hilda's nightmare, doesn't mean Zelda said it in real life, and should be criticized for it...?!

But yes, Zelda is abusive to her sister, and classist, and rude, and many of the things that he says--but when he tries to argue that because she's a woman, nobody cares that she's like that, and it’s a problem, because that’s evidence of more misandry… that’s where he loses me. He sees it as yet another issue with Roberto's writing—that he gives qualities that would be condemned in a male character to a female character, and allows that woman to be one of the "good guys" ...but yet again, dude... you're completely missing the point?!? Women are allowed to be flawed, without you seeing it as some gross failure of feminism?

He also at one point claims that Zelda resents Ambrose, and hates having him around, when I would argue Zelda actually really values Ambrose and has a close relationship to him...? Like did we even watch the same show?

I didn't expect to get this heated about a video essay that made a lot of other points that I agreed with (mainly the dragging of Roberto parts). But in my opinion, this guy got really offended by Roberto's fake feminism (which is valid), but then proceeded to tear down all of the female characters for an hour and twenty minutes straight...?! All he did was talk about how they're all misandrists and shallow characters and therefore the show isn't worth watching? like okay... but here's the thing... plenty of women have made it through shows that have misogyny at their very core, and have still managed to find the good points...? Game of Thrones is like the most popular show of all time, even though there's misogyny in every aspect of it, for historical “realism" purposes (*rolls eyes*). Zelda and Lilith's defining qualities aren't solely related to hating men, so it really pisses me off that he made it seem like that's all that shapes them, and that every time they insult or manipulate a man, it’s completely unjustified.

idk. I feel like I just watched an 83-minute roast on a show I love despite it's flaws, and that roast wasn’t mostly focused on all of the biggest flaws that I would’ve brought up, but rather on how all of the female characters are terrible and their misandry makes the show unwatchable.

So let me get this straight: you're hating on the female characters... in order to show how much of a feminist YOU are, as opposed to Roberto...?

Wow. Much feminism. Very enlightened analysis.

#zelda spellman #lilith #caos #chilling adventures of sabrina netflix

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aeondeug · 3 years

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So As Yet Unsent did a number on me and got me to love Judith. It also left me wanting to write something for the research she did before going to proposition Marta. And so here is that something! A series of three narrative poems about Judith gradually working up the nerve to ask Marta:

The first time you read one You had been walking through the halls To find and spy an excited gaggle Gathered around and whispering On just how hard it had been for Them to sneak this into the shipments. Those composed there heard you step, One shooting upright with a salute While another swore and asked Just what was up only to look right And see you standing there Spine erect, face grim and firm. He blanched at the sight seen And lost the words in his throat And all his years of training too Until you reminded him of them. Each head there rose one by one, Hands folded behind their back neatly, And you did not even interrogate them But instead demanded outright and bald For whatever contraband they’d snuck in To be handed over to you now Before more serious measures be taken. One made a comment, an argument, Saying there was none to be found And that he was quite confused as to why You’d even think to ask them of that. You asked him if he thought you stupid, To which he answered “No, sir”, smartly, To which you said you thought him stupid. Very. A smart one meanwhile pushed out her hands To reveal a book with a silly title And an even sillier cover, A truly stupid prize to sneak through customs. You frowned and thought to yourself How a kinder officer would let it slide, But you were the image of the Second House And with it the image of the Cohort, There could be no quarter given, So you snatched the book from those hands Barely giving it or her a glance. Then you ordered them off on a run With a note that you’d be going up And informing their superiors in due time. Later that night, such as they’re counted Up in the dead expanse of the stars, You looked down at the book Which sat with a stack of flimsies on your desk Ready to be sent off and be disposed of. It wasn’t the first romance you’d seen Of this very specific subject matter, But it was the first you’d held admittedly. You looked over its cover again With its handsome, strapping cavalier Whose coat was not to code, collar open, And in whose arms lay a shrinking adept, Eyes closed serenely, lips lightly parted. You sneered at the thing and thought Of how it and the flimises would be off soon, Heading further down the bureaucratic chain. But instead of grabbing them each and all To be carried off and away as needed, You picked up the book with a scoff And you opened it to a random page To give it a slight read before it burned. The dialogue was atrocious, first off, And the narration lingered too long, Being overly fond of outfits and lamps and more. It was a horrible book in truth, But you turned to its first page feeling bored And set to reading it right through that night. There hadn’t been a new book in weeks, And you were just growing so tired Of the stack of ones already read. This is what you told yourself that night As you read through the whole tome Until eventually you were through it all And its whole sordid tale Of a cavalier and their necromancer. It was the first you’d read.

The second time you read one You actually read a set of three together. They were from three authors And from three subgenres, Sharing only one thing in common: A love between a cav and their adept. These books you’d gathered for yourself Based off the writings you’d seen In book magazines on your off days And based off the talk you’d heard Among others in the cafeteria. It was something of a pain, it was, Paying off person after person again In search of these three particular books While leaving behind you a trail Too confounding to be traced to you. For should you be found out about You’d be called a hypocrite by your men, And soon the word would spread around About Judith Deuteros’ unseemly interests. Thankfully your years of tearing apart smuggling rings Had taught you well how to travel and talk, So you felt yourself quite safe As you gathered up your secret finds. Yet safety had or no, you hid them carefully And you moved through each slowly, Fearing every last noise you heard reading Was someone noticing your newfound habit. These books weren’t much better than the first, Is what you told yourself those days After having read through them each. As the dialogue was still off in all three, And the one loved adverbs far, far too much, And you only needed see one love triangle To know you never wanted to see another. And of the whole lot you felt the worst Was the one about the Cohort pair, For nothing was accurate in the least, And everyone would be court martialed At least nine times over, God willing. That was assuming the pair ever left training, Which you thought was very doubtful. Yet in the nights after reading it When you had disposed of them each and all, It was that Cohort book you thought of And neither of the other two, Though they were slightly less awful. The cavalier was nothing like Marta. They were overbold and cared not for order. At the best you’d called them a fool, But for all your unkind words to the cav You had far colder ones for the adept, In whom you saw none of yourself. Yet as you lay in bed one night You thought of one moment halfway in the book Where the adept had cornered their cav, Pressing them to a wall before a mission That was sure to kill them both at last. You’d thought of how the cav rebuffed them And how you thought that very proper, But the adept had pressed on And refused to back away or let up As they asked one very important question: They ask you and expect you to die for me, But they tell me I can’t feel a thing for you? Why is that the case? How is that fair? There was an argument after those words, Which was smoothed over by a kiss, Sudden and fierce, which saved The cav from having to answer that “Why?” You told yourself this was stupid. You told yourself you hated it. Yet you thought to yourself at night On those missions now past Where you’d seen Marta glorious And you’d seen her vulnerable too. You thought of all the talks you had Just the two of your together And the ease at which they flowed, As with no other person you knew. You thought of esprit de corps and how, Though you felt connected to your fellows More than with any civilian you had ever known, That there was a connection unique to her. There was a bond between the two of you Tighter than any other you held, And they asked her to die for you While demanding you feel nothing on that. Why?

The third time you read oneIt wasn’t a novel you read, really,As the book was one part essay, one part storyAnd most of all it was a treatise and memoire.This one you’d found while perusing throughThe Sixth House’s vast libraries duringA very rare Sixth House ballWhich you found even more dull thanAll the other balls you’d gone to,Be they of the Third or of the Fifth.So as the Sixth took to the their booksOver the drinking and the dancing,So did you set to your own researches.Normally at one of these events,You would stand with Marta together,Back erect, face grim and firm,Rebuffing the attempts of those about youTo get you to dance or to laugh or whatever else,And the Third’s princess was always the hardestFor you to shake off, for private reasons.But Coronabeth was not here, thank God,And this was no Third House ball but a Sixth one,Which left you with this one and only chanceTo search through their vast storesOf knowledge you thought unworthy of preservation.Your search was a secretive oneOf which you didn’t even tell Marta,Having left her side saying onlyThat you were going to the bathroom,And adding that she was free to enjoy the festivities.To which she laughed a bit,Because what festivities were there here?You smiled and told her to seek outAnother who loved those same books thatThe two of you had first bonded over.So you had left her to go and lookFor books on the subject of thatMost great and mighty of taboos,Of which you dared not say word to Marta of.The search was seemingly fruitless.At first because certain libraries hereWere off limits to the party guests,Then next because the one you’d found hadOnly an endless treasure troveOf mystery novels spanning centuries on,Till at last you had to admit to yourselfThat the Sixth’s knowledge hoards hadA scheme that not even you could navigate alone.So, nervously, you stepped up to a SixthWith her nose buried in a bookAnd you asked her outright, bald,Trying your best to seem nonchalant,If the Sixth held any books at allOn the matter of necros and cavs joined together,Not just by tradition, but by romance.She raised a brow at you standing there,The proper daughter of the fleet admiral,Asking for books on a most improper topic,But when she saw you budge not one bitShe shrugged her shoulders and led you offTo a part of the library you’d passed six times before.As you waited and watched, heart pounding,She pulled forth a book with a cover, nondescript.She handed it to you saying lazilyTo leave it on one of the carts when you finished.You thanked her formally and hoped thatNeither your face nor your step saidAnything about your mood or your intent.You were scared, to be truthful.More scared than you ever had beenIn the bustle of open combat,Because at least battle you understoodAnd because however it was you died on the fieldYour father would stand up and would sayOf you, his daughter, that never hadThere been a more proper Second toHave ever graced these Nine Houses.That you were a Second House heir so properThat a woman with a career so promisingAs the most esteemed Marta Dyas Had put aside those far off starsTo take her cavalier vows for life,Binding you as necro and cav.Between freedom and glory afar,She had picked you above them bothWhen you had only girlish hopesThat even your father told youWere far too high and likely to fail.So as you read that book thereHidden in a Sixth House nookYou were more scared than ever before,Because you were looking for an answerTo an argument you had with yourselfOver whether there was any chance at allFor you and your girlish hopes.What you found was not what you wanted,As the author went on and on about thingsThat were tangential at best to what you sought.You read about her overbearing father andYou read about her merciless DI andYou read about a friend you thought the cavUntil said friend died without one whisperOf those four words that haunted youBecause they held you back from a more wanted three.It took you a good hour to get to it,And that came with some skimmingThrough page after page about things you cared not for,But you finally found it tucked awayIn the middle of that book: an essay on necros and cavs.The essay spanned only four pages longAnd it did not go into much detailAbout the relationship between the twoIn a personal and intimate sense.Instead she spoke primarily of herselfAnd of her ever growing shameAnd of her ever expanding list of questionsOn whether the arguments in praise of that shameHeld any weight to them at all.She spoke too of how setting love aside,Trying to pretend she felt none of it,Had done her no good at all.It had led to an argument, in fact,Between her and her cavalierWho could not understand whyShe had been so cagey all the timeWhen before she’d been so open, so free.This was the most you ever got to seeOf the cavalier herself beyondThat she too was a Cohort woman.You read and you read and you readBefore rereading the whole thing againTrying to tell yourself it was stupidAnd that the author was stupid too.You shut the book in disgust, sneering,And you dropped it off in a cart sayingHow you couldn’t see how the SixthCould think this thing worth preserving.Then you went back to find MartaWho asked you where you’d beenTo which you said you’d been accostedBy the Sixth House bookworms askingWhat you had most recently read,At which she laughed and said “Vicious aren’t they?”You smiled and agreed and said nothing more.And six weeks later you lay in bedThinking to yourself on that essayAnd the arguments held within it.Six weeks later you told yourselfThat perhaps it might be okay, after all,And that the very next day you’d sayTo Marta that you felt something more.

#the locked tomb #gideon the ninth #judith deuteros #marta dyas

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thosearentcrimes · 3 years

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In defense of "standpoint epistemology"

People like to denounce something called "standpoint epistemology". Now, in responding to this, I am faced with a dilemma. I could either interpret "standpoint epistemology" as being that which the people complaining about it are talking about, or I could interpret it as what the articles in which it was theorized described. What I will do is first present standpoint theory and standpoint epistemology as I understood them from its promoters. In particular, this essay will largely be a commentary on "Rethinking Standpoint Epistemology: What is 'Strong Objectivity?'" (1992) by Sandra Harding. First, I have to say that I do not find the text particularly satisfying. Most of its critiques are valid, but on the rare occasion that Harding implies any methodological changes, they seem infeasible or ineffective. Given that Harding is proposing a change of worldview and not directly a change in behavior, this is understandable, but it would still be nice to know what the actual implications of the change in worldview would be! All that said, I am prepared to defend the vast majority of the text.

According to Harding, standpoint epistemology is a response to the "sexist and androcentric results of scientific research". It is one of two responses she presents, the other of which she calls "feminist empiricism", which says that the biased results of prior scientific research were due to insufficient rigor, and that the underlying principles are fine. In contrast, standpoint epistemology, according to Harding, proposes a transformation of science and its mechanisms to more actively remove bias. Harding explicitly rejects relativism and essentialism, which are the positions most commonly attributed to her work. I am not sure why anyone would think she was lying, given that Harding clearly considers relativism and essentialism to be popular strands of feminist thought, and as such they are positions she could safely adopt publicly. Perhaps the jargon and the relative lack of concrete proposals have convinced people the idea is more radical than it really is.

Standpoint epistemology derives from standpoint theory, which is broadly the claim that the perspectives of people who are marginalized in society are, if anything, more relevant and accurate than those of dominant groups. Historically it draws from Marxism and the dialectic approach more generally (in particular, Hegel's Master/Slave dialectic), but the observation that marginalization compels people to understand their oppressor better than their oppressor understands themself (and as a corollary, that a life of privilege can be blinding, like how rich people do not know the prices of common household items) does not require dialectics at all. It is still however a rather controversial idea, with two major opponents. The first is that the view from the dominant position is more objective because it is less involved. This is blatantly false and silly. The more serious objection is that this theory obstructs the objective "view from nowhere". It is very important to ask - is there such a view? Is there knowledge that is not socially situated? The answer, according to Harding, is no. This is really the heart of the dispute between Harding and empiricism. It is rather difficult to prove the non-existence of "nowhere", especially on empiricist terms. If there is a "nowhere" to view reality from, then where? Of course, in reality, the view from nowhere is typically the view from above repackaged. Standpoint Epistemology can rightly be accused of self-contradiction, but at least it does so consciously.

This leads us into Harding's first methodological change, and the only one that is complete enough to be worth discussing separately. The idea is this: the lives and perspectives of marginalized people should be used as a starting point for the production of knowledge. This is as opposed to the only implied alternative of production of knowledge starting with the lives and interests of the dominant group. We might then imagine, from this, that Harding seeks to exclude men from philosophy in a mirror to the way women were historically excluded. This is however not the case. Harding believes it is desirable, and in fact very much necessary for men to also produce knowledge using the lives and perspectives of women as a base, and even names some philosophers, men and women alike, who she considers to have done important philosophy from women's perspectives in the past. Additionally, this quote from the article is extremely important here: "for standpoint theorists, reports of marginalized experience or lives, or phenomenologies of the 'lived world' of marginalized peoples, are not the answers to questions arising either inside or outside those lives, though they are necessary to asking the best questions". Clearly Harding and standpoint theorists in general are aware of the tendency that they are accused of promoting, and are just as opposed to it as the empiricists are.

Harding presents some interesting distinctions between the subject of knowledge under empiricism and under her reformed model of science. Harding alleges that it is a problem that science is presented as being disembodied, as being information existing outside of time or society, because the things science studies are embodied, exist at particular times and observed by particular societies. I'm not sure I agree here! Is it actually necessary for the object of knowledge and the subject of knowledge to be similar in kind? Surely that kind of distance has its advantages as well as its disadvantages. The next claim is more interesting. Empiricism supposedly has a tendency to consider knowledge to be generated by generated by particular individuals and not by societies or groups. This is a view that I think was significantly more prevalent last century, when the article was written, but it is still the implication behind much of the existing pop history of science and the way science is taught in schools. But why is this not correct? Harding makes the interesting point that she only considers her beliefs to be knowledge when they are socially validated. That is, while the beliefs may have been formulated by an individual such as Newton, it is a scientific community, over centuries, that transformed them into knowledge, and later restricted that knowledge to motion at non-relativistic speeds. The distinction between a belief that is true and will be turned into scientific knowledge and scientific knowledge itself is actually quite important, because it leaves the door open for true beliefs that do not, for whatever reason, become knowledge. However, the social methods by which beliefs become knowledge in science are acknowledged by empiricists and are in fact a core part of empiricist ideology. The whole point of peer review and scientific discourse is that knowledge is generated through social legitimation, so it seems a bit off to assert that the standpoint epistemological project is aware of this and the empiricist project is not. What I will say is that empiricists rarely embrace obvious conclusions of the fact that scientific knowledge is socially constructed, so I kind of understand why Harding feels the need to point it out.

What is it that Harding actually proposes? It is to use the lives and perspectives of marginalized people as a starting point in the production of knowledge. The purpose of this is that "the subject of knowledge be placed on the same [...] plane as the objects of knowledge", that is, that we should consider the conditions under which a particular piece of knowledge was produced to be a component of that knowledge, and reported along with it, producing what Harding calls "Strong Objectivity". I think it can be useful to study the conditions under which ideas were created, and that this can provide productive avenues of critique. On the other hand, that is what History of Science and History of Ideas are already doing, so I'm not sure this point provides any methodological changes that would simultaneously be useful and not already be part of the revised empiricist model of knowledge production or easily imported into it. The last thing Harding proposes is for science to be integrated into democratic structures, but it is important to note that by this Harding means democracy in the sense that anarchists mean it, which is a notion too vague to constitute an actual methodological proposal. Harding devotes the last section of her article to explaining why it is the notion of objectivity that needs to be transformed, and not simply the scientific method, from what I gather her reason is mostly that it is the more intellectually coherent thing to do. If I were to propose my own methodological change in line with Harding's critique, it would be that scientists should attempt to identify communities that are relevant to their research, and then run their experiments and articles by sensitivity readers (which I understand is done in fiction writing), as a form of review complementary to peer review.

Harding's work is in some respects an unfortunate casualty of the march of history. She herself notes that her ideas will inevitably become obsolete over time, but I suspect that there are things she did not expect to happen as quickly as they did, that make the article less relevant now than it was when written. Her assumption that scientific knowledge production is necessarily the domain of the elite is somewhat dubious. Academia has become significantly more diverse and representative over the last three decades, and it has also become much less prestigious and well-paid (I do not think this is entirely a coincidence). It remains true that knowledge production is the domain of a particular non-representative subculture (in fact, the fact that they are involved in knowledge-production will itself make this culture non-representative in at least one way), but the only parts of that subculture that seem to be heavily integrated into the socioeconomic elite are people who were already prominent when the article was written. Additionally, empiricist science has had three decades to fortify itself against the critiques that were made of it, which it has done to at least some extent.

What have we learned? Well, first, that none of the people denouncing "standpoint epistemology" seem to know the first thing about it. This may be because there are people loudly promoting standpoint epistemology who don't know the first thing about it either. I have frequently encountered people who are clearly interacting with a large group of confidently ignorant people and then absorb their vocabulary while critiquing them. What I would suggest as a remedy is to ignore people who don't know what they're talking about. Second, we have learned that standpoint epistemology is probably not possible to do, and it is unclear if doing it would be worth the cost if it were. Lastly we have learned that critical studies are depressingly often simply studies of academic environments (reminiscent of psychology studies performed on a dozen white male college students). Why does Harding focus on scientific knowledge production, and not on knowledge production more generally? At the very least a mention of theories in media studies that are complementary to the account she provides would be appreciated. Or perhaps, even more ambitiously, any sort of reference to the real world rather than only endless discourse.

I would like to end by presenting an interesting open scientific problem that seems to be hard to grasp using empiricist methods, but might be more yielding to a standpoint approach. The article "Physician–patient racial concordance and disparities in birthing mortality for newborns" (2020) (sci-hub.do/10.1073/pnas.1913405117), an analysis of 1.8 million hospital births in Florida between 1992 and 2015, suggests that, while there is a generally higher rate of infant mortality for Black babies than for White babies, the rate of infant mortality for Black babies being delivered by White physicians is significantly higher than for Black babies being delivered by Black physicians (note that the infant mortality rate for White babies does not vary significantly with physician race). The authors of the study controlled for a number of possible confounding factors, and the only difference they reported was that specialized pediatric instruction reduced the size of the gap in outcomes but did not remove it entirely. Now, my own hypothesis to explain the data is that White doctors in Florida and likely the US more generally are doing racist, likely eugenicist, infanticide, and this hypothesis does not require the standpoint approach. But for people who want other explanations, I think approaching the issue with methods from standpoint epistemology might be productive.

#discourse #standpoint epistemology

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more-pokeimagines · 3 years

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Stone Cold Body [08] - Chapter 7

A/N: Once again, I'm so sorry that it took me forever to finish this chapter. I hope you are still interested in the series, and I promise that the next updates won't take as long.

Warnings: none

Taglist: @piershoesz @alovestruck-fool @shaak-ti-s @spair-m [If you want to be added to/removed from the taglist let me know.]

Present

A few days had passed since your latest argument with the prince and you still had no idea why he had reacted so hostile when you had asked him about your dream and the things you had seen. You had tried to talk to him a few more times, mostly because you wanted to apologize for snapping at him but since that morning, Bede avoided you like the plague and purposely looked away whenever you tried to make eye contact with him. And although he acted like nothing had happened when Gloria and Hop were around, you had noticed the sadness in his eyes that he didn’t bother to hide when he thought that nobody was paying attention to him.

You were pretty sure that it had nothing to do with the things you had said to him but still, you could feel your guilty conscience gnawing at you every time you thought about it. Given the fact that you couldn’t stand him, you really hadn’t expected to feel bad about your argument with the prince, at least not for such a long time. Maybe it was because you couldn’t stand conflicts in general, or maybe you were slowly starting to have a thing for him. At least, that surely would’ve been Gloria’s guess if you had bothered to tell her about your twisted feelings since she still firmly believed that you and Bede had to be soulmates, according to the legend that had surrounded the statue. Only a few days ago, she had suggested that you should spend more time with him and try to get to know him better. “After all, you could be meant for each other,” she had said, earning an annoyed glance from you. “You know exactly that’s not true. It’s just a stupid fairytale, nothing more.”

With a quiet sigh, you shook your head, casting aside the memories and trying to focus on the book in front of you. You were currently sitting in Wyndon’s library, an old and dignified building that was equipped with countless books, journals and even actual historical documents from various eras, such as diaries, letters and manifestos. In the beginning, you had been confident that it wouldn’t take too long to find something regarding the prince and his obscure fate but it had only taken about an hour until you started to feel overwhelmed by the amount of information the library offered.

On your desk, there was a pile of books about the history of Galar and a collection of articles about the prohibition of magic and the consequential witch-hunt, referred to as the Great Hunt, which hadn’t been very useful since they never mentioned the crown prince at all and mostly focused on King Lewin’s orders and the methods the Royal Court of Inquisition had used to track down the sorcerers and their families. Nobody had included Bede and his sister into their research, probably because they hadn’t been involved in any of this and while you hadn’t expected to find something about the curse in these essays, you couldn’t help but feel a bit discouraged.

Everything would be a whole lot easier if Bede didn’t refuse to talk to you. He obviously knew very well who the woman you had seen in your dream was but for some reason, he tried hard to keep everything about his past a secret.

Absent-mindedly chewing on the top of your pencil, you stared out of the window as you tried to gather every bit of information you currently had about the prince. The result was quite disillusioning – you knew almost nothing about him, his name, status and family relationships aside. In the exhibition, you had learned that he had been close to his sister and that his parents, particularly his father, had put enormous pressure on him but other than that, you were clueless when it came to him. You had no idea who he truly was, what he thought about the king’s hatred towards the sorcerers or why someone had hated him so much that they ended up cursing him.

Well. If he had always been this arrogant and presumptuous young man he was now, you really couldn’t hold the malediction against the unknown person who had cast it all these years ago… although a part of you had to admit that it seemed a bit harsh to trap someone in stone for so long, just for being an arrogant idiot.

No, you were absolutely sure that there had to be more to it. You just needed more information to figure out what it was.

You grabbed another history book, quickly scanning the table of contents before putting it aside because it covered the aftermath of the Great Hunt and therefore the wrong era. Same with the next two books, although the latter at least recommended some other works about the Great Hunt and the royal family’s involvement. After writing down the title, you turned your attention back to the pile of books in front of you. Surely it would be more effective to work through them first before looking for new stuff to read.

Over the next hour, you found an essay about the upbringing of Bede and Carlina which only contained information you had already gotten from the exhibition, a copy of the royal family’s genealogy that only traced back as far as Bede’s paternal grandparents and another essay that described the events of the Great Hunt without going into detail about the origin of the King’s hatred towards sorcerers and their magic. The author actually had pointed out that it was almost impossible to find reliable sources regarding King Lewin’s personal motives and therefore historians could only speculate about it, but most people assumed that he probably experienced something terrible that led to his disdain, especially since the previous king, Lewin’s father, never had an issue with the use of magic.

You had started chewing on your lower lip, like you often did when you were musing about something, while you stared at the essay and the notes you had taken. Something about the whole issue felt off, although you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. It was strange that no one knew exactly why the king had started to persecute the sorcerers since there was a lot of source material for considerably less important stuff, for example the average earnings of Carlina’s chambermaid or how often Queen Alviva would see the court physician because she allegedly suffered from migraines.

If you didn’t know better, you would have assumed that someone, most likely the king himself, had made sure that every bit of information which could paint him and his actions in a bad light was kept under lock and key, even after his death.

You grimaced at the book in front of you. After everything you had learned about him and the way he treated others, it wouldn’t even surprise you if this was actually true. And it probably was true, given the fact that there was not one essay that told the story from the sorcerers’ side.

It hadn’t even occurred to you that the few articles you had found about the Great Hunt had purely focused on King Lewin and the orders and actions he had taken to hunt down the sorcerers. But now it was clear as daylight that there was next to no information about his enemies and how they had reacted to the threat.

To say that it made everything even more suspicious, would be an understatement. Clearly, the king had tried to hide something but you had no idea what. And in the end, it probably didn’t even matter because it wasn’t linked to Bede and the curse, so it wouldn’t get you anywhere if you –

You started up from your musing before you could finish the thought. Your gaze flickered from your notes to the book, then back to the big question mark you had drawn behind Bede’s name, and you could feel a sudden agitation buzzing through your body.

Maybe it was indeed linked to Bede and everything he had experienced. It seemed quite a stretch and you doubted that his son’s fate was the only reason for the king to cover up the sorcerers’ actions but perhaps they had been the ones who cursed him. It made sense, also in the context of your dream, assuming that the unknown woman had been a sorceress. She had undoubtedly threatened Bede, and –

You abruptly reached for your pencil and began to scribble your thoughts down. Most of your notes probably weren’t going to make sense in the future but you needed to write your thought process down to make sure that you weren’t forgetting any details which could be important later on.

Okay, so, assuming that the woman in your dream had been the one who cursed Bede, it was likely that she had done so to take revenge on his family, or better, his father, the king. Maybe she had lost someone dear during the Great Hunt and wanted to teach Lewin a lesson about the grief she felt. Or perhaps, she simply had tried to put an end to the violence against her people and had used Bede as some kind of leverage to get her will.

You paused to think for a moment. Weren’t you reading too much into a simple dream? There was no evidence that the things you had seen were actually real; you didn’t know if you really had caught a glimpse of the past or if your mind was just trying to play tricks on you after reading a few things about Bede and his family at the exhibition. It was possible that you were well on the way to obsess about the whole situation.

No. Deep down, you knew that everything you had seen in your dream was real, although you couldn’t really say why. You simply knew it.

Or maybe you were slowly starting to go crazy.

He wasn’t sure why he had decided to go back to the park where it all had started. It was strange to see the place where he had been trapped in stone for nearly three centuries; the place where hundreds of people had tried to lift the spell from him, according to Gloria who had told him a few stories surrounding the statue. Surrounding him.

It wasn’t just strange. It felt preposterous to know that he had been right here for all this time while his family continued to live their lives, while the world around him changed over and over again while he remained frozen in time. Maybe it was so hard to understand because he simply couldn’t remember anything after Brigid had cursed him. Contrary to popular beliefs, Bede hadn’t been conscious; he hadn’t noticed anything that was going on around him. After Brigid had cast the spell, a dark, deep silence had embraced him – and then, there had been nothing.

Until he had stumbled right into your arms that day.

Bede was convinced that Brigid never intended her curse to have a loophole; she was way too determined to wreak revenge on his family to make a mistake like that, and yet, here he was, as fresh as a daisy and completely unharmed. Not that he was mad about it, no, he was grateful to be alive and everything but… there was something about this whole story that didn’t quite match up. And he would be lying if he said that it didn’t worry him.

With a quiet sigh, he rested his elbows on his knees, propping up his head on his hands as he continued to watch the few tourists that were wandering around the park. Nobody took notice of him but that was completely alright with him. Back in the day, he had never been able to roam freely outside the walls of the palace. He had always been accompanied by his personal guards which made it easy for everyone to recognize who he was, and while he understood that it was necessary to bring the guards, he had sometimes wished to have more freedom. Being raised as the crown prince of Galar had always been a heavy burden, especially since he could never satisfy his father’s expectations, no matter how hard he tried.

From this point of view, his life was better now. He was free to make his own decisions, he didn’t have to justify himself to his father anymore and could go wherever he wanted to go. He was no longer a prince; he was just a normal young man. He was just Bede.

On the other hand, just the mere thought seemed frightening. For all of his life, Bede had always known what others expected of him and where his place was. Making decisions had never been an option before. Heck, back then, he hadn’t even been allowed to choose the color of the fabrics the tailors used for his clothes, and now he had to decide what he wanted to do with the rest of his life? Impossible.

And, all advantages of a fresh start aside, none of this changed the fact that he was alone. There was no one in this world who cared about him, and most people didn’t even know who he truly was, although they had been so obsessed with the statue over the years. And everyone he had known before was dead.

Bede hadn’t expected the thought would still hurt so much. It wasn’t the first time that it occurred to him that his parents and his beloved sister had died long ago but until now, he had never allowed himself to give in to the sadness that threatened to overwhelm him every time. But now he didn’t bother to fight back the tears that were welling up in his eyes. Given the fact that you and the others weren’t here to judge him, there really was no need to hide his emotions, and before he even realized that he was crying, the tears were already streaming down his cheeks.

He turned away from the spot the statue had stood, pressing his lips together to stifle the sobs that wanted to escape his throat and clenched his fists while he tried to regain his composure. But the tears kept on flowing.

Everyone that had ever meant someone to him was dead. Carlina was dead. He would never see her again, hear her voice or laugh about the stupid jokes she had always made to cheer him up on a bad day. He couldn’t even remember the last thing he had said to her or the last time he had told her how much he loved her. Shouldn’t he be able to remember these things?

Why couldn’t he remember?

The answer was simple. Bede hadn’t known that it would be the last time and therefore, he hadn’t cherished his final moments with his sister enough. And now, all that remained was an excruciating grief that made him feel like he couldn’t breathe.

How was he supposed to live without his sister? After all, she had always been the person he had trusted the most, the one he could rely on without a doubt, and knowing that she wasn’t here with him – that she would never be here with him – hurt like nothing else. No one would ever be able to replace her, not even – particularly not – you; the one who allegedly was his soulmate if he would be willing to believe in the tales Gloria had told him. It would be a mockery if it was actually true (not that he thought that it was), given the fact that he could barely look at you without thinking back to the worst moments of his life… the moments that had changed his whole world forever.

In some way, it almost seemed to be an irony of fate that you of all people had lifted the spell from him. You who looked so much like the woman who had cursed him in the first place.

He had noticed the resemblance right away. Of course, you didn’t look exactly like Brigid but there was something about your features and the color of your eyes that reminded him of her. Even the way you looked at him resembled her, your eyes always filled with so much disdain and anger, just like hers.

At first, Bede had thought that he was imagining things, that his subconsciousness tried to come to terms with the things that had happened by projecting it into this new reality but now, he wasn’t so sure anymore. There had to be a reason behind it. After all, you had managed to break a curse that never should have been broken in the first place, incredible as it was.

He wiped the tears from his face and took a deep breath, carefully locking up his emotions again.

Maybe it was time to stop running away from his past. If he wanted to figure out what was going on, if he really wanted to understand why the spell had been lifted, there was only one person who could help him, as much as he hated to admit it. And that person was you.

Masterlist / Next part

#bede x reader #trainer bede x reader #bede pokemon x reader #trainer bede imagine #pokemon original series #stone cold body #reader insert #gn!reader

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