#i know this is a legacy challenge and i’m drawing it out for so long so maybe it doesn’t need to be as complicated as i’m making it

[fizzytoo]

i wanted to stay away from having my sims settle down right away with the first person they fall in love with in this gen and instead i have these ambiguous relationships i don’t know what to do with 😭

[clumsyromantic]

NOT ANOTHER RAINBOW LEGACY CHALLENGE

Welcome to this ten generation legacy challenge based on vibrant colors! Inspired by all the other color themed legacies out there, because who doesn’t like basing their sims whole personality on a color (I know I’m a sucker for it lol). I won’t put a long list of rules here, because at the end of the day I want this to be your gameplay and story that you create. I will suggest that you follow each generation, but if something isn’t to your liking, by all means, change it for yourself. With that being said, don’t claim this challenge as your own, even if you tweak it. Remember, though, legacy challenges are all about having fun!

If you play don't forget to tag me here or on instagram @clumsy.romantic or use the hashtag #notanotherlegacy. I would really love to see some gameplay/stories!

Generation One: Licorice.

You never stay in one place too long. As a criminal, you’re always on the run. You don’t commit to anything. The only thing you’ve ever truly loved and committed to is your career. When it comes to actual love, you dip as soon as it seems like things might get serious. You don’t like being that close to people, letting people in like that. You can’t trust anyone, or so you thought.

Traits: Evil, Non-Committal, Romantic. (Additional: Self-Assured, Mean)

Aspiration: Serial Romantic.

Career: Criminal.

Have more enemies than friends.

Have a child with an enemy.

Move to a different world each time you age up.

Only your child(ren) can be your partner in crime.

Get caught cheating at least once.

Max your career.

Complete your aspiration.

Master the Mischief, Handiness and Programming skills.

[Packs used: None]

Generation Two: Pearl.

From the time you could hold things, you were coloring, drawing, painting, anything that could help you express yourself. You are the exact opposite of your parent. Maybe you’re like the other one? You wouldn’t know, though. You never met them, nor heard a single truth about them. That doesn’t matter, though, because as soon as you can, you move out of your parents home so that you can start your own life and family. Love isn’t easy, as you don’t truly know what it’s supposed to look like, but with how kind and caring you are, it almost comes easy to you.

Traits: Creative, Cheerful, Family-Oriented. (Additional: Loyal, Good)

Aspiration: Big Happy Family. 

Career: Painter.

Complete the Artist Prodigy as a child.

Move to a different world from your parent.

Marry someone with amazing compatibility (or someone with similar traits).

Have 5 children.

Have a bowling night with the family at least twice a week.

Max your career.

Complete your aspiration.

Master the Painting, Parenting and Bowling skills.

[Packs used: High School Years, Growing Together, Parenthood, Bowling Night]

Generation Three: Latte.

You come from a big family, and you’ve always loved every bit of it. However, nothing can compare to the love you have for fitness. As a teenager, you become a simfluencer who models athletic wear and shows off your healthy lifestyle. As a Young Adult, you constantly have dogs. You tell yourself all you need is dogs, until you meet another fitness buff who you end up having a baby with.

Traits: Active, Dog Lover, Vegetarian. (Additional: Ambitious, Outgoing)

Aspiration: Friend of the Animals.

Career: Simfluencer.

Have a good relationship with your parents and siblings.

Go to the gym four times a week.

Change your hairstyle once a week.

Have at least 3 dogs as a YA.

Become a B-lister.

Have a baby with someone you meet at the gym (bonus points if they have the active skill).

Max your career.

Complete your aspiration.

Master the Fitness, Entrepreneur, Media Production, and Pet Training skills.

[Packs used: Cats & Dogs, High School Years, Get Famous]

Generation Four: Dandelion.

It was hard for you to relate to your parents, as they were much more outgoing and sociable than you were. Keeping up conversations and being around people always made you feel drained. You preferred being by yourself with a good book. It was usually a sci-fi book about robots. It’s no surprise that you’re the first in your family to go to university and you end up working in engineering. Your best friend, perhaps lover as well, is a robot you built. Seems like a good life to you.

Traits: Loner, Overachiever, Socially Awkward. (Additional: Bookworm, Geek)

Aspiration: Nerd Brain.

Career: Engineer.

Attend university.

Build a servo bot.

Be romantic partners with the servo.

Woohoo with the servo in the rocketship.

Only adopt or have science babies.

Max your career.

Complete your aspiration.

Master the Logic, Handiness and Robotics skills.

[Packs used: High School Years, Discover University]

Generation Five: Emerald.

You want to make the world a better place for the next generations. Everything you do involves Mother Earth. You live off the land, garden and fish for your food. You raise chickens for your eggs and cows for your milk. You also fabricate and make things for yourself, others and your animals. Some of the things you create you sell on Plopsy for income. You have a baby with someone you’re engaged to be married to. But as soon as you can, you pack up and leave them, taking the baby with you.

Traits: Loves Outdoors, Maker, Freegan. (Additional: Green Fiend, Recycle Disciple)

Aspiration: Master Maker.

Career: Plopsy Seller.

Live in Evergreen Harbor (If you don’t already, move there as a YA).

Live in Port Promise, where you must make the eco footprint green.

Additional Challenge: have the Simple Living lot challenge in Evergreen.

Knitted and Fabricated items can be sold on Plopsy when you need simoleons.

Get engaged and try for a baby until one of you is pregnant.

Once you have reached green for the eco footprint; break off the engagement, take the baby and move to Sulani.

Complete your aspiration.

Master the Knitting, Fishing, Gardening and Fabrication skills.

[Packs used: Eco Lifestyle, Nifty Knitting, Island Living]

Generation Six: Turquoise.

Growing up on a beautiful beach with your single parent doing everything for you made you into a spoiled brat. The only thing you actually want to do, besides sleep and chill, is fashion photography. You have a real eye for fashion. Although, you don’t really have a knack for picking up work. You’re more likely to be suntanning than actually doing your job. The few times you do accept a job, you fall in love with the model. Instead of falling happily in love together, you are constantly fighting, and to make matters worse, you have a kid together. Something neither of you wanted.

Traits: Self-Absorbed, Lazy, Hates Children. (Additional: Jealous, Squeamish)

Aspiration: Beach Life.

Career: Freelance Fashion Photographer.

Accept a job once a week.

Have a baby with one of the models that has the Mean, Hot-Headed or Evil trait.

Only have 1 child.

Have a bad relationship with your child.

Move to San Myshuno as an Adult.

Max your career.

Complete your aspiration.

Master the Charisma and Photography skills.

[Packs used: Get Famous, Outdoor Retreat, Moschino, City Living]

Generation Seven: Ruby.

You constantly heard your parents fighting over something. They were never not fighting. You found your solace in music; listening to it, writing it, playing instruments, just everything about it. You get married young just so you can move out. But you’re in love with a musician on the side. You’re not really sure if you should keep seeing them, or stick by your spouse. You never really were good with decisions, especially ones that could really impact your future.

Traits: Music Lover, Hot-Headed, Childish. (Additional: Erratic, Dance Machine)

Aspiration: Musical Genius.

Career: Live off tips and fame.

Marry and move out as a YA.

Have a bad relationship with your parents.

Cheat on your spouse with someone who plays an instrument or sings.

Only earn money from tips when you play instruments or sing in public.

Have either a dance battle or karaoke night once a week.

Obtain fame, at least c-lister, from music.

Complete your aspiration.

Master the Singing, Dancing and any instrument skills.

[Packs used: Get Famous, City Living, Get Together]

Generation Eight: Magenta.

You’ve always used humor and pranks as a way to cope with everything going on in your life. No one but your best friend really gets you. It’s hard for you two to get over being friends when you realize that you have feelings for each other. Except, after having a baby together, you realize you were better off as friends. You still civilly raise the child, just not under the same roof anymore.

Traits: Paranoid, Goofball, Gloomy. (Additional: Clumsy, Cat Lover)

Aspiration: Chief of Mischief.

Career: Social Media.

Have a childhood best friend.

Have a baby with said best friend.

You and your best friend fall out, but you still raise the child civilly.

Have at least 1 cat.

Max your career.

Complete your aspiration.

Master the Comedy, Writing and Mischief skills.

[Packs used: Cats and Dogs, Strangerville, City Living]

Generation Nine: Tangerine.

You prefer the finer things in life. You live in the city, but as a young adult working in law, you often take vacations to Mt. Komorebi. Where, when you fall in love with a local and have children, you take your children there often. Not until you retire, do you and your spouse move there. In the meantime, you enjoy the time you spend there; skiing, snowboarding, rock climbing, sightseeing, etc. You dream of your vacations while at work.

Traits: Adventurous, Kleptomaniac, Bro. (Additional: Lactose Intolerant, Materialistic)

Aspiration: Mt. Komorebi Sightseer.

Career: Law.

Take 2 vacation days a week to go to Mt. Komorebi.

Marry and have children with someone who lives in Mt. Komorebi

Continue living in San Myshuno until you retire and move to Mt. Komorebi.

Steal one item a day.

Max your career.

Complete your aspiration.

Master the Skiing, Snowboarding and Rock Climbing skills.

[Packs used: Snowy Escape, Cottage Living]

Generation Ten: Aubergine.

Your parents always showed you the luxurious sides of life. Treating you to everything and anything you could ever imagine. It lit the way for your future career as a critic. You enjoyed being able to put your 2 cents into whatever you could get your neatly, well kept fingers on. You also always looked and presented to be your best self. 

Traits: Neat, Foodie, Snob. (Additional: High Maintenance, Perfectionist)

Aspiration: Party Animal.

Career: Critic.

Host 3 parties a week.

Each party has a theme; decorate and cook accordingly.

Get married 3 times (not to the same person).

Have 1 child per marriage.

Don’t get close to your children until they are Young Adults.

Max your career.

Complete your aspiration.

Master the Cooking, Writing and Gourmet Cooking skills.

[Packs used: Spa Day, City Living]

[shadowtriovibes]

before the origin of love

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 2.7K

Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Minor Character Death, Blood, Major Hogwarts Legacy Spoilers, Canon Divergence, Ancient Magic Theory

Summary: request [paraphrased]: "You know the part during the game when MC visits Ollivander's alone and Rookwood Apparates her away? Can I request an angsty version of this where Sebastian is with f!MC? Rookwood is angry they killed all his men and casts Imperio on Sebastian to force him to attack her. Even though she’s expecting to die by Sebastian’s hand, he eventually fights the curse off because love is more powerful than dark magic."

a.k.a. y'all thought lily potter was the only one with ancient love magic? think again!!!

“Show your face, Rookwood!” you shout into the darkness. “Come out and fight me!” “My dear, why should I fight you?” Rookwood laughs from high above you, still unseen. “This is child’s play, after all…” You feel like time stops as you see a bright green curse rocket through the air toward Sebastian, who is powerless to do anything to stop it. The curse hits him in the chest with such force that he’s knocked backward, his head tipping forward as he lets out a sickening groan. But instead of watching your friend die while you stood by helplessly, you watch in abject horror as he tilts his head up and locks eyes with you – smoky-green, soulless eyes.

The moment you and Sebastian step outside Ollivander’s shop, you realize that the typically bustling streets of Hogsmeade are disquietingly empty. It’s nearly sundown now, and instead of seeing a friendly mix of witches and wizards doing their holiday shopping or stocking up on supplies for the winter months, you find yourselves all alone.

“Take out your wand,” you murmur to Sebastian. “Something’s not right.”

Wordlessly Sebastian draws his wand and takes a step closer to you, warily glancing up and down the empty streets.

Then in the blink of an eye, a well-dressed figure Apparates into view just across the way – Victor Rookwood, you realize, complete with that infuriating hat of his.

“Rookwood,” Sebastian boldly calls out. “So we meet again. Didn’t you get enough of a telling-off last time?”

You silently aim your wand at him, daring him to take one step closer.

“Well, well… looks like your friend Sirona isn’t here to stick up for you little menaces this time,” Rookwood says with a sneer. “I’m afraid you two are on your own. In fact, I’ve ensured that we have a moment to ourselves.”

Sebastian quickly lifts his wand and aims it squarely at the man’s face. “What do you want, Rookwood?”

“Oh, come, come, no need for such theatrics,” the man drawls, slowly creeping closer to you both. “In light of what Ranrok now knows, you must agree that our interests are aligned.”

Sparks crackle at the tip of your wand as you lift it toward Rookwood.

“Our interests will never be aligned,” you murmur.

Rookwood glances significantly at Sebastian before he challenges you.

“My dear, you would let goblins take what is rightfully ours? The final repository belongs to wizardkind. We would be fools not to work together.”

Beside you, you observe the slightest falter in Sebastian’s aim. You should have known that someone like Rookwood would immediately be able to pinpoint and exploit his biggest weakness – his resentment toward goblinkind, his uncompromising belief that only they carry the blame for his sister’s curse.

You imagine him thinking, Could he be right? Are we fools to allow Ranrok’s goblins to continue ransacking Isadora’s Repositories? Could we instead be using them to cure Anne?

But before Sebastian says a word, Rookwood’s eyes land on the long, thin box in your hands.

“What’s that you’ve got there?” he demands.

Quickly, you slip the box safely inside your robes. You shake your head only slightly, but Rookwood easily detects its significance.

Rookwood continues, “Might this sudden visit to the wandmaker have something to do with our… mutual pursuit?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you say softly.

Suddenly, you see Rookwood’s countenance shift as his true motives become clear.

“That repository is my birthright!” he shouts, stepping toward you with a hand outstretched.

Instantly Sebastian steps in front of you and points his wand at Rookwood once more. “I know one thing for certain, and that’s that Charles Rookwood wouldn’t have wanted you anywhere near it!”

Rookwood laughs darkly as he takes a step back.

“The arrogance,” he murmurs, gaze fixed on Sebastian’s determined expression. “I should have known better than to try to reason with a Sallow, after all – you’re no better than your sister, you simpering fool.”

In a frighteningly low voice, Sebastian asks, “What would you know about my sister?”

“Nothing, of course,” Rookwood sneers. “I only meant that I’ve always thought that children should be seen and not heard.”

You inhale sharply, absently lowering your wand as you process Rookwood’s words – the very same that Sebastian had told you were the last words Anne had heard before she was hit with her curse.

Sebastian understands the implication a split second before you do, and you can see bolts of green light shooting down the length of his wand before you even understand what he’s doing.

“Avada–”

Before he can finish his spell, you feel a hand on your shoulder and suddenly you’re hurtling through time and space as you’re forcibly Apparated away from Hogsmeade, landing in a crumpled heap in the snowy grass. You’re smack in the middle of a desolate bandit camp somewhere in the Highlands.

Beside you, Sebastian is catching his breath while his hands tremble with rage.

“Where did he go?” Sebastian demands. “Where did the bloody coward go?!”

“Careful, Sallow,” Rookwood’s voice calls out from the darkness. “Wouldn’t want to get yourself into a bind!”

Sebastian suddenly shouts as thick lengths of rope appear out of thin air and wrap themselves around his body, forcing him to his knees.

“Sebastian!” you yell. “Finite!”

Your spell deflects right off the enchanted ropes, and Sebastian grits his teeth.

“I’m okay,” he insists. “It’ll be alright, just – just get him, you can do this.”

Desperate, you find yourself alone while Sebastian struggles against his ropes. You’re keenly aware of the dozen or so fully-grown wizards Apparting into the camp with their wands drawn. You’ll have to take on every single one of them by yourself, you realize, with nothing but your own wand and the ancient magic coursing through your veins to defend yourself.

It feels endless. Simply deflecting their spells takes nearly all of your focus, even if you try to spare some for Sebastian while he struggles uselessly against his bindings. You toss curse after curse at Rookwood’s men and eventually you’re forced to start tossing actual barrels and crates at them as well, until finally you pare down the lot of them to the last executioner with his wand trained squarely at your heart.

“Bomarba!” you holler, and across the field, the burly executioner goes flying into a pile of rubble and melts away into smoke, the last to abandon his mission and surrender.

“Show your face, Rookwood!” you shout into the darkness. “Come out and fight me!”

“My dear, why should I fight you?” Rookwood laughs from high above you, still unseen. “This is child’s play, after all…”

You feel like time stops as you see a bright green curse rocket through the air toward Sebastian, who is powerless to do anything to stop it. The curse hits him in the chest with such force that he’s knocked backward, his head tipping forward as he lets out a sickening groan. But instead of watching your friend die while you stood by helplessly, you watch in abject horror as he tilts his head up and locks eyes with you – smoky-green, soulless eyes.

Imperio.

 “So go on, then,” Rockwood demands. “Play!”

The ropes that had bound Sebastian’s arms to his side quickly fall away, and before you can even react he lifts his wand and rounds on you.

“Confringo!” he shouts, and a blaze of fire soars just past your ear.

“Sebastian,” you call out. “Can you hear me? Don’t do this, please!”

You know it’s fruitless. Sebastian himself had taught you that the Imperius curse cannot be fought off, even by the most powerful wizards who have ever been trained to resist its impenetrable influence. Despite his dueling skills and his broad knowledge of the Dark Arts, you have to assume that Sebastian doesn’t stand a chance against Rookwood’s voice in his ear.

“Levioso!” you counter, hoping to merely hold him off long enough to get to Rookwood and force him to free Sebastian.

But to your chagrin, the Sebastian you’ve known and loved since your first days at Hogwarts is indeed one of the most disciplined and talented duelers you’ve ever fought, and even though he doesn’t want to, he’ll surely give you a run for your money.

“Diffindo!” he growls, and the edge of his curse just barely nicks the side of your calf. You cry out in pain and collapse to the ground as you press a hand to the bleeding wound.

“Want me to release your little friend?” Rookwood calls out. “It’s simple, darling. Join me against Ranrok and I’ll let him live!”

You know deep down that you can’t ally yourself with Rookwood. Despite Sebastian’s initial hesitance, you have to imagine that if he were able to understand your position, he’d do the very same thing that you’re about to do.

It wasn’t the goblins after all, it was him, you can hear him say. We can never join him, not after what he did to Anne. There’s only one way out of this.

Merlin, you think. This is it.

Without your ability to wield ancient magic or the wand made of the Pensieve artifacts, Ranrok may never gain access to the final repository, you convince yourself – especially if he splinters from Rookwood. Sebastian can give the wand to Fig after you’re gone, he can hide it somewhere Ranrok will never find it…

It could all work out, you reckon, if you die.

“Never!” you call out to Rookwood. “I’ll never join you!”

“Then you’ve made your choice,” Rookwood’s voice echoes back. “I’ll let the Sallow boy show you what happens to anyone who says no to me.”

Rockwood’s twisted laughter rings out all around you as Sebastian’s opalescent eyes look you up and down. He lifts his wand and aims it at your heart, and you close your eyes with your own wand at your side.

“Avada Kedavra!”

…

…You’re still breathing.

How are you still breathing?

When you open your eyes, Sebastian is standing before you looking entirely drained, his eyelids drooping as he sways from pure exhaustion. However, just before he collapses you catch a glimpse of his eyes – his usual warm brown ones, the same magnificent eyes you’ll never tire of seeing after all this.

“Sebastian!” you shout, running over to support him as he tumbles to the ground. “Wh-what just happened?”

“Did I get him?” he asks in a whisper. “Rookwood?”

Stunned, you cast Lumos and peer across the empty field until you notice a figure lying in the snow far at the other end – Rockwood, you assume. He isn’t moving, and his legs are bent in a sick, absurd way as if he’d fallen from the watchtower that he now lays below.

“Yes,” you breathe. “You did, b-but… Sebastian, how did you–”

“I don’t know,” he sighs. He’s clinging to your arm as you help him to sit up and rest his head between his knees. “I have no idea, I just… I couldn’t do it.”

“He wanted you to kill me,” you surmise.

“I wouldn’t,” he says hollowly. “It… felt like my head was being split open right down the middle, with one half of me forcing my body to move and aim my wand and the other half knowing that I’d rather die than use that curse on you.”

“Oh, Seb,” you whisper.

You’re both quiet for several long moments while Sebastian takes deep breaths, his face still hidden between his knees. You slowly rub his back through his cloak and wait for him to sit up. He looks haunted when he finally does – even more so than he usually looks.

“I hurt you,” he mumbles. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“I know, love,” you say softly, the pet name slipping out so easily that you barely even register at first. “I’m okay, it’s just a cut. Some Wiggenweld will fix me right up when we get back to the castle.”

“Can I?” he asks hesitantly, and you reluctantly let him pull your cloak to the slide so he can see the gash on your calf.

It isn’t deep, and it isn’t even bleeding anymore, but the ripped trouser leg and drying blood stains make Sebastian curse under his breath nonetheless.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he whispers. “Why did I do that?”

“You have no choice,” you remind him desperately. “No witch or wizard has ever fought off the Imperius curse like that before, Sebastian, and you spared me my life. I don’t care about a bloody cut when I should be dead.”

“Never,” he chants mindlessly. “Never, I wouldn’t.”

That’s when a thought occurs to you.

“Sebastian…” you say softly. “It’s possible that there are… other types of ancient magic in addition to mine.”

He frowns. “What are you saying?”

“Maybe there’s something… something primeval, something elemental to our magic that you accessed,” you wonder aloud. “Professor Fig told me that his wife Miriam had spent years studying ancient magic, and it can’t only be that which I have the power to wield. Perhaps you were able to defy Rookwood’s will because you – you connected with a magic that’s more powerful than even an Unforgivable.”

“More powerful than that kind of darkness?” he asks softly. “...That type of magic exists?”

“Of course, it must,” you say simply. “Darkness can’t be more powerful than light, can it?”

He considers your supposition as if it’s the first time the thought has ever occurred to him.

“So… so what, the power of ‘friendship,’ something like that?” he asks, a corner of his mouth quirking up into the first thing resembling a smile that he’s shown since you entered Hogsmeade hours ago.

“Something like that,” you tease him. “Maybe the power of ‘love.’”

You’d meant it entirely in a platonic way, but as soon as the words are out of your mouth, Sebastian goes red and ducks his face.

“That’s – that’s ridiculous,” he mumbles. “I mean, love, that’s… Who said anything about love?”

You’re quiet while you watch Sebastian try and fail to gather his thoughts. He’s flailing, and all of a sudden you realize something clear as day that you can’t quite believe you never recognized before.

“Sebastian,” you murmur. “...Do you suppose you broke through an Imperius curse because you’re in love with me?”

“Wh-what?!” he laughs.

“Because if you did, that would be probably the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard, in all the books I’ve ever read,” you continue. “And if that were the case, I would have to tell you that I’m madly in love with you, too.”

Sebastian is stunned into silence.

“You love me?” he eventually whispers.

“I do,” you tell him. “And… and I never really thought about it before, because it doesn’t really feel all that different from being friends with you, except – except I would have let you kill me rather than kill you, even though I know what’s at stake.”

“I still think you should’ve,” Sebastian jokes quietly. “You’re much more important than I am.”

“Regardless, we couldn’t have let Rookwood find out about the last Repository, and I would have taken the Killing Curse to stop him,” you sigh. “I trusted you would have taken the Pensieve wand back to Fig.”

“I would’ve turned my wand on myself first,” Sebastian says plainly. “Without a second thought.”

Merlin, you can’t believe he actually says things like that.

Rather than continuing to dwell on what could have been, you offer him a hand up and support him by the elbow while he shakily makes his way to his feet. He still looks pale and rattled, but he’s able to start to walk toward the exit of the crumbling ruins – still clinging to your hand.

“Come on,” you murmur. “When we get back to the castle you can rest.”

“What about the Repository?” he asks weakly.

“Let me and Fig worry about that,” you murmur. “You’ve already done more than enough for me today, love. You need to recover.”

“M’not even hurt,” he protests, but he sounds utterly depleted.

“Hush,” you whisper. “Just keep holding onto me, alright?”

It’s not easy getting Sebastian back to the castle; he keeps pitching to the side on the back of your broom as he fights to stay conscious, but you manage to keep him from falling off. Despite his protests, you take him straight to Nurse Blainey so he can get some proper rest (and so someone will be forced to keep an eye on him for you).

“Be safe,” he murmurs while you squeeze his hand in his infirmary bed. “Please.”

“I promise, Seb,” you tell him, leaning down to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Just be here waiting for me when I get back.”

“You’ve made sure of that,” he grumbles, but he offers you an encouraging smile before you leave for the Map Room one final time.

[nickeverdeen]

Could I request an imagine for Nimona with a teen!fem!reader who's Ambrosius' younger sister and looks like Gloreth? Could be platonic or romantic, idc

Despite her heritage, Reader has always felt odd and out of place compared to everyone else, and feels a lot of pressure put on her as the descendant of Gloreth. So she often runs away from the loud parts of the city in order to get away from everything, and one day she meets Nimona.

Reader doesn't feel threatened by Nim at all, in fact, she thinks being a shapeshifter is awesome and cool. Even when other people find out about Nim and tell Reader she's a monster, Reader constantly stays by her side, completely willing to fight for her if that's what it takes.

Thanks

Nimona with a teen!fem!reader who's Ambrosius' younger sister and looks like Gloreth

Warnings: None (I think?)

I’m in advance sorry that it’s not long and slightly short and I really am sorry

———————————————————

The city bustled with life, its streets filled with the echo of laughter, chatter, and the clang of swords from the training grounds. To anyone else, this might have seemed like a vibrant, welcoming place. But for the young girl with Gloreth’s golden hair and Ambrosius’s steel-blue eyes, it often felt suffocating.

You carried a lineage that set you apart from your peers. Being Ambrosius’s younger sister came with its own set of challenges, but it was being Gloreth’s descendant that weighed on you the most. The legacy, the expectations—it all felt like too much sometimes.

On days when the pressure grew unbearable, you would slip away from the academy and head to your secret spot. It was a quiet hill just outside the city, where you could see the horizon stretch far beyond the walls that held you in. It was your sanctuary, a place where you could breathe without the weight of your lineage and expectations pressing down on you.

Today was one of those days. You climbed the familiar path to your hill, feeling the cool breeze brush against your skin. You sat down, drawing your knees to your chest, and let your mind wander.

You were lost in thought when you heard footsteps behind you. Turning quickly, your hand instinctively reaching for the small dagger you kept at your waist, you saw a figure approaching. It was a girl, not much older than yourself, with bright pink hair and a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Who are you?” You asked, your voice steady despite the surprise

The girl grinned, a wild, almost feral smile that seemed to light up her entire face. “Nimona. And you must be Y/N, Ambrosius’s sister.”

Your hand tightened on your dagger. “How do you know who I am?”

“Oh, everyone knows who you are,” Nimona replied with a casual wave of her hand. “Gloreth’s descendant, the girl with the golden hair. You’re kind of a big deal, you know?”

You sighed, the weight of that statement sinking into you. “Yeah, I know.”

Nimona plopped down beside you, uninvited but not unwelcome. “So, what’s a big deal like you doing all the way out here?”

“Trying to get away from being a big deal,” you admitted, surprising yourself with the honesty in your voice. There was something about Nimona that felt…different. Safe, in a way that you couldn’t quite explain.

Nimona looked at you thoughtfully, her eyes sharp and knowing. “Oh yeah, you gotta reach everyone’s expactations, right? I bet it sucks.”

You turned to look at Nimona, really look at her. There was an energy about her, something wild and untamed, but also a sense of understanding. “You sound like you speak from experience.”

Nimona laughed, a short, sharp sound. “You could say that. I’m kind of a big deal too, in my own way.”

You sat in silence for a while, watching the sun dip lower in the sky. You felt a strange sense of calm wash over you, as if being with Nimona made everything a little bit easier to bear.

“Do you ever feel like you don’t belong?” You asked quietly. Nimona’s smile softened, but it wasn’t sad. “All the time. But I’ve learned to make my own way of coping. You can too”

You looked at Nimona, your heart feeling lighter than it had in a long time. “Maybe you can help me figure out how” Nimona’s eyes sparkled with mischief once more. “Oh, we’ll see what I can do with ya”

As the sun set, casting long shadows over the hill, you both said your goodbye and made your way back home. You felt a sense of hope you hadn’t felt in years. You don’t know what the future held, but with Nimona by your side, you were slightly more ready to face it.

Months passed, and the quiet hill outside the city became more than just a meeting place for you and Nimona - it became a sanctuary where you forged an unlikely friendship. Nimona would show up at odd hours, sometimes with new scars or stories of her latest escapades, and you would listen with rapt attention.

No one knew about Nimona. You kept your meetings a secret, not wanting the attention or the questions that would inevitably come if anyone found out about your mysterious friend with the wild pink hair. It was a risk you weren’t willing to take, not when the hill was the only place where you felt truly free.

But secrets have a way of unraveling, especially when you least expect it.

One evening, as you were preparing to sneak out to meet Nimona after family dinner, Ambrosius caught you by the arm just as you were slipping out the door. His brow furrowed with concern and suspicion.

“Where are you going?” he asked, his voice low and steady. You hesitated for a moment, your mind racing for an excuse. “Just for a walk,” you replied casually and mentally slapped yourself for chosing the most classic excuse, hoping he wouldn’t press further.

Ambrosius’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve been going out a lot lately. Is there something you’re not telling me? If it’s about a boy or a girl you can tell me”

You felt a knot form in your stomach, but you forced yourself to meet his gaze head-on. “I’m fine, Ambrosius. Just…needing some fresh air.”

Ambrosius studied you for a moment longer, his expression unreadable. You held your breath, waiting for him to push the issue further. But after what felt like an eternity, he sighed and released your arm.

“Alright,” he said finally, his voice softening slightly. “Just…be careful, okay?”

You nodded, relief flooding through you. “I will.”

As you slipped away into the cool night air, you hurried to the hill where Nimona was already waiting, her pink hair glowing faintly in the moonlight. You couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt for not telling your brother the truth, but you pushed it aside as Nimona greeted you with a mischievous grin.

“Hey there, big deal,” Nimona teased, using the nickname she had given you early on

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Don’t start”

Nimona chuckled, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes—a hint of sadness, maybe, or regret. You noticed it, but before you could say anything, Nimona was already launching into a story about her latest encounter with the city guards.

You spent hours together, talking and laughing under the stars. But as you were about to part ways, Nimona made a small slip-up—a mention of Gloreth that caught you off guard.

“Wait,” you interrupted, your brow furrowing in confusion. “How do you know so much about Gloreth’s personal life as a kid?”

Nimona’s smile faltered for just a moment, but then she shrugged nonchalantly. “Oh, you know. Rumors and legends. Everyone’s heard of Gloreth.”

You weren’t convinced, but Nimona quickly changed the subject, and you let it go for the night. You didn’t want to push Nimona away with too many questions, not when your friendship meant so much to both of you.

As you walked back to the academy that night, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to Nimona than met the eye. But for now, you decided to trust Nimona’s words and focus on the bond you were building — one secret meeting at a time.

As Nimona waited at your usual meeting spot, her thoughts drifted to the times she and you had shared stories, laughter, and secrets under the quiet night sky. It had become a routine she cherished, a rare moment of connection in a world that often felt indifferent to her.

Tonight was no different — or so she thought.

Lost in her thoughts, Nimona didn’t notice the approach of you until a sudden movement behind her made her jump. Instinctively, she shifted into the form of a sleek black cat, her heart pounding in her chest. But as she turned around, ready to explain herself, she found you standing there, wide-eyed but not afraid.

The cat’s form shimmered and Nimona returned to her usual self, her pink hair slightly disheveled from the transformation. She took a hesitant step back, expecting you to recoil in fear or shock, just like everyone else did when they saw her powers in action “Sorry… I didn’t mean to-“

Instead, your face lit up with awe and excitement as you cut her off. “That was amazing!” You exclaimed, unable to contain your enthusiasm and suprise. “You can turn into animals? That’s so cool!”

Nimona blinked, taken aback by your reaction. “You’re not… scared?” she asked cautiously.

You shook your head, a smile spreading across your face. “Why would I be scared? It’s incredible! Can you turn into anything else?”

A wave of relief washed over Nimona as she realized you weren’t like everyone else and that reminded her of Gloreth for a second. You weren’t afraid of Nimona’s abilities; you were fascinated by them. “Yeah,” Nimona replied, her voice tinged with relief and a hint of excitement. “I can turn into lots of things—animals, people, you name it.”

Nimona hesitated for a moment, still cautious despite your acceptance. “You’re not going to… tell anyone, are you?” she asked, her voice softening with vulnerability.

You shook your head adamantly. “Of course not,” you reassured Nimona. “Your secret’s safe with me. Besides, who would believe me anyway?”

Nimona smiled gratefully, a weight lifting off her shoulders. For the first time in a long while, she felt truly understood and accepted.

As days turned into weeks, yours and Nimona’s bond grew stronger with each passing adventure. You reveled in your secret escapades, using Nimona’s shape-shifting abilities for mischief and exploration, always careful to keep your activities hidden from prying eyes.

One sunny afternoon, while you were playfully testing Nimona’s ability to transform into various animals, your brother, Ambrosius, stumbled upon you two. His expression darkened as he watched Nimona shift from a mischievous squirrel to a majestic hawk in the blink of an eye.

“Y/N, what’s going on here?” Ambrosius demanded, his voice tinged with concern and disapproval.

You froze, caught off guard by your brother’s sudden appearance. You glanced nervously at Nimona, who shifted back into her human form, her pink hair tousled and her eyes wide with apprehension.

“This is Nimona,” you began hesitantly, trying to gauge your brother’s reaction. “She’s my friend.”

Ambrosius frowned deeply, his protective instincts kicking into overdrive. “She’s a shape-shifter,” he stated bluntly, his voice low with suspicion. “You know the dangers—”

“But she’s not dangerous!” You interjected passionately, stepping closer to Nimona’s side taking her hand in yours. “She’s just different. And she’s my friend.”

Ambrosius’s expression softened slightly, but he remained wary. “Y/N, you can’t just trust everyone,” he cautioned, glancing around nervously as other passersby started to take notice of Nimona.

Before you could respond, a concerned citizen approached, eyeing Nimona with apprehension. “She’s one of those monsters!” the person exclaimed loudly, drawing the attention of nearby guards which gave Nimona a small flashback and scare.

Panic rippled through the crowd as rumors spread like wildfire. You felt a surge of protectiveness towards Nimona, knowing that Nimona was vulnerable in this moment of scrutiny.

Ignoring the stares and murmurs, you stood firm by Nimona’s side and gave her hand a slight squeeze, your loyalty unwavering. You locked eyes with your brother, silently pleading for understanding. “I trust her,” you stated firmly, your voice unwavering despite the tension thickening the air around you.

Ambrosius hesitated, torn between his concern for your safety and his desire to protect your happiness. “Y/N, you don’t know what its capable of,” he argued, his voice tinged with frustration.

“I do,” you insisted, your gaze never leaving Nimona’s. “I’ve seen who she is, beyond her abilities. She’s kind, she’s brave, and she’s a person not a thing.”

Nimona’s heart swelled with gratitude as she listened to you defend her. She had never known such loyalty and acceptance from anyone before, especially not from someone as important to you as your own brother.

Despite the turmoil and the whispers of fear surrounding them, you remained steadfast in your support of Nimona. You were willing to face the consequences, even if it meant risking your relationship with your brother and losing the approval of others.

As the commotion around you grew louder, you took Nimona’s hand more firmly in yours, offering silent reassurance. Together, you stood united against the tide of misunderstanding and fear, your bond strengthened by adversity and your shared belief in acceptance and friendship.

And in that moment, amidst the chaos and uncertainty, you both knew that your connection with each other was more than just friendship—it was a testament to the power of loyalty and prehaps something more.

[ofliterarynature]

AUGUST 2023 WRAP UP

[ loved liked okay no thanks DNF (reread) bookclub*]

Witch Week | A Perilous Undertaking | 2 AM At the Cat's Pajamas | The Last Sun | The Lives of Christopher Chant | The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo* | (The Angel of the Crows) | The Enchanted April | The Art of Prophecy | A Curious Beginning | Q's Legacy | The Grimoire of Grave Fates | Charmed Life | Ocean's Echo | (Band Sinister) | (Unfit to Print) | Camp Damascus | Wanted, A Gentleman | Translation State | The Mistress of Bhatia House

I’m late I’m late I’m late! Oops

It’s only a month late, right? ‘Only’ lol, work has been exhausting! Anyways:

At this point I wonder if Ann Leckie can ever do wrong, Translation State was good! I was completely enthralled, which is all I ask, even if I don’t get as passionate about it as the main trilogy.

I continued the KJ Charles reading, with these supposed stand alones that are also kind of related? Honestly it’s no less of a stretch than Society of Gentlemen to Lilywhite Boys, so I don’t know why she can’t officially list them together. Anyways, mostly fine, and Band Sinister is still a delight!

Camp Damascus…I’m thrilled for Chuck, really, and I think he’s a delight to follow, but this one wasn’t for me. Religious trauma is turning out to be a hard no.

Ocean’s Echo was good! In some ways I definitely thought it was better than Winter’s Orbit - miscommunication is the worst I’m sorry, this story was more consistently engaging! I just like the characters from WO a bit more.

Chrestomanci! I’ve been going by the suggested reading order on Goodreads, and while I wasn’t particularly enthused by Charmed Life, once I had a grasp on the world the other books have been fun! Im very sad this might be my last DWJ, as I seem to have exhausted my library’s collection of her audiobooks :(

Grimoire of Grave Fates had a really interesting premise that lured me in, despite my reservations - an anthology where all the stories work together to solve the mystery of a murder at a magic boarding school? I thought it worked fairly well (and could definitely spin itself out into a series of novels), but just ok for me. Maybe one day I’ll finally concede I can’t read YA or boarding school books anymore.

Q’s Legacy was the last (I think) of the 84 Charing Cross Road books, and honestly the worst. It had its interesting moments, but it lacked the cohesion of the other two, speed,-running the before and during of those stories, to then spend the second half on the adaptations. It was not at all what the descriptions led me to expect. Maybe worth a single read but not a revisit.

I will also be honest, I didn’t really like the first Veronica Speedwell! The plot felt a bit contrived, and Veronica was so blunt as to almost read as rude or mean. Also very unexpectedly…clinically horny? Does that make sense? I’m not quite sure what prompted me to continue, but I’m now several books in and enjoying it! To be blunt myself, the historic setting is just set dressing, the plots can feel contrived, the mysteries are mediocre, but the real draw is the Veronica and Stoker show once they get themselves settled in and comfortable with each other. It’s a hoot.

I’d heard good things about The Art of Prophecy, but I still didn’t know quite what to expect going in. It was wonderful. Maybe a little long, but if you’re looking for a fantastic fantasy with lots of fight sequences, no romance, and some fascinating characters, this is a great read. The sequel comes out soon and I can only hope it doesn’t take as long for my library to get the audiobook as it did for this one.

I don’t know where I first found An Enchanted April, but it’s been on my TBR for a little bit, and I thought it would be the perfect fit for my classics challenge I gave myself this year! It wasn’t what I expected at all - it’s entirely character driven and very focused on their flaws, and the entire first half I thought I was going to hate it. But the second half, there’s a twist, almost, born of some very  naïve optimism that nonetheless works out. Very improbably, but I was happy for them, you funky little weirdos. 

What can I say about The Angel of the Crows except that it is still very good! It’s maybe lost a little of the shine it held when I got obsessed with it for a few months last year, but it is definitely now one of my comfort books. I really ought to read more canon Holmes though lol.

The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo was, to be fair, one of my suggestions for book club. It was OK, but there were definitely parts that really did not work for me, the frame narrative in particular. The other members of the club really liked it but I don’t have any plans to read more of the authors work.

I’m almost tempted to put The Last Sun last just so I can yell more. I’d heard such good things about this series, but turns out my expectations were a bit skewed - it is not historical or secondary fantasy world, oops. So we got off to a bit of a rough start, not to mention all of the Capital Words. Not usually a good sign. And while I still wouldn’t say I love the worldbuilding necessarily, or that these are the next great work of fantasy, the action is really great, and the characters are flipping fantastic. You’ve got a pair of 30 year olds who are bad ass fighters, have a traumatic past, are immature assholes, can be so so kind, and accidentally adopt a posse of troubled teenagers? Sign me up, I love them, this reminds me so much of my days reading tons of Teen Wolf fanfic AUs.

My history with 2 AM At the Cat's Pajamas is that they cannot stop recommending this thing on the Book Riot podcasts. When I found a copy at Goodwill, I thought surely it’s meant to be! Well. It was not bad, but it was not great. I don’t know. It just wasn’t for me and I will not be keeping my copy. I probably should have DNF’d it, but I continued in hope.

Only one actual DNF this month though, The Mistress of Bhatia House - the newest Perveen Mistri book. I was actually fairly excited for it despite my reservations about the earlier books, but I hit a mental roadblock with this one. There was some contrived feeling tension with her sister-in-law, but really, I realized that one of my main problems with this series is that, despite being in a very precarious social position, Perveen is just incredibly reckless - usually in the name of doing good! - but it just hit all the wrong nerves at the moment. I’m hoping there will be a better time to read this, but not right now. 

[kingluffy5]

Playing Detectives Pt 3 (Wednesday x Male Reader)

Finally starting to move a few steps forward into their investigation Y/N have discovered the existence of a secret society, found the second half to the drawing the details their destiny, and while they were at it they knocked Wednesday’s mortal enemy down a peg, however they have just been seemingly kidnapped.

The two of us are now tied to couple of chairs, after the bags are ripped off of our heads a projector is used to shine light into our eyes and in front of us stand several hooded figures wearing masks, most of whom are clearly people we know.

“Who dares breach our inner sanctum.” Bianca says distorting her voice

“You can take the mask off Bianca.” Wednesday replies.

Everyone takes off their own masks as well, Bianca, Ajax, Xavier, Yoko, Divina, even Jack, Jason, Gwen, and Amelia are there.

“Wait I preferred you with it on.” Wednesday says, which me, Jack, and Jason laugh at.

“How did you get down here?” Xavier asks.

“Rowan showed us.” I respond.

“Left pocket.” Wednesday says.

Xavier walks over and takes the drawing out of her pocket and unfolds it.

“We tracked the watermark down to the Poe statue and then we solved the riddle.”

“Wait there’s a riddle? I thought we just snap twice.” One of them questions.

“Well aren’t you the brightest in the bunch.”

“The Nightshade are an elite social club, emphasis on elite.” Bianca says.

“We have roof parties, campouts, the occasional midnight skinny dip.” One of the says.

“And Yoko is an amateur mixologist.” Another says.

“She makes a killer virgin mojito, it can get pretty wild.”

“Wow do you guys even have a bed time, last I heard the Nightshades have been disbanded.” Wednesday says sarcastically.

“Yeah, the group kind of lost their charter thirty years ago after some normie kid died.” Xavier answers.

“But we have a lot of wealthy alumni so Weems looks the other way as long as no one makes any waves.” One of them answers.

“Wait how come none of you guys ever told me about this?” I ask my siblings and cousin.

“We tried to you just never cared to listen to us.” Jason answered.

“Name one time.” I challenge, seriously I pay attention to them and care about what they’re up to, I find it hurtful they don’t think that.

“A few months ago when I first joined I tried to tell you but you said you were busy reading.” Gwen says.

“One month ago we were going to invite you to take the pledge but you said you couldn’t talk because you were going to beekeeping.” Jack says.

“I literally was about to invite you for the third time to take the pledge last week but you said you had to go down to your forgery.” Amelia points out

“You have a forgery?” Wednesday asks.

“Yeah Weems lets me have as long as nobody gets stabbed and all the swords I make stay in there.” I explain.

“We’re getting off track here what is your history with Rowan?” Wednesday asks.

“We booted that loser last semester, question is what are going to do with them?” Bianca says. “Only members are allowed in this library.”

“I say we invite her to pledge.” Xavier says. “She has a legacy.” He then points to a picture of Wednesday’s parents when they went here.

“What about me?” I ask.

“We could invite him too.” Gwen suggests.

“After the crap she pulled in the Poe Cup there’s no way in hell, we talk about not making waves she’s a tsunami, and Y/N is like her shadow.” Bianca says rejecting us, I personally think of me and Wednesday as equal partners so the shadow comment wasn’t appreciated, especially with the glare I earned from Xavier after it.

“Just because I beat you at your own game, let me save you the trouble, I’m not interested in joining.”

“Me neither.” I say.

“You’re seriously turning us down.” One of them says sounding offended.

“Can you believe it.” Wednesday says sarcastically.

“Untie them.” Bianca orders.

“We freed ourselves five minutes ago.” Wednesday says as we hold up the ropes and I flip them off.

We then get up and hand our ropes to Xavier, as we make our way to the staircase one of them blocks our way, this one had a black eye, I don’t know how they got it but I have a feeling Wednesday was involved.

“Do you want a matching black eye?” She threatens as I crack my knuckles.

We then make our way up the stairs before Wednesday stops. “It’s amateurs like you who give kidnapping a bad name.”

We then leave.

— — —

I’m now sitting in my next Therapy session having to deal with avoiding some of Kinbott’s exercises.

“What does this ink blotch look like?”

“The Stay Puft Marshmallow Man.”

“And this one Y/N”

“The birthmark on my uncle’s ass.”

She sighs and puts the cards down on her lap. “Y/N, we’ve been having our sessions for half a year at this point, and we barely made any headway, so stop bullshiting this and for once give me a straight answer.”

“We have made progress, several weeks ago we realized a trigger for my panic attacks are moments where I feel guilty for some reason or another.” I point out.

She just holds up the card, I sigh and take a good look at it. “A cat and a bird.” I answer.

“Hm, that answer indicates that the patient is holding onto guilt from a traumatic experience they believe is there fault, what do you think is that experience?”

“I have no idea.” I lie through my teeth, I know perfectly well what it is, and I don’t have any intention on telling anyone.”

We run out the session talking about stuff that has been going on at school and stuff.

— — —

Me and Wends are standing out in the quad holding the drawing of the two of us and the pilgrim surrounded by fire up to where the events are apparently going to take place.

We were also out in the quad because of Weems’ announcement, we will all be doing jobs around Jericho as part of, in my opinion, the most horrible part of the year, outreach day. But today we have to deal with going to some unveiling of a statue in the town, it will have performances by Nevermore students, I know Enid and Gwen are doing one of the performances so I’ll watch for them.

Now we are getting handed the envelopes saying where we are working.

“Yes, I got Pilgrim World, I do have natural people skills and a love of preforming so it’s kind of the obvi choice. What did you guys get.” Enid asks us.

“I got the Weathervane.” I answer.

“Euriah’s heap, whatever that is.” Wednesday says causing Enid to grimace.

“It’s this weird creepy antique store, you’ll like it though, I’m crossing my claws Ajax and I get paired together.” Enid says excitedly.

We then look over at him and Xavier and I hear him say he’s got the Weathervane as well, that should be fun.

Enid leaves and Weems comes over and tells Wednesday that she will be playing her cello alongside the Jericho high school band.

We hop on one of the vans to Jericho.

Wednesday goes to talk with Xavier while he’s staring some blank wall and I go off to explore a little.

We then go sit at the town square as the Mayor thanks us for our generosity and makes some corny joke before Weems dismisses us.

“Enid switch volunteer assignments with me.” Wednesday asks her.

“No, Euriah’s heap is definitely not my bag.”

“It’s an emergency I need to check out Pilgrim World.”

“But Wednesday this isn’t a fair trade why would I agree to spend the entire day at some dumpy emporium of crappola.”

“Because Ajax is going to be there, Thing took sneaked a peek at his assignment, but if you’re not interested.”

“No, oh my god, thank you, you’re the best.” Enid thanks her before running off.

“Good luck at Pilgrim World, I got that one last year a lot of Normies work there and they hate Nevermore kids.” I warn before we part ways.

— — —

I’ve been working here for about an hour and nothing really special has been going on, when Tyler tried to show me and Xavier how to make the coffee I showed him I already know how. I saw Weems, Thornhill, and the Mayor talking for a little bit but I didn’t really care what they were talking about, probably just boring stuff about taxes or bills or whatever adults talk about.

When I catch Xavier glaring again at me I decide that enough is enough.

“Look man, either you can actually yell at me or you can keep pouting like a baby, which will it be.”

“I don’t know, so far pouting seems to be doing just fine.”

“What is up with you, we never really hung out but now it feels like you hate me.”

He then sighs and leans against the counter. “Honestly I’m just jealous of you and Wednesday, somehow you made it so she doesn’t hate being around you at every moment.”

“Dude me and Wednesday aren’t dating if that’s what you’re worried about, we’re just looking into Rowan and the monster.” I answer, I don’t know why but when I say that me and Wends aren’t a thing I feel a little twinge in my chest.

“Yeah she was asking about him and Crackstone earlier.”

“Crackstone?” I ask.

“Jeez, it’s like I’m the only one who knows anything about him, he founded Jericho, he was in some picture she was looking at that had you two in it as well.” He tells me.

“Thanks, that’s really helpful, and me and Wednesday are really only friends, we cool?” I ask him.

“Yeah we’re good.” He says.

“Hey you ever gonna tell everyone what happened to your eye, I know it happened a few years ago and that you missed a few weeks of school for it but other than that not even Enid knows?” He asks.

“Nah, and no offense we may have just gotten back on good terms but if I ever finally tell everyone what went down with my eye it most certainly won’t be you.”

We share a quick laugh before he walks off to help a customer.

I help a few more customers before Wednesday walks in, sadly she’s in her Nevermore uniform, I would have paid anything to see her in the Pilgrim uniform, Eugene better have grabbed me a picture.

Xavier went to greet her, but she quickly turned him away, saying she’s there to talk to Tyler.

“You know the original pilgrim meeting house from the 1600s, do you know if it’s still around?”

“What’s left of it is out in the woods but it’s pretty much in ruins.”

I finally walk over to them and look at the map.

“Show us.” She says, he points to where it is.

“But it’s kinda sketchy, squatters and methheads use that place as a crash pad, my dad has to clear it out every couple of weeks, what’s this about?” he asks.

“Nothing.” She says.

“You guys are really becoming obsessed with this whole monster in the woods thing.”

“Would you rather I developed an obsession with horses and boy bands? Thank you for the help.”

I go to grab my stuff to tag along while Tyler says he could take her later which she rejects, why do I feel happy that she turned him down.

“I’m taking my lunch brake boss.” I tell Tyler tossing the ridiculous apron behind the counter as I walk out with Wednesday, I notice Xavier looking at us, I swear if he still thinks me and Wednesday are dating I will trash his art studio.

— — —

We arrive at the ruins of the old pilgrim meeting house and start to investigate.

Thing signs that he was expecting more when an old homeless guy asks her who she’s talking too, Thing manages to scare him off by grabbing onto his throat.

We look around a little more before Thing asks if she can control her visions.

“No, I can’t just touch something, my visions happen spontaneously.”

He then signs that she should ask her mom for advice.

“I’d rather dye my hair pink then ask my mother for advice, oh you want me to prove it to you.” She then goes around touching various parts of the ruins before grabbing a Taco Bell bag, sarcastically saying it would give them some real insight, and faking a vision. For as closed off and deadpan as she is, Wends has a great sense of humor.

“We could still give it a shot.” I suggest.

“No, my visions are about as predictable as a shark attack.” She remarks walking away, but when her hand touches the door she has another vision causing her to fall, I catch her and lay her down on the ground. While she’s out I decide to make small tall with Thing.

“How do you get you’re nails to look so good?” I ask

‘Me and Enid give each other manicures.’ He signs

“Ah.”

‘What makes your family outcasts?’ He asks

“We are wizards but we mostly focus on alchemy and runes.” I answer

We then spend a while just chatting about mine family and his and Wednesday’s.

“It looks like it’s going to rain, maybe we’ll get lucky and have to miss the statue thing” I say looking at the sky.

Wednesday bolts up looking shocked. “Thing, Y/N I saw her, the girl from my visions, her name is Goody Addams and I believe she is my ancestor from 400 years ago.”

Now, if I went to any other school and befriended any other girl, then this would sound insane, but since I don’t I wasn’t as shocked as one might have been hearing this, I was still shocked, but not as shocked.

We then get up as it started to rain and we heard sounds coming from outside, we look and suddenly the monster reveals itself. As quickly as it appears it runs off. We run after it and followed it’s tracks, but something strange happened, the tracks started shifting from that of the monster to human tracks.

“The monster is human.” Wednesday thinks out loud.

“What the hell are you doing?” Xavier asks holding his umbrella suddenly appearing from out of nowhere.

“We were following the monster.” Wednesday answers.

“Wait you saw it, it’s here, you have a death with or something?”

“What exactly are you doing out here?” Wednesday asks him.

“I heard you were checking out the old meeting house, guess I’m just lucky when I did.” He says as if we couldn’t have handled it ourselves.

“We did learn one thing, the monster is human, it’s tracks turn from monster prints to human ones.”

“Show me.”

We turn to show him but the rain washed the tracks away, Xavier scoffs at that.

“We know what we saw.” Wednesday says.

“I’m trying to keep an open mind.”

“How big of you.”

“I think you may be right about Rowan.”

“Why the sudden change of heart?” I ask him.

“I texted him again today, said maybe we should meet up over spring break and go snowboarding like we did last year, only this time he texted right back and said he wouldn’t be able to make it.”

“Only you never went snowboarding last year.” Wednesday realizes.

“Part of me wanted to blame his recent weirdness, I didn’t want to think that something bad had happened.”

“The cover up is always worse than the crime.” Wednesday says.

“I need you to be honest with me, why did you guys come out to the old meeting house in the first place.”

“We were trying to lean more about Crackstone, figure out how he’s connected to all this.” I say.

“Yeah and you were trying to use your psychic abilities, right.” He says to Wends.

“What makes you think I have any?” She asks.

“Lucky guess, when did they start.”

“About a year ago, when they happen it feels like I’m touching live wire, I usually enjoy that sensation.” She says

“Yeah, but you can’t control it and that freaks you out.” He says “My dad’s a psychic.”

“Vincent Thorp, my brother’s his number one fan.” She reveals. “Watched his Vegas special so many times I’m surprised it’s not imprinted on his eyeballs.”

“So I’ve lived with the self described master and the first thing he’ll tell you is that the visions can’t be trusted, they only show you one half of the picture.”

“I saw Joseph Crackstone as clearly as I’m seeing you now, he gathered all the outcasts in the meeting house and burned them alive.”

“Okay he was a sadistic asshole, so what it was 400 it has nothing to do with now.”

“But what if it does, you saw Rowans drawing, Crackstone was standing in the quad.”

“Your creating a story in your head and using visions to back it up, they’re showing you what you want to see.”

“Are you mansplaning my power?” She asks rhetorically.

“All I’m saying is my dad, the expert, would tell you that psychic ability isn’t rooted in logic, their triggered by emotions, and let’s be honest emotion isn’t your strong suit.”

“I believe Rowan was right, something bad is going to happen and we need to stop it.” Wednesday says referring to the two of us. “Starting with that monster, whoever it is.”

We walk off to go to the town square where for some reason it looks like it never rained and me and Wends were completely dry.

Wednesday went to go set up her Cello while I went to go sit by me family.

“Where are you and Wednesday coming from?” Gwen asked.

“The old meeting house in the woods, we were looking into some stuff and found out that the monster is actually human.” I say

“That’s crazy.” Amelia said shocked.

“That’s what Xavier said when he showed up.” I pointed out.

“Did he really have to be a cockblock for such a romantic date.” Jack said teasingly.

Eventually the Mayor starts to make his speech so I take that as my signal to doze off.

I thought I heard something and when I looked over my shoulder behind the stands I see thing light a match and throw it onto a trial of gasoline, this trail led into the statue’s fountain feature causing it to explode.

While most people ran away me and my family were laughing our asses at the fact the Wends stayed to play her Cello.

— — —

After the explosion Wends was sent to Weems’ office. After that Enid had her date with Ajax and I went to sleep, but not before congratulating Wends on a job well done in Jericho today, turning a dreadfully boring assembly into something truly entertaining. I’m also excited to start making some real progress on the case, figuring out who Rowan’s imposter is and who this monster is, are they the same person are they even connected. Who is it, and what is their goal.

[exileorexodus]

passively went through all of my old hypermania character playlists and realized I missed the characters from that story in a sizable quantity that even I was frightened by.

Especially Denver and Dallas- I was incredibly fond of both of them.

Those two ended up making me reflect on how I’ve been raised in proximity to the black community and black culture throughout my life, I have a deep respect for the heritage, especially the artistry that comes out of it.

My middle school was pretty goddamn poor, extremely multicultural as a result, and absolutely riddled with POC (alongside Canada’s usual default setting white kids) and notable individuals amongst the bozos I hung out with the most were of the community and basically hurled me into their culture early on.

I can’t say that my experience has always been positive, there’s was always a present undercurrent of vague competitiveness and constant ego-challenge and tests of pride that my young and goofy autistic ass just wasn’t able up keep up with (my fault g my skin was just paper thin back then)

A notable entryway I had into online black-dominated spaces was through a person who, although supportive of some of my struggles and understanding of my poor mental health, still treated me incredibly inappropriately for someone as young as I was. I remember being pressured regularly to send nudes - as an eleven year old- - and ensuing upwards- by the only individual I felt like I could confide in, at least with confidence that I wouldn’t be brushed off or reported on at a time when my environment was horrid.

(the only thing I credit to ever preventing me from having been successfully groomed is because I’ve always been violently aroace- it’s one of the few (lucky) reasons (beyond being stuck up my own ass and horrifically self centered) that I never really managed to compromise my self online. No amount of peer pressure or validation-seeking insecurity could ever get me to crack for something I found innately disgusting.)

All of that regardless, that person is still the reason why I had an opening into black and black-adjacent communities and perhaps ended up as tough as I did as a result- you didn’t roll in those circles and come out softshelled. There are still experiences that I’m still fond of and cherish from those points in time, and I honestly enjoy being immersed in the cultures of whom I would probably not be able or understand too well otherwise I still remember sitting in those voice calls, muted and streaming ibisPaint while I drew on my phone, passively listening to the banter of other people. I never had the balls to really talk myself- there was that sort of constant power struggle ingrained into the community culture that I was never able to reciprocate. But I remember those same people who would frequently test my pride liking my art and encouraging me to stream more because watching me draw was calming to them, and there’s a fondness for that memory that I hold dear.

Anyways this is long and ran away from me, this was just supposed to be a post about how man I think back culture and legacy is really cool and also denver and dallas are extremely west coast-hiphop and rap influenced because that shit has always been a vibe to me- rap can be pretty fucking awesome and is poetry in its own right you just gotta know where to look (looking isn’t that hard 💀)

Also on a side tangent; there’s something so melancholic about the more somber tracks of spiderverse and I think it captures the feeling of loneliness in a wide, wide world very well- those are just the emotions that are wrenched out of me when I listen to music like hide (then again much of juice wrld’s discography carries that same feeling)

[ezra-iolite]

One Last Wish- Chapter 1 (A Pirateformers AU Fanfic)

The Immortal Sun finally arrives on the sea border of Joka Ardhi, the homeland of their Dragonkin crewmate, Asya Mutheru. There, all is revealed about her past and why she has returned to the land that exiled her. Gathering a small army, including her polyamorous spouses Captain Elbent and Verglaust, they march across the desert to the capital to face the tyrant emperor of the kingdom, Dragon Lord Jhamal, and stop his crusade to invade the northern kingdoms before it begins… And fulfil the prophecy of the Throne of Crimson Sands.

The Pirateformers AU, Elbent and Verglaust belong to @tigracespace

The brief mention of Solclave belongs to @dimorphodon-x

Blue Heron belongs to @hyraxas

Asya and Apophis/Apo belong to me

Chapter 1: Legacy of the Burning Prince

“So… This is Joka Ardhi, huh? The legendary Kingdom of Crimson Sands… You still haven’t told us why we’re here, Asya. And after six months of you playing my role as the navigator, I think now’s a good time as any to tell us what exactly is going on here.”

“I told you already, Blue. All will be explained in time. For now, we just need to stay on this side of the sea border and begin planning.”

The taller native of the desert kingdom turned her back to Blue Heron to face their destination, its glimmering red sands and many colourful and small sandstone buildings of the port city now within sight on the horizon. His focus, however, remained on the Jokani woman as he spotted her long pointed ears droop ever so slightly, a motion caused by the shiver that spread up her back the moment she spotted her homelands far ahead.

“Wait, I-I’m sorry, I must have misheard you over the strong wind. I thought I heard you say that you didn’t-”

“You heard me, Blue… I know I’m normally the “I’ve got a plan, let’s get going” kind of person, but… I honestly don’t know what to expect the moment we enter Jokani territory. I… I-I mean, come on, Blue! It’s been forty years since I left this place, and I haven’t even dared to sail past the equator until now. I’ve never been able to gather the courage to come back here since my exile, not even when they…”

Asya’s words caught in her throat as another shiver ran up her spine, this time accompanied by an audible whimper as she hugged herself to be rid of the chills of her past. Blue’s anger immediately fell as he approached the Dragonkin and held her shoulder, drawing her teary eyed attention back onto him.

“Asya… You’re here now, and that’s all you need to know that you’re ready to face whatever lies ahead. You faced your fear by asking your wife, our captain, to be the navigator for this mission you told her was vital and would be explained later, and your courage has since brought us all the way here. So whatever happens next… You won’t be alone in facing this challenge. But, Asya… We all need to know what you think we’ll face, once we dock in that city. If this is a dangerous mission you’ve started, we need to know what to expect. So please, Asya… tell us why we’re here.”

Sniffling loudly, Asya quickly dried her eyes on her dress sleeve before she sighed and turned to fully face Blue Heron. “Not here… I need everyone to hear this. Gather the entire crew here, then I’ll tell you everything.”

“I understand. I won’t be long.”

“Take your time… And Heron?”

Blue looked over his shoulder as he neared the door to head below deck. Asya let out a long sigh before she looked back up at him with a half-smile.

“Do you trust me?”

“… With my life, my friend. Or… how do you say it in your tongue? A friend?”

Asya chuckled with a soft blush blooming on her dark ebony cheeks. “It’s rafiki. You’re my rafiki, darling… my friend.”

“Huh…. It’s nice to hear your true accent again, and not your preferred posh Primus one,”

“I- Wait, how do you know about tha-”

“But… To answer your question… I trust you, as my rafiki, with my life. And I hope that you can trust me in turn with whatever you need to do here. We’re a crew, Asya… Nothing will change that.” With a wink, Blue slipped through the door and vanished down the stairs, leaving Asya alone in her shocked realization on the deck.

Letting out another heavy sigh to release the tension within her, Asya reached up to her headband and carefully untied its knot under her dreadlocks, removing her most valuable treasure and holding the thin strip of silk in both hands, before her thumb squeezed out the small hard lump within its folded layers to reveal a large ruby that plopped into her palm. Holding the ruby up between her fingers, Asya gazed at the soft glimmer of orange magic within the crystal, letting out another sigh to steel her nerves as she closed her fist around it.

“If only you knew, Blue. I have no idea what might happen the moment I step off this ship. But I know one thing’s for certain… I’m not running away. Not anymore. Bori… Mama… Kamaria… I’m done hiding the real me. It’s finally time to do this… Right, Apo?”

A golden string of pure magic flickered into reality from her chest, its glimmering soft light revealing itself slowly across the deck and up towards the mast, where a red ball of fire roared into life at the end of the golden string and soon formed the shape of a giant feathered amphiptere dragon, his outline and form made entirely out of red fire that did not burn any of the wood of the Immortal Sun’s exterior. Gripping the mast with a winged claw, he hoisted himself up to the empty crow’s nest and used his fiery serpent tongue to wrap around the chest hidden under the floorboard, pulling it out and clambering down to place it in front of Asya before he stood tall before her and finally spoke.

“The throne awaits, my queen~” Apophis purred, wrapping his coils under himself to perch before his soul-bound ward, the string connecting their very souls turning invisible once more as Asya kicked the chest open and knelt down to rummage inside it, placing the crystal and her beloved headscarf in her dress pocket for the time being.

“Don’t call me that… There’s too much that needs to be done before I can even dare to announce my claim to the crown. And luckily, it’s a three day journey from Wajiri to Oasis. And… I still need to actually consider the consequences of what will happen when I show my face there.”

“Well, forty mortal years is a long time for anyone to remember such a detail as your exile. And who knows? Maybe there are those who hate the Tyrant too that will happily choose you over him?” Apo crossed his winged arms over his chest as he coiled his serpentine body under himself to perch before Asya.

Asya glared over the lid of the chest at Apo. “Really? You actually think they’ll side with me? The unwanted runt who was nearly killed for simply coming out as a woman, who then had the entire Lord’s Hand hunt me down the day I left, and killed those who helped me? Really, Apo?! Tell me something, then… If they truly did support me after all this time, then tell me right now that there isn’t a decomposed body being hung on display on the outskirts of that same city my entire first family were slaughtered in. Tell me that they finally buried the only mortal man who ever made me feel loved and helped me escape this hellish kingdom…. Only then will I finally believe you, that the people of this kingdom have truly changed and will willingly betray the crown for me.”

Apo dared to only look briefly to the horizon, before he muttered a soft, “I don’t know… I cannot smell him.”

“Exactly… Only his bones are surely still there. The rest of the Dunefarers were at least burned at the pyre for aiding in my escape. They were given mercy, Apo… He gave them mercy for daring to aid the runt of a child he wanted dead. And I still remember the laughter of the Lord’s Hand members, those damned humans who swore such eager loyalty to him and only him… I remember them laughing as they hunted Bori down… And I could only watch from the drifting ship as he was gutted alive and… Apo, I can’t. I can’t face him again, after what he did to Bori… To the one man I felt safe enough to consider being my Dad, when…. My own blood father killed him, Apo!! Just for helping me and giving me the family I yearned for in that accursed desert!!,”

A hiccup caught in her throat as Asya gripped the sides of the chest with one hand, the other tightly holding onto the red cloth parcel she was looking for, shakily pulling it out to reveal the blood splatters of that day still staining the fabric. Sobbing into the parcel, Apo leaned down to nuzzle his snout against Asya’s shoulder.

“And you’re telling me… I have to see him again, after what he did to me and the Dunefarers? To Bori?”

“Someone has to stand up to him, before he begins his crusade to the north,” Apo whispered as he wrapped his wings around his ward, swaddling her in feathers of harmless fire. “Kamaria would never have sent that letter if her vision wasn’t true. That same vision is surely how the old Seer figured out where to send it in order for it to reach us on time. How else could she have known when none from our old home knows our whereabouts?”

“That… That’s Kamaria for you. Always the first to know what to do in any situation. She’s the Elder Seer for a reason, after all.” Asya sniffled, her grip on the parcel finally loosened to allow her to unwrap it and reveal the gold and leather armour within.

“So then, if you don’t believe me or that Heron fellow that you are ready to do this, then will you at least believe in old ‘Maria? She’s seen an empire rise and fall before, remember? She was there when your forefather, my grandson, took the throne and emerged in fire as her new Dragon Lord. She was there to serve his heir as the first Seer and formed the Mwonaji Council of other Dragonkin Seers. That old hag is the strongest ally we have, and who is luckily hidden on the inside. She knows what you’re capable of… And what your father will do if you don’t stop him.”

“… And what if I have to kill him?” Asya’s thumb brushed over the old bloodstain on her aged armour as Apo’s fiery form shrunk down to the size of a large dog to meet her gaze.

“Then you’ll have an army. Not just on this ship… but along the path to the capital. You are not the first nor only noble of Alunnui’s bloodline to have been born in the wrong body. Your great grandmother was born a male too. And yet she was more than able to carry and deliver your grandfather and his brother. Just as how you delivered Sira. That alone is proof that your father is an idiot for thinking that only a man deserves the crown.”

“But others follow his sexist logic, Apo… Others will try to stop me from doing this.  What if they outnumber those who wish to see my father step down? What if no one wants me in his place?”

“Tell the crew your story… They will be your voice to convince the people of why he must be stopped.”

“But what if they-”

“They have known you for twenty of their mortal years. And while you may hide it, Asya… The closer we’ve gotten to the border, the stronger you’ve become. Your connection to our homeland’s magic is growing stronger, and your once stunted appearance has finally changed. You’re not the same person you were when you left these lands, or when you first stepped onto this ship… These people got to know you as you grew, in both power and through gaining a family. One look at the real you and upon hearing your story of why you left… It will be enough. If you cannot trust in yourself to convince them… Trust me. They deserve to hear the full story.”

“About my ancestor… or about you?” Asya chuckled softly as she dried her eyes and closed the chest, allowing Apo to use his tail to wrap around it and carry it behind him as he slithered over to the mast.

“Why not the both of us? Not many know the tale of the Burning Prince… or why I am bound to your soul. So… why not tell them everything? And show them why you need their help to stop running from what you fear most. After all… You said it yourself. You’re done running… Aren’t you?”

“I am. And I’m tired of hiding it all. I came out once before… It couldn’t hurt to do it again, right?,” Pulling the ruby out of her pocket, Asya looked at it within her palm before looking back up at Apo. “…I’m done hiding from him and from everyone. It ends now.”

Closing her eyes with a heavy sigh, Asya hugged the wrapped armour close to her chest, and with one more look to her fist, she crushed the gem into tiny shards, each one that fell from her opened hand vanishing as they turned into red sand that blew away in the wind before they could hit the wooden floor. The orange glittery magic swirled like a sandstorm around her, rising up from the soles of her boots to the top of her head before it too blew away with the wind, towards the sun high above. As Apo’s form returned to its full size to allow him to hide the chest within the crow’s nest once again, he looked down from above her with a proud smile.

“And there she is… A blessing of the sun itself. Orange suits you, my dear~ So… What’s the plan?”

“I’m not sure yet, but… I think I might change before they arrive. These heels are killing me.”

Apo chuckled as he lowered his tail to her, allowing Asya to sit down on it and lift her up into the crow’s nest, a flash of orange scales appearing under her dress as a tail wrapped around Apo’s own.

~*~

“Seventy-seven… Seventy-eight… Has anyone seen Solclave? I thought he came up here with Elbent?”

“He’s coming up in a sec, Blue! He’s just busy with something,” Elbent called out, as she waved Verglaust over to join her side. “Over here, hun! Is Kevin and Bryn’ with you? Did either of them find Asya yet?”

“Kevin’s fetching the kids right now, and Bryn’ is helping him with that. They’ll be here soon,” Verglaust assured, peering over the massive crowd now gathered on the deck. “But no, they’ve been too busy to look for Asya. But I doubt we need to, since she’s the one who asked Blue to bring us here. He said she had something to tell everyone, about why we’re in Joka Ardhi.”

“Oh, good. As long as she’s… Wait, you don’t think this is about… that, do you?” Elbent gripped onto Verglaust’s arm as she looked up at him.

“We’ll have to wait and see what she says. But I have a bad feeling it might be that.”

As Verglaust turned his attention back on the crowd, he spotted the two half-giants, Brynjolf and Solclave, coming through the door, with Kevin and five children in tow. But just as he waved them over to reunite the family amongst the hoard of crewmembers, a flash of red zipped down the mast from the crow’s nest and landed on the quarter deck above the crowd.

Standing before the entire crew of the Immortal Sun was a warrior wrapped in red fabric that hid her face in a hood, which continued as a drape that wrapped from over her right shoulder and around her chest under a golden half plate of armour shaped as an under-bust corset, leaving her ebony shoulders exposed. From her elbows to her hands, bright orange scales formed a natural armour for her exposed arms, armed with lethal claws for hands that rested upon her pleated skirt of dark brown leather strips, woven with leather string on top of the underskirt of more red fabric that peeked out under the leather to reach her knees, all held together by a belt of cheetah skin and braided red fabric, on top of a tan coloured strip of leather that formed the large belt around the entirety of her stomach and waist. As she made her way to the stairs towards the deck, her bare digitigrade legs were finally revealed to also have orange scales below the knee, leading down to talon bearing paws for feet that made no sound whatsoever as she stepped onto the usually creaking wood of the stairs and stopped halfway to stay in everyone’s line of sight, a long tail of orange scales and black fur covering the tip revealing itself as it curled around her leg.

“Thank you for coming, everyone. I know you all have questions, and they will be answered soon,” The warrior spoke, revealing herself by voice alone to be the Dragonkin.

Pulling down her hood, Asya looked down at the crowd with bright aquamarine, draconic slit eyes, her pointed ears now long enough to reach past her head behind her, and long, curved horns of charcoal black peeked through her tied back dreadlocks and grew above her head slightly before they swooped towards the back into sharp, curved tips, the rings along the horns glimmering like polished crystals that glowed in the colours and red veins akin to volcanic magma. Stopping at the middle step along the short flight of stairs, Asya spoke once more to the entire crew.

“In order to answer at least some of them, I wish to tell you about this kingdom we’re in… About the history of Joka Ardhi. Apo… Would you mind starting us off?”

Closing her eyes, Asya’s head suddenly twitched to the side with a soft crack of her neck, but instead of her blue gaze greeting the crowd, golden eyes that glowed with power and pride narrowed with mischief, as a grin formed to flash sharp fangs in a playful smile and a masculine voice purred from Asya’s lips, as Apo spoke to the crowd.

“Certainly, my dear~”

With a snap of his fingers, Apo brought the lanterns around the entire deck to life with red flames that casted long dark shadows over the deck, startling many of the crewmates as they huddled to one side of the deck, as the fires sputtered and grew brighter within their glass lantern prisons. The midday sun seemed to nearly dull as darkness covered the deck like a tent roof, and from the shadows rose silhouettes outlined by the fires… Silhouettes of dragons soaring through the air.

“Three thousand years ago, dragons ruled the world. They were, however, found to be the most plentiful in the south, where no humans or mortals lived due to the harsh sun and the shifting sands. So, the south gained its name from the main inhabitants of the land… For to this day, it is still known as the Dragon Lands, merely called so in a different tongue. You know it to today… as Joka Ardhi.”

The shadows changed as Apo stepped onto the deck, the light swirling behind him to reveal his true shadow, that of a giant serpentine dragon. As he turned to face the crowd, his eyes in the shadow glowed gold behind him, but around his neck shone the reflections of ruby shards in the shape of a crescent. Beside his shadow were two wyverns, both bearing blue eyes just like Asya’s.

“Three thousand years ago… I ruled the Dragon Lands as their Lord. My reign was supreme in every continent for no dragon could best me in battle, but my seat of power was here in the south. I ruled with my Alpha and wife, Jua… and our many children, including my eldest daughter, Princess Citrine. She was to be my heir, to become Dragon Queen of the skies, the seas and the lands across the world. Then, one day… The first humans arrived.”

His shadow changed as Apo paced to the left, now revealing him sitting like a regal sphinx facing a group of humans that bowed on one knee to him, a large fleet of ships behind them.

“They came from the far north, even farther than the shores of Primus or Unicron. They told me that day that they came to my domain in search of a home, for a place they could begin a new life and to build a culture of their own. I granted them the right of shelter and aided in building their first settlement, and for a time… there was peace. They respected our laws and culture, and in turn we learned about the beauty of humanity, our ability to shapeshift in order to appear like them and walk in their shoes for a time, and the advancements one generation could craft in such a short lifespan. By the time my daughter was in her adult years, the settlement had become a vast village and they were already spreading out to create more for their ever growing numbers. But with such rapid growth and pride in one’s growing strength… came humanity’s true form of hubris.”

The fires dimmed as the shadows changed once more, revealing a cave where Apo and the two wyverns slept around a nest of eggs. Apo’s fist clenched at his side as he spoke with a growl to his voice.

“I…. Rrrrgghhh…. I was nearing the day where I would give my mantle of Dragon Lord to my daughter, for she had already started a family and had asked me to be their guardian in my retirement. I was happy… so happy… to settle down and see my family grow. One night, my den was invaded by humans… seeking something they once swore loyalty to, but now sought to have for themselves.”

The fires suddenly rose into a bright blaze to reveal the humans wielding spears and swords at the mouth of the cave, many of whom had already plunged them into the two wyverns, while others stormed through the nest, breaking the eggs and spilling their precious yolks. The humans that surrounded Apo’s shadow plunged their spears into his neck, ripping off the collar of rubies he wore and frantically started pulling them off the collar.

“They called themselves the Founders, for they deemed their half of humanity as the true inhabitants of the kingdom, and none should dare oppose their right to rule their own kind. So… they took my mantle and crown and killed my family before my very eyes. And with my dying breath, I swore to them that the kingdom of mankind would fall, for the sands have always been home to the dragons, and we do not die that easily. I remember only their laughter at my words… before a spear was plunged between my eyes.”

Darkness then fell over the entire ship, as the wind blew harshly over them all, bringing a chill to their spines as somewhere within the breeze… distant war cries echoed, the clashing of swords and the roar of dragons boomed far off into the distance.

“And so began the Founder’s War… A battle for the right to own the kingdom of the sands… But for my people, it was a battle for survival of the species. A war against humanity’s desire for our extermination. We were once called Titans by them… but now they deemed us pests, monsters… mere beasts. However… during the twelve-year conflict, a miracle happened.”

Out from beside Apo, a new shadow dragon rose, glowing red with blue eyes just like Jua and Citrine’s, with a single ruby shard upon his neck. Beside him… a female human that held his raised claw and looked up at him with awe and adoration.

“My youngest son, Prince Rhodon, led my kind against the human Founders in the war, making him the last true Dragon Lord for a time. However, during the war… He fell in love. With a human of all things, but the human was a leader too. Her name… was Seraphina, and she led a resistance of other humans that saw the dragons as equals, and as such did everything they could to persuade their own species to stop the crusade. In fact, because of their secret union, many other dragons fell for humans too and just like my son and his forbidden bride, they hid their love from the world and used it as motivation to stop the war for good. But… the humans had lived on our lands long enough to learn magic, especially our kind of magic… Fire. And while we used fire as both our weapon and lifeforce, we also used it as our leverage to keep our numbers alive… We had Soulfire. White flames made from the very essence of our souls, we could use it to bring someone from within death’s grip back to life, in exchange for a piece of our soul. A life for a life, something we rarely did only when absolutely necessary. And somehow… Humans learned about our secret and managed to find a way to create its exact opposite. By human hand alone, they made the most forbidden form of magic to this day… Grimfire or, what my people called it back then… Blackfire.”

The shadow of a battlefield soon appeared across the deck, with dragon roars and clashing swords growing louder all around the crew as dragons and human warriors clashed claw and weapon over and over again. From beside Apo, three humans adorned with mage robes towered over the battlefield like spires, the one in the middle holding his hands cupped together and a sinister grin grew under his hood. The flames from within two of the lanterns suddenly jumped out of their glass prisons and into the hands of the mage, the fire gathering into a wild and angry blaze that darkened in colour, until it became black with a purple core and outline and brought an unnatural chill to the crew who stood near it. All three human mages laughed as they released the purple flames… only to join in the chorus of blood-curdling screams and screeches alike as both the mages, the dragons and every single shadow on the battlefield was engulfed by the black fire, the deadly flames spreading over their flesh and turning them instantly into skeletons. One such shadow from the battlefield, a large wyvern, jumped out of the flat shadow world and became a solid 3D figure of green flames that flew around the ship and screeched in fear as the black flames gained tendrils and lashed out at the green life-sized dragon. The black fire leapt out and caught the dragon’s tail, turning its green fire into yellow bone shaped flames as the black flames devoured its flesh like burning paper, causing the green wyvern to screech and roar in agony as it crashed next to the ship but it did not touch the surface of the water. More roars suddenly accompanied it as more and more coloured fire-formed dragons began to appear and drop from the sky onto the sea, right where the rocks were all around the ship.

Apo raised his arms and slowly with his movement, the flames dwindled down to take back the darkness and allow the midday sun to shine through his veil of theatrical darkness… Revealing the giant rocks and small islands all around to be covered in weathered bones of dragons, the closest one being a wyvern skeleton with its lower half missing, its head and wings spread across a rock as it struggled in its final moments to climb onto it, its claws dug into the rock to escape its demise with its maw open wide from its final screech. As Apo raised the veil of shadows once more, hushed gasps and murmurs came over the crew, with Elbent looking towards Apo with eyes full of worry and sorrow. Giving her a simple solemn nod, he continued his tale of the past.

“The Blackfire wiped out every single dragon and human Founder across the battlefield, and then upon every fleeing dragon. After twelve years, the humans won as they became the sole survivors of the Blackfire Siege. In turn… the corpses of my kind that fell in battle and died from the Blackfire on land became the reason why the sands turned red and remain so to this day. But… not everything died by the Blackfire in that final battlefield.”

The red flames brought back the shadows of the battlefield, now littered with skeletons and fallen weapons across the sand. Through the field of bones, two humans made their way into the battlefield, as though searching for something. Through the heavy silence came a whisper of a sound, a sound even the shadowed humans could hear as they looked around in a panic. Through the breeze and the chill of death…. Came the cry of a baby.

“There were survivors found that day that weren’t human… But neither were they dragons. And the first of their kind is the reason why I know all this. For I saw the end through his eyes.”

The scene zoomed in on the humans as they reached the bones of a massive amphiptere dragon, just like Apo, and within his wings was the skeleton of a human. And there, within the shelter of the wings and the huddled embrace of the human… was a baby bawling at the top of his lungs, bearing a black burn scar over the side of his entire face and left arm. A baby with tiny nubby horns, red scales that shone like crystals over his healthy arm and legs, with tiny claws for feet.

“Rhodon and Seraphina had a son… And during the final battle, they attempted to flee to save their family so that they could fight another day. When the Blackfire came… they did as any parent would and protected their son with all their love and sacrificed themselves to save him. Rhodon’s last breath… was a breath of Soulfire for his son. That was the day I awoke and saw the world through the eyes of my grandson… trapped and weak within his soul. All I could do was watch as the allies of Seraphina came and rescued the child. A child they knew the name of from their leader’s loving speeches on how she would cherish the child for a better future.”

He paused to sigh as the shadows swirled and the fires brightened to cast one long shadow onto the deck… before it came forth as an illusion of a man, a Dragonkin with long horns, clawed digitigrade feet and an air of royalty on his rugged and determined face… A face and overall appearance that was just like Asya in every way. The same horns, hair, height, face… Identical in every way but gendered appearance, golden eyes like his grandfather Apo, and the scar across his face and over his entire left arm.

“A child she and my son named… Alunnui. He grew up in the care of the human rebels, as they rescued other hybrids like him and hid them in the underground caves my kind once called our home. His kind, the first of the Dragonkin, all grew up together in hiding, for the humans grew confident and in their pride they built the first cities that still stand to this day in the kingdom before you all. And in his years of living in secrecy, Alunnui was told tales of my reign, of how his father and kindred fell to the humans, and how he and his own secret kindred were the last to bear dragon blood. The stories became inspiration… then motivation, as he reached adulthood. Thus, he began to plan… To build… To prepare.”

Behind the shadow of Alunnui, an army of Dragonkin bowed to him, with one handing him a spear covered in colourful beads, feathers and dragon scales.

“With the Prince’s Spear in hand, Alunnui and the Dragonkin marched to the capital and for the first time since the Founder’s War ended, they exposed themselves to the human world and began their attack. I still remember his words that day, when he stood before the gates and spoke to the king that bore my crown…”

The shadows warped behind Alunnui as he faced towering stone gates, the army of Dragonkin behind him on the deck floor. With a powerful slam of his spear, Apo spoke as Alunnui moved his lips to his words to speak to the shadow of a human in a crown on the walkway above the gate.

“Mortal king of the sands, I speak only to you! Your father and his people have slaughtered my kind, and you now stand on a kingdom forever stained in the blood of my ancestors. Hear me, false king, for I stand before you now as the survivor of my people’s royal bloodline, and so I speak as one royal to another… Give back the land that belonged to the Dragons, to whom you once called your neighbour and friend, or my kindred and I will take your cities and reclaim what is ours by birthright! Deny us our right to our own lands and crown, and your kingdom shall fall and burn with you in it! What say you, thief?”

The shadow of the human king laughed soundlessly, before Apo responded for him.

“You ghastly beasts have fallen once before by human hand! If you truly believe I owe you anything, then I shall happily remind you of how your father and his kind fell.”

With a soundless yell accompanied by the roar of flames from his body, Alunnui charged through the gates and lay siege onto the kingdom of shadows, as Apo continued his narration.

“The Dragonkin attacked the capital city of Oasis in a wave of fire and bloodshed… For when night fell, the palace erupted into a tower of flames, where the king fell and the crownless prince emerged before his people, of both human and Dragonkin alike… Where he donned the moniker of the Burning Prince and the first Dragon Lord of his kind. This night became the historical event known to both humans and Dragonkin… as the Night of Crowning Fire.”

The shadows formed a door that suddenly burst into red and orange flames that did not burn the ship, and with a gust of hot air the doors flew open to reveal Alunnui walking through the fire that did him no harm as the humans behind him fell to their death by the scorching flames. The crowd of shadow Dragonkin and humans all watched in awe and horror as Alunnui stepped out of the palace doors and raised a blood covered crown that burned with flames from his arm, a motion that sent every shadow witness to their knees as they bowed to their Dragon Lord.

The shadowy veil then vanished, and the flames from the lanterns went out, giving back the light of day across the ship as Apo stood before the crowd of crewmates and bowed his head. Upon rising back up, blue eyes met the crowd as Asya gained her voice and body back and spoke with her arms behind her back.

“On that day, a new monarchy took hold as old grudges and fears were whittled out, in respect for the history our people shared. Humans and Dragonkin became one civilization… the Jokani. In turn, the Jokani prospered under the rule of the new emperor, Dragon Lord Alunnui, who then sired an heir and began the Ruby Bloodline.”

Summoning orange fire in her palm, Asya created a new illusion in front of her, with each name she called out revealing a Dragonkin, each bearing a crown like the one Alunnui held.

“Dragon Lord Bakari, son of the Burning Prince and Queen Consort Noxolo…

Dragon Lord Mzuri, son of Lord Bakari the Kind and his King Consorts Amri and Shani…

Dragon Queen Citrine the Second, daughter of Lord Mzuri and Priestess Zahara, founder of the Nyotan religion and the Evenstar Church…

Dragon Lord Alhaadi, eldest son of Citrine the Second and King Consort Lauzel…

Dragon Lord heir apparent Amani, eldest son of Alhaadi the Wise and Queen Consort Lulana, who died before he could take the crown and was succeeded by the second eldest of the three children…

Dragon Lord Jhamal and Queen Consort Gasira Mutheru…”

Stepping through the fiery illusion to make it disappear, Asya stood before the entire crew as she raised her head high and spoke louder than before, only this time tears began to form as she struggled to hold back her sobs.

“Prince… A-Andres, son… o-of Lord Jhamal and Queen Consort Gasira. B-But I do not go by that name anymore! Not since I was exiled by my father for coming out as a woman. For I… I am Princess Asya Zahara O-Murchadha-Mutheru of Joka Ardhi, bearer of the Ruby Bloodline, descendant of the Burning Prince, and the next in line to the Throne of Crimson Sands. And I… I brought us here so that I could ask for your help. My father, Jhamal, intends to invade the north and claim Primus, Unicron and every kingdom beyond here as his domain. But I… I cannot allow that to happen. For my father is also known by many as Jhamal the Tyrant, and he earned that name through his cruelty, for neglecting his queen and letting her die alone with their only child f-from a… a mere, curable fever, for draining this land of its once peaceful and prosperous wealth and wellbeing, and for slaughtering the innocent for merely helping me escape his cruelty many years ago. He has been nothing but a heartless and bloodthirsty monster my whole life, and now he is set on claiming the rest of the world as his plaything. I… I can’t let him do this,”

Quickly turning away to dry her eyes, Asya spoke much more softly as her voice struggled to come out between her sobs and hiccups.

“I… I cannot stay hidden any longer and allow this to happen. And so… I come to you all to ask you only one thing… For should you agree, I cannot guarantee your safety the moment we cross into Jokani territory. And should we succeed in my plan… I might not come back here, onto this ship, ever again. For my plan is simply this… I must go back to my homeland, to the palace in the capital city of Oasis, and face my father in battle for the right to reclaim the throne. Should I succeed and overthrow him, I will become the new Dragon Queen and empress of Joka Ardhi. So, I will need everyone’s help in ensuring the safety of the Jokani people, to keep them away from the battle between me and my father, but should I fail… I will need every one of you to try and kill him in my stead.

“So… Now that you know what lies ahead, I fully understand if any of you do not wish to do this, and why I will allow you this one chance to step away and be safe here on the ship. But for those of you who wish to help me save my home and to fight with me to take down my father…,”

Putting out her hand, Asya offered it with tears now rolling down her cheeks towards the crowd as she weakly smiled and looked around to the crew of the Immortal Sun. “… Will you fight beside me and help me reclaim the Throne of Crimson Sands, for the freedom of this and all kingdoms across the world?”

[missmaywemeetagain]

Oh, y’all, I was hoping to get Part 2 of Pink Scarf out today, but instead I’m all up in my feels and wrote a stupidly long post about EP to mark this 45th year of his passing…I’m sharing it here because it seems the best place to do so.

45 years ago today, the world lost an icon. Elvis Presley’s early death, at just 42, shocked millions. Elvis was more than just an entertainer; he is a facet of American culture and history, changing the landscape of both and paving the way for many artists after him.

I’m so grateful that I’ve been able to reconnect with and rekindle my love for Elvis this summer. For a lot of reasons, this season of my life has been very challenging and uncertain, and in June, I was at the height of emotions related to all of it. It feels serendipitous that it was also the moment I discovered there was an Elvis movie coming out, and thus began my deep dive into the trove of information related to him and the movie. This has been a welcome distraction and fuel for my other passions of music and writing. It may seem silly to some, but I find him endlessly fascinating—a one of a kind charismatic, talented, beautiful, tragic, and tremendously flawed human.

My dad loved Elvis, and I will forever cherish being able to share that love with him and my mom. I have so many fun memories of watching his concerts with them and listening to Elvis CDs blasting at full volume in the middle of the night when my dad would go on an Elvis kick. That kind of joy and fun is contagious! It bonds you.

This week is one of strong emotions. I find it strangely fitting that Dad died almost 35 years to the day after Elvis and exactly 54 years after EP’s mother, Gladys. Honestly, I hope they are all out there somewhere in the ether having a good time together! Regardless, while I feel deep sadness this week, there is also the celebration and homage of lives that made a profound impact on others (albeit on a different scale!).

I know that EP struggled a lot in those last years with his purpose, thinking that no one would remember him or wondering if he’d done anything of any value in his life. To me (and millions of fans with more fervor than mine), I ultimately think that Elvis brings people together through music and his beautiful and tragic life story. He makes us feel. That was, and continues to be, his superpower, and why, 45 years after his death, his otherworldly magnetism is still drawing in new generations of fans.

I will always be tremendously frustrated with the sensationalist way his death was treated and how it affected his legacy. Finally, after 45 years, some light has been shed on the subject—Elvis did not die of a drug overdose or even simply from complications from prescription drug use. He was very, very ill, and his heart gave out. It is likely that he would’ve died early with or without the drugs.

I highly recommend reading Elvis: Destined to Die Young by Sally Hoedel. According to her extensive research, Elvis had several conditions (many of which he suffered from since childhood/were genetic) that detrimentally affected nine out of his 11 body systems, including (but not limited to):

- severe glaucoma & iritis,

- Chronic insomnia,

- Hirschsprung’s disease (bowel paralysis due to missing nerve cells in the colon that would’ve caused excruciating pain) resulting in megacolon,

- an immune system disorder called hypogammaglobulinemia (an under active immune system) resulting in frequent infections and left untreated, can lead to heart, lung, and digestive damage, Crohn’s, and cancer. (We know that Elvis suffered chronic infections throughout his life, especially tonsillitis, ear infections, sore throats, fevers, intestinal infections, and flus)

- Presence of the genetic disorder Alpha 1 Antitrypsin Deficiency (a condition affecting the liver, lungs, and heart which is now believed to be what killed his mother at such an early age)

- Congenital heart disease & hypertension

- Cushing’s disease

- adrenal insufficiency

- Anemia

- Rheumatoid arthritis and Reactive arthritis

- Enlarged spleen

- Enlarged liver/non alcoholic hepatitis

- Diabetes

- COPD (Based on the combination of many of these, Elvis may very well have suffered from Common Variable Immunodeficiency Disease or CVID.)

- And finally, his prescription drug addiction. Having so many conditions had him relying on, and eventually abusing, many prescription drugs just to function, especially as his touring and performing schedule demands increased.

I am amazed that Elvis could even function at all with even a fraction of these conditions, much less perform physically demanding shows twice a day and tour.

I truly hope Elvis is at peace and that he knows what a tremendous impact he’s made and continues to make on the world. I hope he can see what a wonderful job Austin and Baz did portraying him. I’m so happy that new generations are discovering him and his legacy. I hope we can continue it in for generations to come!

In memory of Elvis Aaron Presley

January 8th, 1935-August 16th, 1977

[thatssojordy]

Charmed and Dangerous Legacy Challenge

Hey everyone! So you may recall a little Game Pack called “Realm of Magic” that released in 2019 and ever since then I’ve been meaning to create a legacy challenge. To my surprise there aren’t that many, so,  I wanted to create one myself! I’m a huge fan of the occult and really wanted a Legacy challenge that reflected that.

Charmed and Dangerous is a ten generation challenge where the goal is to raise a legacy of spellcasters of all backgrounds! 

Rule Book:

1) No Mods or cheats to enhance gameplay that includes MCC! 

2) To make it easier your first sim can live on an empty lot or use a starter home with starter home money but NO MONEY CHEATS afterwards. 

3)  Unless specified elsewhere, your sims must remain in Glimmerbrook throughout the legacy. 

4) Aspirations, Skills and Careers must be complete before moving on towards the next generation unless said otherwise. 

5) Play on Normal or Long lifespan. (Short lifespan if you’re feeling fancy) 

6) If you do decide to play be sure to use the #charmedanddangerouslegacy so I can see how you all are doing! Have fun everyone! 

================================================

Generation One: “You’re a Caster (insert name here)

“All your life you felt something was different about you. You’ve never really felt like you belonged at home and with the other kids. Because of this, you've been a loner and spent your free time reading. One day you discover a place called Glimmerbrook. Something about it draws you in and it might contain the answers you've been looking for”

Aspiration: Spellcraft & Sorcery 

Traits: Bookworm, Loner & Good

Career: Business

Young Adult (Gender doesn’t matter)

Must live on a starter lot in Glimmerbrook. (If you own Cottage Living, Simple Living Lot trait adds bonus points)

Marry only after becoming a Spellcaster

Win at least 5 duels 

Master Practical Spells

Have at least one spellcaster child

Complete the Business career (either branch)

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Generation Two: "The Spoiled Witch” 

“ Growing up with magic means you're life has never been difficult. You've never truly appreciated your powers and it shows. To prove you can live without it, you try to live a mundane life with little to no magic as possible. How hard can it be?”

Aspiration: Big Happy Family

Traits: Lazy, Snob, Self Assured

Career: Style Influencer

Marry a human sim

Have 3 kids but only one spellcaster child. (in case of more than 1, remove occult status)

Limit magic use (non autonomous) to 3 times a week 

Master 3 skills 

Master Styler Influencer career

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Generation Three: "The Garden Witch” 

“ Having a parent with magic and rarely use it, was something you didn't find too exciting. Being the only spellcaster amongst your siblings made you feel left out and turned you to your love of plants and spending time outdoors instead of at home ”

Aspiration: Any Nature Based Aspiration

Traits: Love Outdoors, Vegetarian, Green Fiend

Career: Self-employed (Shop Owner)

Master Skills: Gardening + Herbalism

Visit Granite Falls at least once a week

Grow and name a Cowplant

Marry your first S/O (choose wisely)

Open your own Gardening/Herbalist shop

Have a negative relationship with ONE of your siblings

Grow a garden with magical plants and herbs

================================================

Generation Four: " WITCH AND THE CITY ”

“ Living in a house full of plants all your life was great while it lasted but you yearn for a life where a ficus wasn’t in your face 24/7. San Myshuno has been your dream home since you were a kid and you want to know what its like to live in the hustle and bustle of the fast paced city.  The idea of commitment doesn't sound too appealing either. What could a young spellcaster get into in the city ”

Aspiration: City Native

Traits: Non-committal, Outgoing and Ambitious

Career: Switch Careers at least 3 times

Master Comedy, Singing and Charisma Skills

Meet and Fall in love with at least 3 sims

Have a Child with one of the three sims

Do not get married

Become a karaoke champion

Learn all City Living recipes 

================================================

Generation Five: " GOOD WITCH GONE BAD ”

“ You were always jealous of your friends and their happy homes. Don't get me wrong, you have an amazing parent but you wish you had a big happy family like on TV. To fill the void you enter the world of crime and surprisingly you're good at it. Having magic doesn’t hurt either ”

Aspiration: Public Enemy

Traits: Kleptomaniac, Mean and Gloomy

Career: Criminal

Max the Mischief skill

Cut off contact with your Parent(s)/family

Move to an empty lot and start over

Create a club of mean/mischievous sims

Fall for one of the club members and have kids

Master Mischief Magic

Steal over 1K worth of stuff

================================================

Generation Six: " THE GENIUS WITCH ”

“ Running from the law isn't an ideal situation to grow up in. You love your parents but wish they'd made better choices. During your time on the run, you've managed to learn a little bit about potions and discovered you have an affinity for potion making. You do seem to have a tough time meeting someone “

Aspiration: Purveyor of Potions

Traits: Genius, Unflirty and Maker

Career: Self-Employeed

Master Alchemy, Programming and Logic

Unlock all the Alchemy Perks

Use the Potion of "Alluring Aura" to find love

Sell potions as a way to make money (no other job)

================================================

Generation Seven: " THE CURSED WITCH ”

“ Looking back you think your family's cursed...and you're not wrong. Magic has run through your family's veins and its almost too much for you to control. How can you live your life with curses breathing down your neck “

Aspiration: Master Mixologist

Traits: Erratic, Hot-Headed and Romanatic

Career: Freelancer

Have at least 3 curses throughout your life

Cannot cure your curse(s) until your first spellcaster child 

Master Untamed Magic

Max out  Mixology skill

Volunteer twice a week

================================================

Generation Eight: " THE GHOST WHISPERER ”

“ You know that haunted house that everyone avoids on Spooky day? Yeah that's your house. You’ve heard the stories of your parent’s experiences with curses but they didn’t faze you. At least, not enough to not move into a haunted house where things go bump in the night.“

Aspiration: Friend of the World

Traits: Cheerful, Outgoing and Childish

Career: Paranormal Investigator

Live in a Haunted House

Unlock the Brave Trait 

Earn your Paranormal Investigator Badge

Summon and Befriend Bonehilda 

Get into a fight with Temperance

Perform at least 15 jobs as a Paranormal Investigator 

Hold a group Seance on Spooky Day

================================================

Generation Nine: "SPELLCASTING MASTER ”

“ The stories of your great times eight grandparent and how they became a Spellcaster and created the family legacy has always been an inspiration to you. So much so that you’ve decided to write those stories down in a book. In fact, you’ve become so inspired you want to master the arts of spellcraft with the help of a few special familiar friends .“

Aspiration: Best-Selling Author

Traits: Creative, Cat or Dog Lover, Perfectionist

Career: Writer

Bind a familiar

Visit the Magic Realm at least once a day

Master all four forms of magic 

Marry a human sim and turn them into a spellcaster

Unlock all magical perks 

Have 3-4 kids

Create a Duel club 

Settle down in Glimmerbrook

================================================

Generation Ten: " A HAPPY ENDING”

“ Magic has very well been a huge part of your families' legacy and suddenly the idea of no magic is coming more apparent than ever. You want to settle down and have a normal life. To be the best parent possible, embarrassing your kids, having a loving spouse and to be a successful culinary artist .“

Aspiration: Super Parent

Traits: Family Oriented, Goofball and Foodie

Career: Culinary (chef branch)

Open your own Restaurant after your final kid (using the same shop from Gens 3 and Gen 6) 

Marry your childhood sweetheart

Master cooking, Gourmet Cooking and Parenting

Perform the Rite of Dissolution before you have kids

Have a strong relationship with your kids and grandkids 

Gain a 5 star Restaurant

[j3ssisam3ss]

Childhood Friends - Fluff

For @animebookworm16

It got kind of long and I’m not really sure it still counts as fluff, but here’s my piece for @maribat-angst-fluff-april, prompt 25, Childhood Friends.

Damian Al Ghul-Wayne was five years old the first time he met a girl his age. And in typical League of Assassins style, he went for efficiency by meeting ten at once.

“These are your betrothed,” Talia told him. “All but one will be dead by your twelfth birthday. You will marry the sole survivor on your eighteenth birthday and produce an Heir to carry on the great legacy of the League of Assassins.”

Nine of the girls heard the words without so much as a flinch. The last stared in shock at Talia, then broke into tears.

“Quiet, Marinette,” Talia hissed.

“No,” she yelled defiantly, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I want my mama!”

Talia backhanded her and she fell to the floor with a yelp.

Damian surveyed the girl – Marinette – with distaste.

“Mother, surely you don’t consider this sniveling coward worthy to compete for my hand?”

“Her mother, Sabine Cheng, was our best assassin for years before she turned traitor. I suppose she’s lost her touch if she raised such a weak daughter.” Talia shrugged elegantly. “No matter, if she turns out to be useless, we’ll ship her mutilated corpse back to Sabine as a reminder of what happens when you cross the League.”

She waved the girls away. “To your training now.”

Damian watched as Marinette sniffled and followed the other girls out the door.

She won’t last a week.

He had no idea how wrong he was.

.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng was five years old the first time she won a fight. And in typical Dupain-Cheng fashion, she did so in the most unpredictable way possible.

“You’re going down, pigtails,” shouted a pretty brunette, charging at Marinette with a sword that was as tall as she was.

With a startled shriek, Marinette darted away. She hated how behind she was here. Back home, she was good at everything – reading circle, art class, tussles when the teacher’s back was turned. Here, it felt like she was constantly playing catch-up.

Not to mention, the constant threat of death was not fun.

Skidding around a corner of the labyrinth arena, she tripped over a protruding stone and fell to the ground. The brunette grinned viciously, advancing towards her.

Marinette smiled nervously. “Can’t we talk this out?”

“Not a chance, shortie,” said the brunette.

Marinette glanced around frantically.

I don’t want to die!

She reached for a rock, a stick, anything that could help her fight, but came up with only a handful of sand. With a pleading glance heavenward, she flung it into the brunette’s face and lurched to her feet, grinning when the girl had to stop to get the grit out of her eyes.

Taking off into the labyrinth of passages, she nearly stumbled again, this time over a nearly buried metal object.

She shifted away the dirt surrounding it and smirked. “Finally, a weapon I know how to use.”

Ten minutes later, the watching League members straightened in surprise as the smallest and weakest of Damian’s betrotheds utterly decimated her opponent.

With a frying pan.

.

“What are you doing here?”

The two children spoke in unison, glaring daggers at one another.

“I always come here,” Marinette said. “It’s my drawing spot.”

“The vents are my domain, Dupain-Cheng,” Damian said. “Get out.”

Two years’ worth of resentment and anger simmered beneath Marinette’s skin.

 Drawing is the last thing I have of home. I won’t let him take it from me.

“No.”

Damian looked thunderstruck and Marinette couldn’t keep the smirk off her face.

“I am Heir to the Demon! You will obey me!”

“You may be Heir to the Demon, but right now you’re also a kid skipping classes,” Marinette argued. “And if you make me leave, I’ll tell Talia exactly where you go when you’re not in class.”

Ha, take that, you tyrant!

Damian froze. Marinette watched as emotions overtook his face – anger, resentment, then acceptance.

“Fine,” he grumbled.

Marinette smiled and returned to her sketchbook – which wasn’t really a sketchbook, just some loose papers she’d tucked into her history book.

A few minutes later, Damian peered over her shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“Drawing,” she said, holding out a few of her older sketches, the ones she wouldn’t mind losing if Damian decided to rip them. “There’s your mother fighting, cook making soup, the sunset from this other spot in the vents – actually, that one’s pretty bad because I didn’t have any colors.”

Damian stared at the drawing of his mother.

“I’m keeping this,” he announced.

Well, at least he didn’t tear it up.

The next week, when Marinette arrived at her drawing spot, Damian was already there. With an annoyed grunt, he shoved a sketchbook and colored pencils into her hands.

Marinette looked between him and the supplies in confusion. “What’s this for?”

“Teach me how to draw.”

Marinette bit her lip, looking longingly at the colored pencils. Then, she pushed them back towards Damian.

“I want you to give me weapons training. As often as I teach you drawing.”

I may be naturally talented at combat, but the other girls have been training their entire lives. I need to catch up.

Damian eyed her suspiciously. “That’s against the rules.”

“So? Are you scared?”

“Never.”

“Then it’s a deal?”

“It’s a deal.”

.

Damian lunged, making a displeased noise when his quarry danced out of his reach.

“You’re slow today, Dami,” Marinette teased. “Losing your touch?”

Marinette was no longer the scared little girl she’d been at five, or even at seven. She’d thrown herself into her training with single-minded determination and two years of training with Talia by day and Damian by night had made her a formidable – and snarky – combatant.

“Never,” Damian replied. His next attack nearly threw her off-balance.

With a grunt, Marinette recovered her footing and countered with a flurry of blows that would have left a lesser opponent dizzy.

Damian smirked, parrying each attack easily. “Completely mediocre. Should I tell my mother that her protégé is slipping?”

Although he’d never admit it, Damian was proud of her. She’d gone from being the worst of the League’s trainees to the only one able to keep up with him in a fight.

“Me? Slipping? Not a chance.” Marinette flipped backwards, knocking his weapon away. “Hey, Damian?”

“Yes, Marinette?” He scooped up his katana, readying himself for her next move.

“The floor is lava.”

With a startled intake of air, he leaped onto the nearest table.

“Really?” he asked, half annoyed, half amused.

Marinette giggled, peering down at him from her spot in the ceiling rafters. “I thought we could use an extra challenge.”

Damian glanced up at her. “You just like having the high ground.”

“Technically speaking, it’s the high rafter,” she pointed out.

“Either way, it won’t prevent me from defeating you,” Damian said, pulling himself into the rafters.

At that moment, the door opened and they both immediately went still.

“Damian? Are you here?”

Marinette raised an eyebrow at him. “Skipping again?” she mouthed.

Damian shrugged in response.

Rolling her eyes, Marinette gestured to the vents behind him. “I’ll meet you in the lower training rooms to finish our bout.”

“Marinette!” The teacher startled as she caught a glimpse of the pigtailed girl. “What are you doing up there?”

Effortlessly, the girl swung down from the ceiling, drawing the teacher’s attention away from Damian’s hiding place.

“Just improving my arm strength, Mistress Eva.” As she distracted his teacher with false information about his whereabouts, Damian climbed into the vents.

Marinette makes a surprisingly tolerable ally.

.

It didn’t seem to matter how many people Marinette killed; it never got easier. Surrounded by the bodies of Deathstroke’s traitors, she retched.

She was alone. Somehow, in the midst of the fight, she’d gotten separated from the rest of the League’s loyalists.

I need to get moving. I’m an easy target right now.

With a shuddering breath, she climbed to her feet and made her way out of the compound and into the shadows. It was there, staring at the ruins of the League’s strongest base, that the realization hit her.

“I’m free,” Marinette whispered, tears trickling down her face.

The Head of the Demon was dead, his followers scattered.

“I can finally go home.”

She ignored the voice in her mind that said her home was here, with the League, with Damian. She ignored the tightness in her chest at the thought of never seeing Damian again. She ignored the fear that he might already be dead.

The League kidnapped me. Talia abused me. Even if I managed to be happy here, I owe the Al Ghuls nothing. A vow of loyalty made under duress is no vow at all.

Her hands curled into fists.

And if they come for me again, I’ll be ready.

.

Damian scowled as their plane descended into Gotham.

“This is imbecilic. I should be assisting you in decimating our enemies, not hiding like a frightened child.”

“Damian,” his mother’s voice was cold. “This is not up for negotiation. You will stay here and train with your father.”

“Yes, Mother,” he replied bitterly. A moment passed, then he tilted his head in thought. “But what of my betrothed? If she is to be my equal, should she not train with me?”

Talia studied him carefully. “You use the singular of betrothed,” she noted. “Despite the fact that three remain alive. I don’t suppose you’d care to tell me which one you consider your wife-to-be?”

“Tt. Your protégé, the Cheng girl, is the only one that even approaches competent. You know this.”

“I also know that you trained her separately – against my orders,” Talia said.

Damian nearly flinched. “And yet you didn’t stop me.”

“I wonder if that was a mistake,” his mother said. “You feel more for her than you should.”

“She is an effective ally. That is all.”

“Then you won’t mind being separated from her for a while.”

“Not at all, Mother,” Damian lied.

.

“Marinette? Is that you?” Her mother looked as if she’d seen a ghost.

Marinette smiled. “Hello, Mama.”

Sabine reached out a shaking hand to cup her face. “How are you here? We saw you die.”

“Sabine, do you know where – ” Tom dropped the pan of croissants. “Marinette?”

He jumped over the counter and raced to her. Marinette took a step back before her mind caught up with her body.

This is Papa, you idiot. He’s not a threat.

She threw herself into his arms, shoving away her fears.

Twisting to face her mother, she said, “I don’t know how my death was faked, but I never died. The League kidnapped me.”

Tom’s arms tightened around her.

“The League?” Sabine’s face went pale. “What did they want with you?”

“The usual,” Marinette said with a shrug. “Revenge on you for leaving and a capable assassin and potential wife for Damian if I turned out to be any good.”

“Who’s Damian?” Tom asked with a frown.

Marinette grinned. “Oh, Damian’s great! He’s the Heir to the League, but he’s actually pretty okay for an assassin. He helped me get good enough to survive. You know, after I blackmailed and bribed him.”

“What?”

.

Meeting his father did not go the way Damian had imagined.

Talia always spoke of Bruce Wayne’s great intellect, his strength in combat, his determination in all things. She never mentioned his brainless playboy act, his absurd prohibition of killing, or his habit of taking in strays. Damian wasn’t sure which one was most offensive, but he was incredibly disappointed in his father regardless.

He had to reassess after he saw Batman at work. When not purposely acting like a buffoon, Bruce Wayne was everything his mother had described and more, entirely deserving of Damian’s respect.

He set out to prove himself in his father’s eyes. It didn’t go well. Whatever he did, it was the wrong thing. In any fight with the imposter sons, Damian was punished – even if he won. Assisting his father with Wayne Enterprises was met with an eye-roll and a request to stay away from Bruce’s office.

It should have made Damian angry but instead it hurt and Damian did not understand why.

And then his father was gone. Richard Grayson became Batman.

Damian became Robin. Finally.

And yet the triumph felt hollow.

Not to mention, it came with strings attached: ‘Murder is bad.’ ‘Justice, not vengeance.’ ‘Robin doesn’t kill.’ ‘Protect rather than avenge.’

Grayson’s teachings were imbecilic. And yet he had to follow them. His mother had yet to finish with the traitors.

He wondered where Marinette was, if she was undergoing similar training, if she fought the way he did to reign in the bloodlust. Considering how she had to hide her dislike of killing, how she helped heal her competitors, he thought probably not.

Slowly, things got easier. Grayson became tolerable. Damian learned to suppress the instinct, the muscle memory that said ‘kill or be killed.’ He found an adoration for animals and learned to deal with his classmates. He finally began to understand why Grayson and his father valued life so highly. His father came back and he chose to deny the League. Wayne Manor became home.

On days when he struggled, he retreated to his room and the comfort of his sketchbook. And if a certain blue-eyed girl made an appearance every few pages, well, who would know but him?

.

Returning home did not go the way Marinette had imagined.

She knew it wouldn’t be sunshine and roses, of course. But she hadn’t expected the magnitude of the changes in her home, or in herself.

School was laughably easy. Marinette had the equivalent of several college degrees. Finding x and learning how to spell ‘earthquake’ was a waste of her time. Instead, she spent class drawing and coming up with increasingly complex plans for fighting off the League should they try to kidnap her again.

She kept herself closed off from her classmates – she didn’t know how she’d ever called them friends. They were neutral parties at best – not one ever stood up for her against Chloe. Her parents encouraged them to give her classmates a chance, but the League had trained her well. Misplaced trust could kill. And Marinette had fought long enough for survival to know that dropping your guard was a death knell.

She hated hurting her parents though.

Though they tried to hide it, she saw the pain cross their faces when she flinched away from hugs. When she moved like an assassin rather than a child. When she gave away her stuffed animals. When she skipped family game night and spent her time training.

She hated hurting her parents. So she changed.

Marinette locked away her lethal grace, faking clumsiness and turning it into an art form. She hid her weapons, training only when her parents were asleep. She returned to family game nights; she initiated hugs. At school, she became bubbly and friendly again, though she trusted no one.

More than anything, she tried to atone. She sought out those in need and tried to help – whether by providing food, babysitting, or making them warm clothing. She discovered an interest in fashion design, but mostly stuck to making the essentials for those in need. She met a tiny floating bug named Tikki and became a superhero.

On days when she struggled, she retreated to her room and the comfort of her sketchbook. And if green eyes and a cocky smirk featured prominently in the book, well, who would know but her?

.

Damian frowned as he followed his brother into Wayne Enterprises.

"I don't understand why it's so important for me to be here."

"C'mon, Baby Bird!" Dick said. "You said you wanted to be more involved in the company!"

"I meant the business side of things," Damian said. "I have no interest in showing around a gaggle of unruly teenagers."

"You're a teenager too," Dick pointed out. "It'll be fun!"

Damian sniffed. "I'm an adult. And fun, really? Surely you don't truly believe that?"

Dick sighed. "Just give it a chance, okay? They seem like really great kids."

They walked into the lobby and Damian stopped short, eyes catching on long black hair and brilliant blue eyes.

"Marinette?"

.

In truth, Marinette wasn't all that excited about the Wayne Enterprises tour. The architecture was interesting, sure, but her class had a habit of making themselves a target and Bruce Wayne's patronage was not helping.

She gave it three days, at most, before they got in trouble with Gotham's Rouges.

Which meant she was on 'keep the class from dying' duty. Joy.

She kept her eyes and ears peeled, which meant that she heard the faint whisper of her name from an unfamiliar voice.

"Marinette?"

Forest-green eyes filled with far too much emotion had her breath catching in her throat.

"Damian?"

With obvious effort, the League's Heir pulled himself together. "Fancy meeting you here, Dupain-Cheng."

His voice. Oh, kwami, it should be illegal to look AND sound that good. Nope. Nope. Not doing this. He's an assassin, get your act together, Marinette.

"Al-Ghul." She was proud that her voice betrayed nothing. "I have to admit, I'm surprised to see you here. This doesn't seem like your scene."

She reached out for a handshake and was taken off guard when Damian kissed her hand instead. She blushed.

"It's Wayne now," Damian said. "I'm... no longer associated with the Al-Ghuls. Or their business."

He's not an assassin anymore? Yes! I knew you were a good person deep, deep down, Dami!

"Really? I broke ties with them several years ago myself."

See that, Damian? We're both good people. Good people that would be great toget - no! Bad Marinette!

Damian grinned. "In that case, I look forward to reconnecting. Perhaps after the tour?"

Oh, kwami, I'm doomed.

"I'd like that."

.

"What was that?" Dick asked in a low voice. "I've never seen you open up to someone so quickly."

With difficulty, Damian tore his gaze from Marinette.

Stars, she grew up gorgeous.

Damian smirked. "Don't be ridiculous, Grayson. I met Marinette over a decade ago."

I wonder, does she still consider our betrothal valid?

"Wait, so she's an assassin?" Grayson blanched. "Who is she here to kill? Who do I have to protect? Ugh! Why can't you ever have normal friends?"

"Relax," Damian chided. "She's an ex-assassin. Like me."

"That does not make me feel better. Who is she to you?"

Damian hummed in thought, running through years of teasing, fighting, and spending time together. "She was my first friend."

And maybe now something more.

[giveamadeuschohisownmovie]

“The Matrix Resurrections” movie review:

Short review:

Lana Wachowski must really love Danganronpa V3 since this movie feels more like that game rather than a Matrix sequel. I give it a 6/10. 

Long review:

So...this movie is...challenging to discuss. Because on the surface, I can just say that the movie sucked on a technical level. The fight choreography was terrible, the Matrix-ness of the franchise is missing (for example, the green gradient that the series is known for), and it doesn’t really justify its existence. By the end of the movie, I didn’t really feel like we needed a continuation, which is a shame since the trailers did a good job hyping the movie up.

But that’s not the full story, is it? No, we need to talk about the “meta-ness” of the movie, the one thing that people took away from the story. That’s why I compared Matrix 4 to Danganronpa V3; it’s not really a sequel, it’s a meta self-critique that challenges the whole idea of the franchise. 

I can definitely see why the first act is so divisive. In a not-so-subtle sequence, Neo goes through a series of discussions about how to approach the next Matrix game. So, aside from the obvious meta point about having the Matrix literally be a franchise within the Matrix, the discussions that unfold focus entirely on deconstructing the series as a whole. It seems to mock the aspects that people loved about the Matrix trilogy, such as bullet time and its political commentary.

Then you have Bugs (Jessica Henwick) literally encountering a cutscene which acts as a recreation of the first scene in the original Matrix, with Trinity running from the Agents. And that’s not the only callback to the original trilogy that we get in this movie; there are clips taken right from the trilogy inserted in various scenes which are meant to draw a deliberate parallel. 

Why? As Agent Morpheus (Yahya Abdul-Mateen II) says, “Nothing comforts anxiety like a little nostalgia”.

Other people have made a more in-depth analysis of how nostalgia plays into the story of Resurrection. For me, I’m a bit of a mixed bag. It’s mainly because I get what Lana was trying to do. It’s a deliberate send-up to the fact that Hollywood has been taken over by the need to reboot every single famous franchise and, coupled with the fact that Warner Bros has been pushing the Wachowski sisters to make another Matrix movie, you could read the movie as Lana venting out her frustrations with the company. I mean, she even namedrops WB in the movie, the jabs are not subtle.

You can also read the meta-aspect of the movie as Lana questioning her own legacy. Unfortunately, as most people should know by now, the Matrix has inspired a toxic following where people say they have been “red-pilled” by rejecting more leftist/liberal values and taking on more right-wing views. There’s also the misogynistic angle of being “red-pilled”, namely with the infamous subreddit r/TheRedPill. It’s just extremely ironic that this was the legacy of the Matrix movies, especially when you remember that the Matix movies are left-leaning and were meant to be an allegory for the trans community. 

So, I don’t really mind the meta commentary. Even though it’s in your face and blatantly told to you, it’s an interesting idea that really forces the audience to think about what they’re consuming. My issue with this is that although the idea seems interesting, I don’t think the execution was there. 

I feel that’s a common criticism when it comes to the Wachowskis. They’re obviously really creative writers and have a ton of great ideas. But, just like with Reloaded and Revolutions, the execution of those ideas was not the greatest. Specifically for Resurrection, I felt like I was watching a series of interesting ideas that didn’t really come together as a whole. 

For example, I like the idea of humans and machines working together. I like the idea that the Matrix is using itself within the simulation as a way to maintain control over Neo and Trinity (the Matrix being a franchise within the Matrix). I like the idea of Agent Morpheus being a combination of Neo’s memories of Morpheus and Agent Smith, which goes back to the theme of humans and machines joining forces. I like the idea that this movie was primarily a Neo-Trinity love story rather than trying to save the world. I even like the idea of Agent Smith sort of becoming this anti-hero/anti-villain who will work with Neo if their interests are aligned. 

But just because those ideas are good doesn’t mean they compensate for the flaws of the movie. At times, it felt like I was watching a first draft of the script since a lot of concepts felt half-baked. For example, the Analyst explains that by making it so that Neo and Trinity will always meet but never come in contact with each other, that leads to more power being produced for the machines. Apparently, Neo and Trinity can exert power by just being around each other. 

My question: How? 

Since when did Neo and Trinity turn into Cloak & Dagger? There is no basis for this sudden change in how the machines generate power, especially when you remember that machines harvest humans for their body heat and electricity. You’d think we’d get a solid explanation behind this new development but instead, all we get is the Analyst talking about hope and despair (Danganronpa again?) Just accept that this is the story and move on.

Also, Trinity is now part-One. Why? Just accept it, move on. And that’s the pattern for a great deal of the movie. This is why it feels like Resurrection was a first draft, a lot of the ideas feel like they weren’t fully realized or thought through. Which makes the whole meta-aspect a little ironic since even though the movie criticizes reboots for being soulless and uncreative, Resurrections doesn’t change the wheel either. Instead, it just pushes forward ideas that seem intriguing, but doesn’t really do anything with them.

Then there are the other problems plaguing this movie. Dialogue was clunky and constantly broke the “show, don’t tell” rule. Bugs’ crew and the Io characters were extremely forgettable (I remember there was a Neo stan and a Trinity stan, that’s about it). For the new characters that I did remember, they were mostly under-written and bland. Action scenes were badly choreographed, which is jarring since this is a franchise known for good action. 

And in the end, I didn’t really feel moved by the movie. It was just an underwhelming affair, mainly because it didn’t feel like the movie was needed and that the people making it were just phoning it in. Or perhaps Lana was trying her hardest, but she needed help in fully realizing her ideas. I’m leaning on the second possibility since this movie was missing Yuen Woo-Ping, Lilly Wachowski, Bill Pope, Laurence Fishburne, and Hugo Weaving. Trust me when I say that you can feel the absence of those people in this movie. 

Then there’s the third possibility; Lana made this movie to vent out her frustrations against Warner Bros and the red pill movement. That’s why the “cool” aspects of the Matrix are nonexistent in Resurrection, a sort of cinematic ‘fuck you’. If that’s the case, then Lana succeeded; she made an intentionally underwhelming movie/Matrix sequel meant to frustrate audiences. Well, I’m pretty underwhelmed, so...job well done?

Side note: Before anyone brings it up, I don’t care if this movie was meant to be a parody of the original trilogy. You can’t just use the fact that movie is self-referential as carte blanche to do whatever you want. Even movies that are self-aware need to follow the basics of telling a good story

[queenangst]

Afo possesing deku instead of tomura for 30min prompt? Maybe being made to hurt his friends

for my 30 min fic challenge / read more: ‘30 min fics’ tag

drawing voices deep from you [read on AO3]

Deep within One for All, Izuku makes a mistake. All for One has a new body.

“So this is it?” Izuku said quietly.

He looked around at the cracked and strange place; tall, empty chairs sat in a semicircle, but Izuku was surrounded by seven figures.

One for All—Yoichi, Izuku remembered—smiled.

“You already have my Quirk.” He took Izuku’s hands and squeezed.

His heart hurt. Sometimes it was easy to think of the vestiges as just… ghosts, remnants of a different time. More than often though, as he held each of their Quirks, used them, he remembered they had been real people once living in a different time.

And all of them except one killed by All for One.

“Then…”

Izuku’s knees knocked together. “What happens next?”

Nana touched his shoulder. “You keep fighting. You keep going. With all of us behind you.”

If this space was One for All… this broken room, set in a whirling, endless void—why was it so small? Izuku turned, looking to where the walls crumbled and out into the open. What was the rest of it?

He’d thought about the questions before. But Izuku had thought privately to himself that maybe if he unlocked every Quirk, if he faced every truth, this room would disappear, and become something else.

“What’s… what’s out there?”

Yoichi hadn’t let go of his hand, and now gripped it tighter. “Don’t go.”

His curiosity ached.

“So you think there’s something.”

“If it is what I think it is,” Yoichi warned, “you should stay here.”

Izuku looked back. Faves echoed to him, each one silent.

“So you don’t know.”

Yoichi shook his head.

“Can… can I come back?”

Yoichi frowned, but gestured around him. “This is your Quirk.”

But something of it was still out of Izuku’s control. There was something he hadn’t grasped yet, an understanding that eluded him now. Izuku pulled himself free of Yoichi’s grasp, and he was let go this time without a fight.

“I’ll come back, then,” he promised.

Heart pounding in his chest, he walked to the edge where ground met nothing.

“Izuku,” someone called. It could have been one voice. It could have been many.

Izuku stepped out, down, and fell.

The sensation was weird. He was falling, but this wasn’t real, really, and the darkness surrounded him. It almost felt alive, cradling him in a weathered hand. Something pulsed in the heart of the darkness.

A light.

Izuku reached for it, flickering red and encompassing, and—

Toshinori searched the sky for Izuku.

The battle was dying. Izuku sank back to the ground, Blackwhip still dancing around him but faded now. From the edge, Toshinori could taste the power in the air. Like electricity.

He moved first, picking his way through rubble. Izuku landed hard, and suddenly reached up with a hand to grab his head.

“Young Midoriya!”

Izuku looked in Toshinori’s direction.

His eyes…

There was something strange about his eyes.

Toshinori picked up the pace, uncaring, running the short distance between them as Izuku jerked. A tremor ran through his shoulders.

He said, in a small voice, “All… All Might?”

Hawks landed and came over. “Something wrong?” He jerked his head in the other direction. “Endeavor’s got the villain. What’s up with the kid?”

“I—I don’t…” Izuku shook his head. One for All crackled to life around him, green light giving his skin an unnatural glow. “All Might, please—please help. Help. Help.”

Toshinori took Izuku’s face in his hands. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Up close, his eyes were—they were changing colors. Black, from the inside out.

“I-” Izuku lapsed into silence. He shook, then cried out in pain. “I think I made a mistake, wait, please, don’t, I’m sorry —”

Then he went still and limp, like a puppet with all his strings cut. Toshinori caught him, looking towards Hawks.

“We need…”

“Medic!” Hawks called.

Toshinori shook Izuku gently. “Midoriya? Can you hear me?”

His eyes snapped open. Izuku blinked up at Toshinori—with completely black eyes—and suddenly, his mouth curved into a smile.

“All Might.”

Toshinori recoiled. That wasn’t Izuku’s voice. Those weren’t Izuku’s eyes.

“...Izuku?”

“What’s going on?”

Izuku laughed.

“Your face,” he said as he stood. “It’s good to be able to see again. And what a sight.”

He threw out his arms, flexing his fingers and marvelling. Glanced around the battlefield as if the destruction was uninteresting to him. Shadows gathered on his face.

“Ah…” He took a step. “Oh, Izuku,” he said. “Thank you for the opportunity. It’s been so long.”

Toshinori clenched his fists. “What have you done to Izuku?”

“What have I done?” A chuckle. “He’s the one who opened the door and came looking for me. Don’t you recognize me?”

“Let him go.”

All for One flicked his fingers. Blackwhip tore out of his arm violently, in a way that Toshinori hadn’t seen since the first time Izuku used it. There was no other explanation, no other person this could be, who stared with Izuku’s eyes at Toshinori holding so much hate.

“I don’t think I will,” All for One said.

It was Izuku’s voice, sort of. Toshinori still recognized it; but it was a little bit distant now, and warped, as if he was hearing the voice through a radio.

“After all, he’s just given me the key to freedom. He had All for One, too, a piece of it when I gave my brother his Quirk. Izuku just had to find it.”

Toshinori forced his hands to uncurl and held his hands out, mind racing. They couldn’t negotiate. They couldn’t fight. He cast a helpless glance in Hawks’ direction, whose feathers darted out but hovered.

All for One’s voice changed back, to Izuku’s. “You wouldn’t want to hurt your hero, would you?”

“Please,” Toshinori said.

A glance. “Will you beg for it?”

Toshinori knew that he wouldn’t let Izuku go even if he begged, but he dropped to his knees anyway. Concrete hit him. He looked up at Izuku—his successor, his legacy, his boy.

“Please.”

Fast, faster than Toshinori had time to comprehend, a scarred hand wrapped around Toshinori’s throat. Could he feel Toshinori’s heartbeat, pounding, alive?

“Pathetic,” All for One said. “The Symbol of Peace.”

That was Izuku’s hand. That was Izuku’s body, it was still him—Toshinori couldn’t fight, not even if this was his greatest enemy. So he knelt as the hand tightened. His lungs screamed.

“Please.”

All for One had never been satisfied. It was in his name, in his Quirk. What he wanted, he took; what he couldn’t have, he destroyed worlds and families and people to remake for himself.

But not—

Not Izuku. He couldn’t speak anymore. Please.

“He’s not gone, you know,” All for One said, leaning in.

“All Might!” Hawk’s voice, distant and fuzzy. Toshinori reached out a hand, trying to convey his message. Don’t hurt him. “All for One, let them both go.”

All for One leaned in. Izuku. His eyes flickered with green light. Out of the corner of Toshinori’s eye, he could see curls of hair.

He fought for air. The hand around his throat eased, just slightly, as if All for One knew.

“Izuku,” Toshinori rasped. “It’s… okay. It’s not, it’s not your fault. I forgive you.”

All for One drew back. A tear ran down his face, but All for One didn’t seem to be aware it was there.

“Izuku’s begging, too,” he whispered. “He’s calling your name, All Might.”

A sudden release. Toshinori gasped, his chest caving from inside-out, spots dancing in his vision. He fell back, concrete scraping his hands, and struggled to get up.

Hawks grabbed his shoulder, drew him to his feet—good, because Toshinori had no strength to stand.

“Izuku…” Toshinori begged. “Please come back.”

All for One smiled again. Toshinori suddenly had a memory of Izuku kneeling in front of him, Quirkless and sobbing as he held out a hand. They stood in the golden, dying light of day as Toshinori offered Izuku his Quirk.

Would this have happened if Izuku hadn’t taken it, or if Toshinori hadn’t offered it? Would he be safer?

But not happier. There was a smile Toshinori treasured, one that was twisted on his face now. But not better. All Might would have died if that day had passed with nothing, for all that Izuku had given him, and he couldn’t regret that.

“We’ll see,” All for One said. Then, having won the battle, he strode away. From the back, receding into the distance and the dust; and dressed in green with his cape fluttering, a familiar silhouette, Toshinori could hardly tell him apart from Izuku.

Taglist: If you’d like to be added or removed from this taglist (tagged when a new fic is posted), please let me know. If your blog is unmentionable, I cannot tag you.

@happi-tree @soyoudneverguess @granny-griffin @zannish @liarielle @ashemberss @gwogobo @honeyandsonshine @cinammon-cinner @paralumanleadmehome @ship-toast @gabs-2002 @the-reading-obsessed-stitchbear @weird-skittle @sapphire363 @fr0znmang0 @in-honor-of-you @cheese490 @anakinthetrashking @proheromidoriyashouto @lust-nd-love @firefletch @mamamiamia @frankiealexquin @crossroadofinterests @bornindundee @bleusmainpage @fleurie3am15inspo @scheherahzade

[writcraft]

Hello! How would compare and contrast Snarry vs Drarry? Since you have (beautifully!) written both, I’d love to hear your thoughts on the dynamics of these two ships. Thank you!

Hello Anon, thank you for this lovely message and what a topic!

I have set out below the cut why I think the dynamics differ but also some of the similarities and it got very, very long. Yikes.

DRACO

Draco is privileged, from a wealthy, pureblood, old wizarding family and immersed in magic from childhood. He's the kind of popular where he has his crew and doesn't really care if the Gryffindors don't like him, he is athletic and bright and he is described in a way that suggests he is attractive. Up until the point things really start to go wrong for Draco, he leads a relatively charmed life. He is a product of his upbringing, of his upper class status, he experiences a childhood where he is spoiled, loved and doted on, albeit he appears to be subject to high expectations of academic excellence and sporting prowess. With his friends he appears to be something of the ringleader and generally liked. He gravitates towards Voldemort because it's really all he's known, he's born into it. At first it seems Draco's views are driven by his desire to protect the things he values (wealth, status, power) and the privilege he has become accustomed to and, in the end, he sticks around primarily out of fear and self preservation. Draco exhibits moments of cowardice.

SEVERUS

Severus has an entirely different upbringing. He is working class, has a tense relationship with his parents, he is disliked and bullied at school which leaves him isolated, he gravitates towards solitary intellectual pursuits and he is described in a way that suggests he is supposed to be unattractive (although this reader would argue he has a certain magnetic charge). Lily aside, his relationships as a child seem to be shaped by a fascination with the power that comes with wealth and elitism, something he has never experienced. Sirius describes him as Lucius Malfoy's 'lap dog' and it is telling that Lucius is much older, a Prefect when Severus starts Hogwarts. He is radicalised in a way and gravitates towards Voldemort through a greedy hunger for power, a desire for revenge and a desperate desire to change his lot in life. He stays because, well, we all know why he stays. Severus is brave but grudgingly, acerbically so. The deepest insult he confronts is being called a coward by Harry.

FIRST ENCOUNTERS

Aside from the differences in their characters, the way Harry encounters Severus and Draco is completely different. When we meet Severus in canon, he is bitter, angry, jealous, grieving and indebted to Dumbledore. He is also in a position of power as Harry's professor. When we meet Draco, he is Harry's peer but he is also full of himself, an arrogant little shit who thinks the world is his for the taking and he thinks very little of Dumbledore, because father says...

This shapes Harry's encounters with them both. Severus approaches Harry with animosity, venom and a legacy of hurt that Harry doesn't yet understand. Severus places no weight on Harry's celebrity, he actively resents and despises it. Draco, by contrast, values Harry's celebrity initially. He wants to be friends with the wizarding world's brightest star and the animosity that follows between them flows directly from the sting of Harry's initial rejection.

ONGOING RELATIONSHIP

Severus wilfully misunderstands Harry. He draws connections between Harry and James based solely on their striking physical similarities and (incorrectly) ascribes the characteristics of James to Harry. He is tasked with protecting Harry but he does so always through gritted teeth. The curse of Severus Snape is to spend his life protecting someone who represents everything he despised as a child and yet the only person who can give a dying man that last connection to his one true friend.

Draco sees Harry more clearly but his perspective is shaped by jealousy and the sting of that first encounter, which leads him to make fun of Harry's circumstances and the people he associates himself with. He doesn't misunderstand Harry in the way Severus does, but he also doesn't know him fully.

MAGICAL CONNECTIONS

The magic that connects Harry, Draco and Severus is fascinating. Harry famously uses Sectumsempra on Draco without knowing what impact it will have. He then intentionally uses the same spell on Severus (unsuccessfully) knowing exactly the damage it will do. Not only does the use of the spell in both instances show us a darker side to Harry, but the spell was also created by Severus and he is the one that helps Draco after the spell has been cast. I could write an essay on the links this spell creates between those three characters.

Expelliarmus is another one. Severus teaches Harry this spell and in doing so, equips him with his most powerful tool in the fight against Voldemort. Harry disarms Draco of his wand and the implications of that in terms of the final battle are intrinsically connected to the 'signature move' of Harry's in battle, which is all about gaining possession of the wand of the attacker as opposed to trying to target the attacker themselves.

Avada Kedavra is also something that binds the three of them. Harry witnesses Draco failing to cast the Killing Curse, and simultaneously witnesses Severus easily casting it. This also is part of the broader relationship Harry, Draco and Severus have to Dumbledore. Harry and Severus are willing pawns in the master plan but neither are fully equipped with all the information they need. Draco ends up unwittingly being part of the plan but he is never a soldier of Dumbledore's Army in the way Harry explicitly is and Severus, with a gnashing of his teeth, also is.

Finally, one of the important similarities between Severus and Draco is they are both skilled Occlumens, something Harry is notoriously rubbish at. This skill suggests both are better able to bury and compartmentalise their emotions whereas Harry is unable to do so with any success and this plays into the fact that in both ships, Harry is likely to be the more demonstrative, wearing his heart on his sleeve in a way both Draco and Severus can better disguise/suppress.

DIFFERENT DYNAMICS

With all of the above the dynamics between Drarry and Snarry will always have a different slant, even if Harry himself is essentially the same. By way of sweeping overstatement, Snarry tends to skew darker and heavier because there is much more to overcome, but by contrast Severus has also spent his 'canon' years protecting Harry which creates this bitter 'Guardian Angel' type dynamic that, if you ship it, can be intensely romantic when they encounter one another again as adults.

The age difference lends itself to different dynamics too. Harry and Draco have that potential for young, dumb and in love, working things out, exploring, eighth year and spin the bottle sort of stuff that Snarry doesn't really have in the same way. It feels more natural that Harry and Draco would encounter one another as peers from the same year group, so part of the battle with Snarry is working out how Harry and Severus end up in the same spaces together in adulthood (Snape's canon death being a pesky inconvenience). The age difference raises another important difference in dynamic too, when it comes to the experience of Severus and Draco as gay or bisexual men, if you apply Muggle attitudes to same-sex relationships that have shifted over time.

The age difference is also relevant because there is a capacity for Draco to change his ways as he grows up, but Severus has already long changed his political beliefs and we know Severus as an adult in canon. That's not to say adults can't change their beliefs of course, but because his adult character exhibits moments of real cruelty you have a challenge around how this irascible, often mean, sharp-tongued character can give Harry what he yearns for when it comes to affection, love, family, security and so on.

There are hurdles to overcome with both ships and although the core 'enemies to lovers' starting point may create a similar overarching dynamic, the roots of those hurdles, the scale of them and the ways and ease with which they get resolved will differ because ultimately Draco and Severus are very different characters with quite polarised life experiences. They have some similarities, Occlumency aside, such as fostering beliefs during childhood they reject around the same time in their lives, albeit for very different reasons. Both are Slytherins who, their magical skills would suggest, are capable of pushing their emotions down in a way Harry can't, when everything for him is raw, on the surface, now, even though they both also unleash their emotions at various points. They are both prone to dramatics, to anger, to pettiness, to humour and in many respects, Harry is prone to those things too. In general though, I believe Draco and Severus would approach a relationship with Harry quite differently.

I don't think there's any one easy way to pinpoint the different dynamics in general because there is a huge variety of ways these three can be presented in fanfic, with its own plot, worldbuilding, external factors and so on. There are so many different directions you could go in with Snarry and Drarry so I'm only speaking from some of the things that strike me not only about the Severus/Harry and Draco/Harry connections/potential hurdles but also about the links between the three of them. Ultimately I think there is opportunity for deep connection, discovery, levity, passion and of course, delicious angst and UST with both ships, but they tend to manifest a little differently for all the reasons outlines about.

There's so much more I can say, but I'll leave it there. Thank you, Anon!

[kaizokuou-ni-naru]

The Voyage So Far: Fishman Island

east blue (1 | 2) || alabasta (1 | 2) || skypiea || water 7 || enies lobby || thriller bark || paramount war (1 | 2) || fishman island || punk hazard || dressrosa (1 | 2) || whole cake island || wano (1 | 2)

i know i’ve said it before but i really, really love the entirety of reunion arc. it might be short, but there’s just so much fun and joy packed into it after the extremely fraught and upsetting paramount war. there’s something exhilarating about seeing characters who could barely compete on the world stage two years ago not just come back from nigh-obliteration, but come back so much stronger. this is true about fishman island as a whole as well, really, which is the main reason i enjoy it so much. 

every time we get to see luffy flex his conqueror’s haki absolutely fills me with delight.

brook’s return to the crew is, i think, the most meaningful of all of them. he knew them for, what, a week or two in-universe prior to the separation at sabaody? and in the two-year interim, he becomes basically an extremely successful rock star known worldwide and selling out stadiums. and yet he doesn’t hesitate a moment to drop all of that, to declare before the world that luffy is alive and will be king, because he might have only known the strawhats for a little while but they saved him, and he’s going to see his dream through to the end with them. 

this is possibly my favorite panel in all of one piece. it just makes me so fucking happy to finally see him again! 

i’m a big fan of oda’s choice in not revealing his full design until this moment, so that we get to see him finally appear in all his glory the same moment the rest of the world does, just in time for him to explode back into the public consciousness and fuck up sentoumaru’s whole day. 

i feel like i might be repeating myself a little with regards to reunion arc, but i don’t really care- it just makes me happy. this spread where luffy finally arrives back at the sunny- look how delighted they all are to see him! look how much they missed him! the strawhats are such a family, even though at this point they’ve just spent far more time apart than they’ve ever spent together, and i just adore them so much. 

roger is one of my favorite flashback characters and definitely one of the characters i wonder about the most, and a lot of the thoughts i have about him circle back around to this panel right here. where did he get the hat? why did he give it to shanks? why did he choose to set out to sea who is he- 

i think about kuma a lot. for such a minor character his tragedy is immense, and i would really like to know more about him, why he chose to do the things he did, what his relationship with dragon and the other revolutionaries was like- whether there’s any chance he can still be saved. 

fishman island is absolutely gorgeously drawn. i’d call it absolutely the prettiest setting in the series until wano, and i think that, like wano, it’s clear oda was waiting to draw it for a very long time. the amount of detail and care put into all of the big establishing shots is really breathtaking.

one of the reason i think fishman island is so fun is because the comparatively lower stakes, combined with how much stronger the strawhats are, means they get to be at their most fully chaotic best. they take ryuuguu palace hostage almost completely unintentionally, off-screen, and then immediately start bickering and making ransom demands. i love them so much. 

i love luffy and shirahoshi’s relationship so much- i love how much she trusts him to keep her safe, and i love how easily he does it. i love how he’s brutally honest with her but never really mean and how he encourages her to open up her world and do new things even when it’s scary and dangerous, and lets her take things at her own pace. 

i think the sun pirates’ symbol is probably my favorite jolly roger in the series, both because it’s so well-established in the story, all the way back to arlong park, and because it has so much meaning. the shadow of fisher tiger’s life and death is cast over the entire story long before we even know he existed. 

the symbolic destruction and replacement of the slave brand with the rising sun is so, so cool, and the knowledge of the reasoning behind the symbol also makes it clear long before its confirmed in-story just how empty hody and his crew are. their versions of the symbol are open, with the silhouette of a decapitated human, because they have no brand to cover. 

i care so much about koala and fisher tiger, and the relationship between them as two former slaves and two deeply injured people, and how fisher tiger still manages to muster the strength to be good and gentle to her even after how much humans have hurt him. 

i think it’s really a shame that he never got to see who and what she grew up to be as a direct result of his kindness. i think he would’ve been really proud of her.

i’ve always really liked that otohime isn’t perfect. she’s not as flawless as she first appears to be- gets angry and frustrated and even drunk and shouty when her own people won’t listen to her trying to help them, and it makes her feel so much more real. her patience and pacifism feel much more admirable when we’re also shown how hard she fights to keep them up. she works to be good.

one thing i like in one piece is how much value is placed on just the value of knowledge, of writing, of reading and understanding. it’s visible in how one of the rarest powers in the world is the ability to hear the voice of all things, and in the poneglyphs, too. 

one of my favorite things about luffy is how he becomes a hero by trying not to be one. he doesn’t care about how people view him, and he never has; he really only cares about his friends and loved ones. it’s just that he’s also an incredibly easy person to befriend, and if those friends need help, then he’ll help them, regardless of the cost. most of the island-saving he does is just positive collateral to luffy’s driving desire for the people he cares about to be safe and happy. 

i have always loved strawhat group shots ever since back in east blue when the crew was just three people, and they’ve only gotten more exhilarating as the crew has expanded and full-crew shots have become less common in the new world. it’s always just awesome, seeing them all together and united for a common purpose, whether it’s saving robin in enies lobby or kicking hody’s ass here.

my friend zeph grainjew calls moments like these, where other members of the strawhats deal with a problem so luffy doesn’t have to, ‘honor guard moments’, and i really like them. they’re a display of both the loyalty luffy’s crew has for him and the trust luffy has for them right back.

the thing about shirahoshi is that she’s not a coward. she’s a crybaby and overemotional and extremely skittish (which, for the record, is fully understandable for someone who’s been the subject of constant assassination attempts since she was six), but when it comes down to it, she’s fully ready and willing to let herself get killed by the noah in order to protect her people and her country. she’s so brave.

i sometimes see people complain that the villains of fishman island are flat and boring, as though that’s not the whole point, as though the entire arc isn’t a treatise on the importance of not passing hatred down to children. of course hody and his crew are hollow, they’re the equivalent of malcontented shitty white men who become neo-nazis because it’s easier to blame minorities for their problems. 

luffy’s victory over hody itself is nothing. it’s easy, it’s only barely a challenge because they fight in the open water and luffy is a devil fruit user, and in the larger scheme of the one piece world, hody is nobody to even take notice of, no matter how grand his ambitions might be. what’s important isn’t hody’s defeat itself, it’s that the children of fishman island see luffy come when shirahoshi calls, and that at the end of the arc, they all want straw hats of their very own.  

this might genuinely be a coincidence, but i’ve always liked that fishman island, an arc all about inheritance and what we pass down to our successors, is when luffy first pulls out red hawk, an attack clearly inspired by ace. inheritance can positive or negative- the negative examples in this arc are obvious, but there are positive ones, too. we can also see it with koala and fisher tiger, or with jinbe and both of the legacies he’s shouldered. it’s up to us what we leave behind. 

for all that fishman island isn’t the strongest arc on its own, i do think it has by far one of the strongest endings. it’s an arc all about hurt and loss and how it gets passed down and renewed over generations, and it ends with a return to zero. everything’s not better, but the wound’s been cleaned and bandaged, and now it can finally, finally start to heal. 

and into the new world we go! with skies full of fire and oceans full of lightning, looking just like the entrance to hell- and all our crew can’t wait to get there. 

[royivia]

The Neighborhood

Sibyl Campbell wasn’t even mad when she woke up on a hot ass May morning in her room, drenched in sweat. Instead, she bypassed anger and went straight to resignation because the HVAC system in the Robert Moses Houses was broken — again — and she didn’t have the time or the energy to bitch about it. In fact, the heating and cooling stayed shutting off across Groundview Gardens. It had become a predictable kind of disappointment in the neighborhood, more so than flooding during superstorms or the fact that no matter which part of the neighborhood you were in, you could feel the rumbling of the shuttle every seven minutes.

Sibyl had spent all night coughing and turning in her bed from the claustrophobic heat that agitated her asthma. Her mother had already gone to work, otherwise, she would have heard Mildred Campbell yelling in indignant patwa over the phone at an Arcadian Realty & Management representative “to fix the damn AC” before she threatened to call 311 on their ass, and report them to the city. Both Mildred and the AR&M rep knew it was an empty threat, but to shut her up, they’d call someone who’d tinker with the system and the air would come back on for a couple of days or so, before it chipped out. And then, the routine would start again.

Sibyl checked the weather. It was already ninety-five degrees. She took a puff from her inhaler and scrolled through her timeline. The same picture of a little girl with a big bright smile captioned with different variations of “RIP Destiny’’ and prayers for her family flooded her feed. Sibyl forced herself out of bed. The sweat on her body made her feel uncomfortable. She hauled a clunky, old portable air conditioner out from her closet and plugged it into the wall. Management would fine them for the spike in their energy use, but she didn’t care. She pushed the power button on, and waited for the box to cough out some hot air before it eventually cooled the room down from a humid haze to a lackluster lukewarm.

#

SOIL had been trying to meet with AR&M, the neighborhood’s collective management company, about the HVAC problem with little to no success for close to three years. They had circulated petitions. Tried shaming them in the local news. They even considered organizing a rent strike, which would have done nothing because everybody who lived in Groundview Gardens received subsidies from the city that made rent practically free. And as much as people were pissed about freezing their asses off in the winter or not being able to breathe during the summer, nobody was tryna fight free rent. So, SOIL decided to annoy the shit out of their landlords instead. On their way into their coolly ventilated corporate office buildings, occupying their lobbies, picketing in front of their luxury condos, and most effectively, managing to damage one, or two, of their solar-powered generators in the hottest month New York City had ever seen. A few arrests and some pissed off rich people later, management finally agreed to hold a town hall to hear from their tenants, which meant SOIL’s next plan of action was to convince as many people as possible to show up. Nefi Ramos saw it as a challenge that they could surely accomplish. Her neighbors were like camels to water in a desert. They were thirsty, and had learned to go without for as long as they needed to, but lead them to a watering hole, and they would drink.

“It’s too fucking hot,” she shouted into her megaphone. She was standing in front of one of the many large screens around Groundview that cycled between ads for things they couldn’t afford and AR&M’s infamous “neighborhoods of tomorrow” promotional video. Most people just used the screens to check train arrival times and the air quality. The next shuttle was two minutes away, and the air was currently “unsafe for vulnerable groups.”

“Are we just supposed to take this shit?” Nefi asked. “We don’t deserve to live like this.”

Around her, the rest of SOIL handed out cold bottles of water, popsicles, and fruit cups from coolers filled with melting ice, along with flyers to people walking towards the train platform. They walked past the demonstration uninterestedly, only stopping long enough to take a bottle of water. Everyone had gotten used to Nefi shouting at them to care about things beyond their control, and learned to tune her and the rest of her angry SOILders out, taking their flyers every now and then only to chuck them into the nearest trash can. This morning, a few people did stop to listen for a second or two, the heat getting the better of them, before they saw the time flicker on the screen behind her, and realized that they’d be late for work.

Sibyl, her camera always strapped to her body, snapped a few shots of her neighbor. Nefi was like a loud older cousin who wasn’t afraid of a little trouble, or frankly anything. She both awed and terrified Sibyl.

“It’s time for these slumlords to sweat,” Nefi went on. “We need to organize. Our voices are stronger together — ”

“What makes you think anyone gives a shit about what happens to us down here?”

Mr. Solomon had been on his way to the bodega to buy his morning loosie, but stopped to sit in his walker, taking a moment to catch his breath.

“That’s exactly what they want us to think, vecino.” Nefi softened her voice in that way she did when she was trying not to shout. “The more we believe that we can’t make them pay attention to us, the longer they get away with treating us like shit.”

“I remember when they first moved people into Groundview.” In the midst of reminiscing, Mr. Solomon started coughing aggressively, prompting someone to hand him a bottle of water which he drank quickly before continuing. “We were protesting and shouting in the streets, but they didn’t care then. They’re not gonna care now.” The history lesson quickly turned into yet another heated debate about neighborhood politics between him and some of the other SOILders trying to convince him to take one of their flyers. Sibyl used the opportunity to catch Nefi’s attention, who waved her over enthusiastically.

“Yo, did you hear?” Nefi handed her a fruit cup. “We finally got a meeting with the overlords! Are you gonna come?”

“Nahhh, Nefi. You know that’s not really my thing…I’m not an activist.” Nefi was always trying to recruit her for some radical ass shit that just never seemed worth the trouble of explaining to Sibyl’s very Jamaican mother.

“Nobody said you had to be. You live in this neighborhood, and have just as much say about what happens in it as the suits who own it.” Nefi sensed Sibyl’s hesitation. “Please Sib! Come so we have more people in the room. You don’t have to say anything. We just want those dicks to see that we have power. People power!”

Nefi was very proud of the fact that she had an uncle, or it might have been a second cousin, who had been a member of the Young Lords and, drawing on their legacy of fighting for the liberation of Puerto Ricans, was always going on about the oppressive nature of renting, and self-determination for poor people, and community empowerment, and, and…

“Aight — I’ll go,” Sibyl assured her, trying to cut her sermon short. Nefi hugged her and thanked her a million times before shoving a stack of flyers into her arms to pass out and post up around the neighborhood.

#

The singular garden in Groundview Gardens was usually ten degrees cooler than anywhere else in the neighborhood. It was created — not by the architects who had designed New York City’s newest development, but instead — by the community out of desperation as an escape from their cramped apartments. During the days, the older folks used it to grow their herbs, medicines, and flowers for their healing practices. The local farmers grew produce that fed the community. After school and on the weekends, all the kids hung out at the community center at the heart of the garden where they learned to dance, make art, and play music.

By the time Sybil got there later that night, Groundview’s collective of artists had already transformed the greenspace into their Saturday night hangout. One of the DJs was spinning records. People were dancing, drinking, smoking, having a good time. Dante, Sage, and Felix had bottles in their hands when Sibyl joined them at their usual spot. Their clothes were covered in colorful patches of spray paint.

“Did you finish it? When do I get to see it?,” she asked them excitedly. She hadn’t seen her friends in about a week, which meant they were either done with their latest mural or were taking a break before they disappeared for another few days. “Soon.” Dante looked tired, but excitement danced in his eyes. “Shoot anything good lately?” He leaned in reaching for her camera, but she quickly pulled back from him.

He laughed at her and took a sip of beer. Dante was her oldest friend out of the trio. There was a quiet protectiveness between the two of them Sibyl hoped they could always maintain.

“It’s been a minute since I last checked.”

“How come?” Dante asked.

Sibyl usually couldn’t wait to hold herself up in the darkroom at the community center to develop her film, but she had been putting off her latest batch. She’d fallen in love with photography while taking classes at the center as a kid. So much so that one day, her mother came home with an old film camera and Sibyl never put it down. That first summer, she ran around the neighborhood asking to take people’s photos. It felt so natural to her, though it had taken a while to gain people’s trust. Take their pictures for what? What was she going to do with them? Skeptics, but curious, they eventually agreed. They’d uncomfortably pose or force a smile, and then immediately ask her to see it because if they didn’t look good, she’d have to delete it. Then she’d explain how film photography worked, and they’d cuss her out for wasting their time.

Weeks later, she’d find them again — at the corner store, or at the People’s Garden, and give them the glossy prints she’d developed. Through her lens she could see they were secretly afraid she’d see the things they’d all spent so much time and concern trying to hide. But those things would all melt away when they’d see themselves — some for the first time — with the same worth and value she saw in them. After that Sibyl didn’t have to ask. They booked her for quinces and graduation parties and engagement photos. People would stop her when they saw her around. “So you not gonna take my picture? Girl, you know I look good today. Quit playing and snap something quick,” and they’d pose with more pride than before, as if to officially celebrate the triumph of living, something they didn’t know they had accomplished until they saw proof.

After seeing so many of her neighbors’ pictures, some of which she took, circulate in online memorials, something lodged itself in the pit of Sibyl’s gut. She couldn’t fully identify what it was, but it left her with little energy to feel or do anything else outside of going to school and work. But she didn’t know how to explain that to her friends without being weird or bringing down the mood, so she just said, “Been busy with school.” She quickly changed the subject before anyone tried to press her on it.

“Are ya gonna go to the town hall?”

“What town hall?” Sage asked.

“The one with management. About the HVACs.” Sibyl handed them flyers from her bag. “I promised Nefi I’d go, but I don’t want to go by myself. Someone come with me?”

“Pass,” Felix snorted.

“I’ll go. Should be fun,” Sage said with a smirk on their face. “I wanna hear what those assholes say their excuse is for not fixing shit.”

“I’ll save ya the trip. Sorry, you’re too poor for us to care,” Felix mocked. “It’s not like they’re all of a sudden gonna have a conscience ya know.”

“You mad negative bro,” Dante said.

“What?” Felix asked animatedly. “You really trying to spend the rest of your life down here? We all need to focus on getting the fuck up outta here instead of asking them to fix some janky ass vents.”

It’s not like anybody was trying to spend any part of their lives in Groundview, but lately it seemed like the rest of their lives wouldn’t take so long. The sound of the shuttle, more muffled than anywhere else, reverberated throughout the garden.

“I’m out the first chance I get,” Dante admitted. His answer wasn’t surprising to any of them, but this was the first time Sibyl heard him say it out loud. Dante was one of the more talented and disciplined artists in the collective. It would only be a matter of time before he blew up and left.

“What happens when ya leave though?” Sage was upset. “You get out, but what about the rest of us? Not everybody can up and leave right? Shouldn’t we try and make shit better for everyone.”

“That’s a trap, Sage. Shit’s not gonna get better,” Felix said harshly. “Does it ever hit ya, like really hit ya that there’s no future for us here? Everybody’s so busy working to get by, we don’t even have time to realize how fucked up everything is.”

“I’m not saying it’s perfect.” Sage shot back. “I just don’t think we have to turn our back on our community. That’s fucked up.”

“Don’t take it so personally, Sage,” Dante cut in. “Nobody’s turning their backs on anyone.”

“Besides, no offense to Nefi n ‘em,” Felix said, “but everybody’s wasting their time if they think those suits are gonna fix anything.”

Sibyl listened quietly. Groundview was all they ever knew. She had never considered leaving it, and yet she also was afraid to admit that she thought Felix might be right.

#

The middle school auditorium only had like fifteen people — half were members of SOIL — in there that Tuesday night, which was more than Nefi had expected. The handful of people who told her they wanted to go to the town hall, but couldn’t, were either working, or would get home too late from work and would have to cook dinner or iron school uniforms for the next day. Everyone else couldn’t be bothered; like Felix, they thought it was a waste of time. That nothing would come from it. Sibyl didn’t show. No one who attended the town hall actually thought anything would come from it either. If AR&M had wanted to do something, they would have done it a long ass time ago. The people who did show up were mostly Nefi’s elderly neighbors who were always ready to spit their anger into a mic because if they weren’t going to get a solution, they would at least get to cuss someone out, and have an audience to witness it.

Nefi worked her way around the room to thank people for coming. These things always felt like family reunions to her. Old friends hugging and catching up because they hadn’t seen each other in a minute, with work and family and life moving everybody in this or that direction, even though they all still lived in the same neighborhood. She finished up her greetings and joined the rest of SOIL, huddled at the front of the room. They went over the order of speakers, before Benjy, the group’s designated peacemaker for the evening, asked everyone to quiet down and get seated so they could start. He reminded everyone to keep it civil. Then one by one, people got up to the mic to direct their anger at the empty faces in tailored suits, sitting at the table in front of them, who could all care less about the people shouting at them. There was a lot of finger snapping, and “that’s right” and “tell-em’s” from the crowd throughout.

Finally about half an hour in, a young woman, with a little girl clutching on to the left side of her body, got up to the mic.

“My name is Mercy Brooks, and this is my daughter Angelique.” Her voice was shaking, in that soft, angry, pissed off kinda way that warranted attention. Nefi hushed the crowd down so that she could speak her peace without interruption. “My daughter’s asthma acts up almost every day. She can’t breathe. Ya should be fucking ashamed of yaselves. Our babies are dying down here. Is that what we deserve because we can’t do better? We just supposed to take that shit. You ever thought about what it’s like to live down here, huh? I’m sure ya don’t cause if you did, you wouldn’t think it was right to keep people living like this. Or do ya not care cause it’s not your kids?”

There was silence from the table, which was worse than feigning any sympathy or remorse. It set the room off into chants, which meant it was over from there. AR&M security shut that shit down quick right on cue, and if you weren’t arrested that night, you were brusquely escorted out. Management promised to set up some vague kind of task force with representatives from the neighborhood, but it led to nothing. A fucking disappointment, that’s what that shit was. And it wasn’t a surprise to Nefi or anyone else, but it hurt all the same. A few weeks later, that same woman who got up and spoke, her daughter Angelique died because they couldn’t get her to the hospital in time after she had an asthma attack. AR&M still hadn’t fixed the vents in their housing complex. And they still didn’t change the filters or fix the ducts in the other housing complexes so that it wouldn’t happen again after that. SOIL kept trying to drum up some kind of anger. Anything to get people to feel something. To do something.

Murals of Destiny, Angelique, and every other person who had died that year quietly popped up around the neighborhood. Vigils and altars with flowers and prayer candles accompanied them. But as much as people were upset or sad, no one knew what else to do except mourn and move on because it was clear to everyone that no one gave a damn about them. And so, what was the point?

##

They called it the Subterranean Housing and Inner-City Tunnels project, or S.H.I.T. for short. A plan to provide affordable housing for everyone who had experienced the worst housing crisis New York City had ever seen. People were evicted left and right. Families were priced out of their homes and neighborhoods. The shelter system, swelled beyond its limits for decades, finally collapsed. The streets and subway were overrun with people in sleeping bags and blankets. So nothing new, but it finally annoyed enough people to warrant action.

Naturally, the city contracted its most blood thirsty developers, AR&M, to help solve the problem, which was kinda like asking an arsonist to put out a fire they had proudly started. To no one’s surprise, they didn’t want to forfeit any of their luxury condos that sat empty while people slept on the streets. Instead, they struck a deal to create the largest scale of public housing of its kind, in exchange for absolute, unregulated freedom. The only problem was there was literally no land left for them to develop because they had already bought it all. And then one day, the chief architect of S.H.I.T. had an epiphany when he felt the uptown 6 train rumbling beneath his feet. There was an entire part of the city he had yet to consider. Where a majority of the people who needed housing were already living. Sprawling housing complexes with multi-unit apartments appeared overnight 150 feet underground, with the pilot site in the South Bronx. A new subway station and miles and miles of foot tunnels connected New York’s newest neighborhood to the world above it.

There were protests, anger, outrage! That the country’s most progressive city could so blatantly, and quickly!, shove all of its poor people out of sight only seemed to bother the poor people because everyone else praised S.H.I.T. as the most innovative solution of the 21st century. New York City had done the impossible, and housed every single person. That was grounds for celebration and federal funding. Plans were quickly announced to roll S.H.I.T. out across every major city in the country. To ease people’s concerns, the mayor at the time, eyeing a presidential run, promised that his own city’s underground neighborhood would just be temporary — transitional housing at best. Transitional to what, no one could answer. Temporary until when? Until they could think of something else. One year became five, became ten, etc., etc.

In time, AR&M and the city eventually added a couple schools, a hospital, a library, and a sad excuse for a park that residents eventually turned into the People’s Garden. Folks opened up bodegas, 99 cent and liquor stores, and made themselves at home. It didn’t take long to accept living where they did as another fact of life because they had no other choice. Over time, the plan to move everyone back aboveground disappeared from the city’s housing briefings. Then, the briefings disappeared altogether. The high rates of asthma and chronic bronchitis that seemed to come from living in Groundview occasionally made the nightly news, but not enough to cause major concern or stop neighborhoods like Groundview from popping up across the country.

There were still those who remembered life before Groundview, and vowed to move out of the neighborhood as soon as the opportunity arrived. They kept the dream close to their hearts. And if it didn’t happen during their lifetimes, they’d make sure it would happen during their children’s. More realized it was a fool’s dream and moved on. Eventually though, everyone adapted to the vibrations of the shuttle inside their kitchens. The white, fluorescent lighting that lit every corner of their world like a harsh, artificial sun. The damp, muggy air that arrested their chests if they tried to breathe too freely. And the humming of the massive ventilation systems that heated and cooled their cramped, windowless apartments — when they decided to work.

#

An Artist’s Treatise on Survival

I don’t know how we do it sometimes. That is, put up with all the shit that life throws at us. Work jobs that exhaust us with little in return. Take care of our families with little to no support. Do so much with so little. And still be able to smile or laugh in the midst of it all. Then, I remember: it’s because we have to. No one else is gonna pay our bills if we don’t. No one else is gonna put food on our tables for us. No one’s gonna bail us out. Naturally, you learn to hustle. To channel your frustrations into working around the way things are because trying to fix things that were built broken takes time you don’t have when you’re just trying to get by.

What gets me even more is how we’ve perfected survival itself as an artform, and created whole new types of living from abject desperation. We wasn’t supposed to, much less find reasons to enjoy life, but we did anyway. Some even take on the added challenge of trying to make life more bearable, more enjoyable, for the rest of us. For example, sometimes when it felt like there wasn’t much to appreciate. That you were resigned to the fate of being alive and not living and didn’t deserve any better. You’d see a mural. On the way to the laundromat. Or the corner store. While you were running errands. Or walking home, bone tired, from the train after another long, shitty day at work. And like all good, beautiful things, it reminded you to breathe. You didn’t always know who created it. Or couldn’t remember if it was there the day before even though you’ve walked that way millions of times. You just knew that it was, in its own way, encouraging you to make it to tomorrow. Bright bursts of color and story interrupting the mundane, tiresome every day you’d come to accept with no protest. After a while, it becomes easier to accept a simple truth about living. That we can still manage to find a reason to laugh, to enjoy life, despite it all, and that we can be the source of our own power. It’s kind of audacious of us to still try and find joy even if it means creating it for ourselves. Maybe that’s why we do it.

#

At first, it started off as harmless tagging, and they kept it up chasing the thrill of not getting caught. Then they tried to outdo each other. It became a sport: who could paint the better mural. Get the most buzz around the neighborhood before they got painted over. But the better they got, and the more the murals looked legit, the longer they stayed up. Until they stopped painting over them altogether because people loved them so much. They didn’t belong to the creators anymore. They belonged to the neighborhood. And before they knew it, they’d created something much bigger than any of them could have imagined.

The tunnels just seemed like the next natural step for the graffiti artists in Groundview. Miles and miles of blank walls? Dante, especially, saw something to keep him busy after his brother died. Besides, painting murals felt like the only thing he could do. He’d stopped going to school. He’d just paint. When he ran out of ideas to paint, he asked Sibyl to see her portraits, and he started replicating them across the neighborhood. He was relentless — portrait after portrait. Sage and Felix started helping him out because they worried he would lose it, spending all that time in the tunnels by himself. He was grasping for something, but he didn’t know what it was. Until he saw it, lying on the ground near a garbage can.

The Groundview Residents’ List of Demands

The People of Groundview Gardens demand financial and social restitution for all residents, especially those who developed chronic health issues from living underground and/or have lost loved ones because of it.

The People demand New York City move all Groundview residents back above ground into rent subsidized apartments.

The People demand New York City disband all underground housing policies so that no one else has to live in Groundview Gardens or any other housing project like it.

Until the first three demands are met, The People demand Arcadian Realty & Management fix the HVAC systems in every single housing complex it owns and regularly maintain them.

Once Groundview Gardens is fully evacuated, The People demand New York City turn the entire neighborhood into a public memorial to commemorate the loss of life, preserving the art and The People’s Garden.

After the town hall, and the supposed task force, proved to be a bust, SOIL had created the demands to deliver to the city. They circulated leaflets with the five bullet points, but no one would take them seriously. Dante himself, admittedly, had checked out, and had ignored SOIL’s literature, up until that point. The demands appeared overnight on the walls of the tunnels in bold white paint for everyone to see. They were the last thing everyone saw coming into Groundview and the first thing they saw from the shuttle on their commutes leaving the neighborhood.

#

Nefi kept waiting for the moment when her neighbors would suddenly realize that they were angry — very angry. They’d decide they were fed up once and for all and refuse to settle for less anymore. They’d riot in the streets. They’d protest in front of AR&M’s offices. They’d refuse to go into work until something changed. Their anger would get everyone’s attention. Her own rage had burned intensely inside her for as long as she knew herself. She learned to channel it through SOIL trying to make Groundview a better place, even though everyone told her it wasn’t worth it; it wasn’t possible; it was a waste of time. But it was either that or literally set some shit on fire. But, it didn’t matter how many rallies, tenant meetings, town halls, or demonstrations SOIL organized. Nefi learned that she couldn’t have a revolution without people. And the people? They were tired and overworked. They didn’t have time to overthrow anything. And, even though no one would admit it, they were also afraid — afraid of change, of what they could lose, of realizing that something greater than what they had come to know was possible. So to save themselves, and Nefi, further disappointment, they rebuffed her again, and again: Nefi you need to chill. Girl you’re doing too much. Don’t waste your time. Nothing’s gonna change. After the town hall, and years and years of holding hope, the fire inside Nefi dulled until she couldn’t recognize herself anymore. She conceded her rage for high-functioning hopelessness. She withdrew from her friends, from her neighbors, from SOIL, only tapping into enough energy to wake up, go to work, and make her way back home. The days bled into each other, so much so that when the night Nefi had been waiting for eventually came later that August, it caught her completely off guard. It caught everyone off guard because it wasn’t the HVACs or the deaths of toddlers, or even the wrath towards AR&M that finally set people off. But it shouldn’t have been a surprise to anyone who’s lived in New York City long enough because it was the one thing that could incite the level of large-scale anarchic rage Nefi had been holding out for — and that was the MTA.

#

The night in question, the air was hot, muggy, and heavy with potential. Like any other evening, people were heading home from work, the collective exhaustion weighing down on their bodies, stamped into their faces. They waited together, huddled in a sweaty mass on the sweltering Third Ave-138th St. platform for a train that felt like it would never come. When an empty shuttle finally did arrive in the station, the doors opened to the grating sound of a man’s voice coming through the train’s speaker system:

“Attention passengers. This is your conductor speaking. Due to unplanned construction up ahead, we are disbanding all trains to Groundview Gardens at this time. I repeat, we are disbanding all trains to Groundview. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

This shit had happened plenty of times before. A disruption of service that made it difficult to get home. Everybody was so used to it and had even come to expect it. The inconvenience of being poor and powerless consistently working against them. It too had become a predictable kind of disappointment. Even the audible, collective disapproval was muted and slightly rehearsed, nothing more than a reflex. They would have to find their way home, some two-odd miles on foot, through the tunnels. But that night, Ms. Claudette, who had been on her feet all day at work taking care of her elderly patient and still had to go home and iron her scrubs for the next day, was fucking tired. She had paid her fare. And, she had paid her taxes. She had also paid her dues in this country — twenty-seven years worth of struggle and debasement — for what? This could not be it. Life could not just be disappointment. The least she expected was that the train would get her home like it was supposed to. She decided that she was going to let the conductor have a piece of her mind.

“This is nonsense. Tell me, just tell me, how am I supposed to get home?” Her boisterous St. Lucian accent traveled well beyond her.

Folks who heard her echoed in agreement, hyping her up. “They have the nerve to raise prices for this shitty ass service,” someone said loudly. They all collectively decided to board the empty train. The construction workers in their hard hats and massive boots, the women with their large tote bags and their tiredness neatly folded away into themselves. They were all going to sit on the train, until it started up again. It was going to take them home.

The conductor was tired too. Nothing as deep-seated as his passengers, but something not too far removed. He had no skin in this game though, and his job didn’t pay him enough to care. He was annoyed; they were keeping him from clocking out. And so, after listening to a bunch of people passionately curse him out, he told them to, and I quote:

“Write a letter.”

It happened so fast. I mean, when I say shit popped off before anyone could swallow their spit. Someone knocked over the trash cans on the platform. Someone else, set them on fire, with what to this day no one really knows, but their latent anger seemed to have ignited what they didn’t know was inside them.

The riots lasted for weeks. People boycotted the MTA and didn’t go to work.

The restaurants aboveground shuttered because they were understaffed. Construction on all the new developments stopped because the workers, a lot of whom lived in Groundview, refused to show up. People aboveground had to stay home because their nannies and house cleaners weren’t able to come and relieve them like they had come to rely on. Groundview had forced the city to come to a complete stop. The mayor held a press conference saying she didn’t condone the behavior of the vandals at the train station. SOIL led protests and demonstrations in front of city hall until she had to hold a second press conference to apologize for her statements at the first press conference. She promised she was going to make sure that it would never happen again — not just the riots, but the unnecessary deaths in Groundview, the resentment the residents felt towards the city. They were going to fix the HVACs, and the MTA! They were going to heal the great divide the city had long thrived on once and for all, if, and only if, the workers called off the strike and went back to work. It sounded so sincere, everyone wanted to believe it. Tired of holding all the power, they asked SOIL to represent them at the bargaining table. Deals were made. Hands were shaken. And things went back to a semblance of normal with a few slight adjustments.

#

Sibyl was heading out of her apartment when she saw a piece of yellow paper on her front door.

60 DAYS NOTICE TO INCREASE RENT

Mildred Campbell 207 167th St. (GG), Unit 10E

Beginning September 1, 2041, the monthly rent will go up an additional 5% for all units located in the Robert Moses Houses. Please make the appropriate adjustments within the AR&M digital payment system.

We appreciate your continued tenancy.

Sincerely, Arcadian Realty & Management

Pieces of yellow paper were taped to every single door she passed on her way to the train. It had been a year since the last time the heating or cooling had stopped working. Everyone held their breath celebrating, just in case that was when the heat would shut off or the air would decide to stop working again, but it never did. The number of deaths and hospitalizations went down, and everyone seemed content enough after the strikes and boycott ended, to go back to work. The trains even went back to running as efficiently as possible for the MTA, always teetering on the edge of collapse, but never actually approaching it for fear of recreating another opportunity for mass rebellion.

On her way to the shuttle, Sibyl saw a group of people congregating near one of the murals. She clutched her camera in her hand, ready to raise it to her face, when she heard a voice she didn’t recognize shouting through a megaphone. It belonged to a man she had never seen around the neighborhood before, and he was walking backwards while talking to a group of people Sibyl also didn’t recognize.

“Groundview is the latest up and coming neighborhood in the city,” his voice echoed. “Some of the most promising young artists have gotten their start in this urban — ”

She didn’t stick around to hear more.

After the riots, small groups of tourists descended regularly on Groundview like vultures to see the murals they had seen in viral photographs. They’d rudely block the paths from the train platform, or take up way too much space on the footpaths of the tunnels posing in front of the murals for pictures. Not long after that came the opportunistic hacks who had never stepped foot in Groundview before, running “culture tours’’ around the neighborhood. The residents felt like they were stuck in some sick and twisted museum. Out of annoyance, they banned the tours and non-residents from the People’s Garden, preserving their one last sanctuary in the community.

Sibyl had been in the middle of it all the first night of the riots. She was on the subway platform on her way home from classes and started snapping pictures once she realized what was going on, catching the fervent energy better than anyone could describe to everyone else who wasn’t there. She had no idea her photos would end up everywhere. But they did, and they not only helped draw attention to the plight of her neighborhood. They also drew attention to the wealth of talent germinating underneath the city. Her photos of her friends, their murals, and the other members of her neighborhood, had also attracted a lot of attention that felt good to the young artists who all of a sudden saw opportunities previously unavailable to them right at their doorsteps.

The shuttle arrived on the platform before her. Sibyl boarded the cool air-conditioned cart; the beads of sweat on her skin quickly evaporated. Nefi had warned them to be careful early on. “These things always end up having you exploit your own people for a cheap come up, and it’s never worth it.” Everyone thought she was trippin’. There Nefi was again just looking for another cause to fight now that her crusade against A&RM had seemed to come to an end. Even Sibyl thought she was overreacting at first. People were finally paying attention to Groundview. If she and the rest of the artists could help show the world how important the lives of the people who lived there were, maybe things could change for the better.

The train disappeared into the tunnel towards the 138th St. station. A lot of things had quietly changed over the last year and a half. Many of the families who had lost loved ones, including Dante’s, received settlements from the city and moved out of the neighborhood, leaving a sizable number of the apartments empty. Leading to perhaps the most visible addition to the neighborhood. AR&M had a couple of the younger artists looking for their own big break paint over SOIL’s list of demands and replaced it with a more “aesthetically inviting” message for the new visitors to the neighborhood: Welcome to the Mural District. Sibyl had only heard the tour guides call it that, in an unveiled attempt to rebrand Groundview. It didn’t take too long to find out where they got it from. The name and the welcome sign led to intense debates between the artists in the collective, including her friends, about people selling out and what they owed to each other as artists and their neighbors, which led to a few people splitting off and doing their own thing. The mural made Sibyl sick to her stomach, and she tried her best to avoid seeing it on her commutes. Then one day, someone started covering it up with black graffiti making the message unreadable.

No one knew who it was because they never got caught, but it didn’t matter to AR&M. Like clockwork the next morning, they had cleaners paint a fresh welcome message over it in time for the daily tours at noon. When the welcome message started appearing on the AR&M screens, the screens started getting covered in graffiti too. After a few months, Sibyl expected the guerilla painters to give up and move on, but they didn’t. Fresh graffiti kept appearing over the mural and on the screens, prompting AR&M to deploy their clean up crews, and then the routine would start again. Sibyl looked out the window in anticipation. “OURS.” The word, written over and over again across the mural, quickly came into view and then vanished out of sight.