#i mean it weighs in people's opinions of a government for sure

[idkimnotreal]

so in democracy 4 i can’t get reelected in brazil if i don’t solve brazil’s criminality problem...

buddy. that’s not how brazil works.

[captain-kraken]

Happy STS! 💕

Tell me about the afterlife in your WIP (if such a thing exists)! Is there an underworld, or do spirits remain tethered to the mortal plane or simply cease to be? Do they have an embodiment of the Grim Reaper, or perhaps an Anubis-like figure who determines where you go when you die (heaven, hell, purgatory, limbo, etc)? How does reincarnation work, and how much do beliefs and opinions differ on the subject as a whole?

thank you for the ask :)

this is gonna be a long one cos I think far too much about both death and religion

-

Death in Sonhara is governed by the Duante gods, but none of them truly has the power to determine where you go. That's all down to what kind of person you were while you were alive.

When you die, you are escorted by one of the two remaining Duante messengers to where Detlos (the god of Judgement) rests. They view your life using their many eyes, pulling the heiros from your soul and weighing the good vs corruption upon their scales.

When fully weighed, your soul is then handed over to one of the twins.

-

Those who weighed more good are taken to Vasizo, the god of Reincarnation. They like to talk to the souls to get to know all about your life and make sure that you're ready to move on, before you are added to their big soup pot lol.

Once you've been added to the pot, you essentially cease to exist as an individual. You become part of the soup of souls, where Vasizo will create a new soul by scooping a spoonful from the pot.

So you could end up being reinarnated into many different new lives at the same time, but alongside a combination of other pieces of souls from other lives.

This is also why gender is viewed a little differently in Sonhara. They believe that it's in your soul, so to them it's obvious that mixing them all together means that you're gonna end up with a wide range of how people feel about their gender.

-

Those who weighed more corruption are taken to Marakoth, the god of Cleansing. This is the closest thing to an "afterlife" but it's more like a personalised Hell. Every soul has their memory of the death wiped and is basically put into a simulated continuation of their life, where they end up on the opposite end of the corruption they caused.

So basic example, say that someone has spent their life being a cruel boss, they would end up in a "life" where they lose their business and end up working for someone who was exactly like they were when they were alive.

Once Marakoth has deemed them cleaned of their corruption (or at least as much as they can) they are then handed over to Vasizo to be put into the soul soup.

There are someone who are too corrupted and if cleansing attempts fail too badly, Marakoth will swallow them whole. These spend centuries being slowly digested by the void inside Marakoth, who absorbs all the corruption so it's not released back into the world.

-

Most people believe in the above because Heirosa is the main religion with almost all of the population in Sonhara believing in it.

The Sanpavir are different. Some of them still believe in the Heirosa gods, they just choose not to worship them. And there are others who don't believe that they exist at all.

Either way, they still believe that they will be reincarnated but only if they are "buried" at sea. Bodies are stripped of everything and are basically dumped into the far ocean somewhere. They are then eaten by the sea creatures, who absorb the soul of the deceased, which is reincarnated through their future offspring and the sea itself.

[robtopus]

It's time to grace you with another story.

Another piece of Weird Fiction from my collection Purveyor of the Weird.

No TW this time.

There is a sussurus of voices, but it’s a low drone. Even the sternest of non-believers cannot bring themselves to talk loudly, it seems. There also is an anticipation in the air: Everyone is waiting for the night's entertainment to begin.

Robert R. Sidian: The Sermon

Dedicated to Matt Cardin.

Today’s evening entertainment will happen in this desecrated cathedral, which has been given over to ‘purposes of art and education’. There are several hundred people in attendance, at a guess; but the space does not seem packed, does not seem full at all. The walls tower over everyone, the stained-glass windows twist and re-shape the light, and every single person seems to stand alone, apart from anyone else. The pews have been removed, rendering the space even larger; even more devoid of, well, anything, really.

The program calls it a “lecture-performance”, but the man giving it has consistently referred to it as an “antisermon”; he has, of course, not once explained what that term means.

As the seconds stretch into minutes, the babble of voices starts to slowly rise in volume; you cannot keep this amount of people contained under an umbrella of silence for long. Nobody notices the Man appear at the lectern; he does not seem to mind, however. Instead, he calmly sorts through his manuscript one more time, fixes his tie, then looks down. His hair falls over his face, shrouding it in shadow; even so, the movement of his lips would be visible, if anyone were paying attention. He’s muttering a prayer, or maybe an invocation. Then he looks up again, clears his throat once and starts to speak.

"We all are suffering!"

Although there is no microphone, his voice explodes into the cathedral with the force of a bomb. All conversation ceases at once. Some members of the audience sneak a glance at the windows, because they for sure must have shattered under the impact. The gesture is meant to be ironic, but there is a nervousness beneath it. Satisfied with the reaction, the Man at the lectern briefly smiles, then starts in earnest.

“Modern man, modern society even, exists in some sort of metaphysical wasteland, where all the old ideals have been swept away and have not really been replaced by anything meaningful. From God to Country, nothing exists anymore that could give you certainty; that could give you meaning; that could give you purpose".

There is the briefest of pauses. The Man at the lectern needs this pause so it can turn into a sharp, self-effacing gesture. The audience is still too stunned to really react, so nobody can cut in; but the Man at the lectern has clearly anticipated possible reactions to his ideas and takes them in stride. Maybe he even allows himself the briefest of laughs.

"I know, I know, the above statement could have been written 1789 or 1848 or 1946 or yesterday; but that does not necessarily make it less true; if anything, it makes it more depressing."

Somebody should stifle a groan, or maybe laugh cynically. This guy cannot be serious. But nobody does. Probably because they want to give him a chance, or because their ears are still ringing from the truly impressive beginning to this trite spectacle. The self-awareness does not really help his case, but it's still nice for it to be there. It helps ease the tension a bit. Even though there is a (terrifying?) earnestness that can almost physically be felt behind the words. The Man on the lectern clearly has something to say; it's not his fault that it's nothing new. And in any case, the medium is just as important as the message, and he got the delivery down pat.

"The absence of any sort of meaningful religion, in my opinion, weighs much harsher than the disappearance of the trust in any sort of government, or country, or ideal. If one half of the old pair of “Church and Crown” disappears, then of course the whole thing topples. What you’re left with, then, is a society of engineers and accountants, unable to even conceive that there could be anything more. God is dead, and we killed Him; then we let the mathematicians measure His corpse, the engineers construct His tomb and the accountants tell us how much the sorry business will cost. And then we proceeded to dance on His grave.”

At this, the Man on the lectern sweeps an accusing arm around the church space, forcing everyone to take in the trite bullshit produced by those who have been here before. It would be funny, downright hilarious, if there wasn’t this air of raw, righteous anger emanating from the man on the lectern. After all, so far it’s been only visual artists in here, repurposing and re-modeling the cathedral space with the same old tired riffs on Christian iconography, the same old boring complaints about the suffering allowed by an uncaring God. There has been one brave soul trying for some sort of 21st-century mysticism, leaning heavily into Catholic art and Medieval mysticism. It has lots of blood, because of course it has.

"We wallow in petty blasphemies and childish reenactments of rituals we don't understand anymore. We are adrift in a vast, gaping ocean and it's only a matter of time until either the Leviathan devours us or we drown in some interminable Maelstrom. And even when that happens, we'll still crack an ironic smile. Because of course we'll die by a reference to old mythology, be it Hebrew or Greek."

The cathedral is lit only by candles, there's no electric light in here. It's supposed to set a certain atmosphere of reverence and meditation; while the Man at the lectern has been speaking, the sun outside has set and so only murky twilight spills in through the stained-glass windows. But inside, the atmosphere seems to be more like one of mounting dread. Because obviously, being shouted at by a religious fanatic in a giant, echoing room while on one of the walls, (fake?) blood drips onto the floor is not conducive to any sort of positive mind-set.

But nobody is moving, or saying a word. The audience seems enraptured by the Man on the lectern. All eyes are staring at him, nearly unblinking, while out of the periphery of their eyes, they can see shadows curl and unfurl. It is, of course, nothing but a hallucination. Probably brought on by someone burning incense.

"Cynicism and ironic detachment can only get us so far. They have carried us until this day, true, but we cannot even begin to grasp what has truly been lost. And the attempts made to reclaim the metaphysical realm are often nothing more than an exploitation of the meek and the stupid by those looking to wield some small amount of power. We wanted meaning, and all we got was this tee-shirt, our clothes should say - and the clothes weresold to us by those who anointed themselves Leaders, spiritual and philosophical. First, they sell us tee-shirts, and then they sell our faith to the highest bidder, and all we're left with is a void that is even deeper than before. But ultimately, they are as lost, alone and scared as us; maybe even more so, because they will have to confront the realization that money is a poor substitute for meaning, and that for all their power, they are still bereft of purpose".

It is clichéd pessimism, of course, tied up in a slightly hysterical language wavering between the language of the sermon and the drawl of the fourteen-year old who just discovered Nietzsche. And still, nobody boos the expounding of ideas long since obsolete. There is no laughter at the silliness of it all. Nobody hurls insults or throws tomatoes. A lot of audience members are wearing some sort of semi-ironic items of clothing or jewelry. Yet nobody shuffles their feet awkwardly, feeling called out or caught by the Man on the lectern and his hypnotic voice. There's also no vocal disagreement. Only a curious silence that seems all the more deafening for being the blank, black canvas on which the voice paints its bleak critique of modern life.

Everyone stands rooted to the spot, erect and at attention. Even the usual signs of fidgeting are absent; eyes are locked onto the man on the lectern, mouths are slightly agape, hands are open, palms pointing to the floor. And the shadows keep dancing and curling.

"So do away with those childish binaries and see that all of you - all of us! - are suffering alone, yet together. This metaphysical torture is at once the most subjective, the most personal thing, while also being the thing which brings us all together!"

As the diatribe moves towards its inevitable climax, the room is gripped with a sweet, slightly rancid panic. The phrases may be old and tired, but it feels as if they are heard for the first time, spoken by the man on the lectern in a defiled and desecrated cathedral.

The 'artworks' that sully the room have all but disappeared from view, first made spectral by the gloom and then consumed by the roving shadows. Only the crucifixion is still present, seeming to shine with a newfound aura that is new and exciting. The blood is still dripping down onto the floor; no, not dripping. It's streaming, continuously, a trail of bloody tears from a thousand stigmata; matching those running from the eyes and ears of the audience, enraptured and afraid, holy terror and religious ecstasy mixing like salt and iron - blood and tears.

The Man on the lectern, an unassuming figure, with very little presence only a few minutes ago, seems to have grown. Maybe he even hovers a few feet off the ground; it's difficult to tell in the liquid, shining darkness of the cavernous space. And that space is now positively ringing with the sound of his voice, every word like a clap of thunder. This is a ritual, and everyone in the audience has been duped into becoming a part of it. Even if sheer hysteria broke out, nobody would be able to leave. The invocation has begun, and there is no stopping it now until it's all over.

"Close your eyes. See the wasteland where you are lost. It is time. Shed the flesh. Reclaim the desert. Cast out that which only holds you back. We suffered together. We will now build a new future. Together. Open your eyes".

Each sentence rings out, as if spoken by a thousand voices. The shadows dance and careen madly as the windows finally shatter and let in something that is older and deeper than even the most antediluvian of stars. All eyes are gaping open and the Man shrieks in triumph as the darkness between the stars bridges the gap.

"You were promised a lecture performance. The lecture is over. Now, get ready… for the performance".

***

The notes I took end here. And I can not, I will not remember what happened next. I do not know how I made it out of that pandemonium of flesh turned to darkness, blood becoming shadow. I do not know what became of the others who were in attendance. The emergency rescuers won't tell me when I ask them, and my therapist averts her eyes when speaking to me. I have not yet been given a mirror, but I know that I have been touched. That I have changed.

They did not even want to give me my notes, but they do not need to. I can recall what I wrote with perfect clarity, even if the final memory is still locked away. I can see it written on the ceiling of my hospital room in words of shadow and blood.

I need to write, yet they will not give me paper. I need to write, yet they will not provide me with a pen. But those are nothing but substitutes. The true visionary can use everything as a canvas. Can transform every space into a cathedral.

I can see the Man on the lectern outside my window, as my strength is slowly fading. It matters not; this epilogue - or is it the inevitable climax? - is nearly done. He gave them a performance; I created a monument.

The stars are out tonight, extinguished by the Darkness.

Look up to the night sky.

It's beautiful.

(c) 2024 by Robert R. Sidian. Do not distribute.

[let-go-the-hungry-ghost]

Art as Living Amends | Nick Cave on Creativity as an Instrument of Self-Forgiveness & the Necessity of Hope in a Fragile World

"I have no time for cynicism. It feels hugely misplaced at this time.

In a way my work has become an explicit rejection of cynicism and negativity. I simply have no time for it. I mean that quite literally, and from a personal perspective. No time for censure or relentless condemnation. No time for the whole cycle of perpetual blame. Others can do that sort of thing. I haven’t the stomach for it, or the time. Life is too damn short, in my opinion, not to be awed.

I remain cautiously optimistic. I think if we can move beyond the anxiety and dread and despair, there is a promise of something shifting not just culturally, but spiritually, too. I feel that potential in the air, or maybe a sort of subterranean undertow of concern and connectivity, a radical and collective move towards a more empathetic and enhanced existence… It does seem possible — even against the criminal incompetence of our governments, the planet’s ailing health, the divisiveness that exists everywhere, the shocking lack of mercy and forgiveness, where so many people seem to harbour such an irreparable animosity towards the world and each other — even still, I have hope. Collective grief can bring extraordinary change, a kind of conversion of the spirit, and with it a great opportunity. We can seize this opportunity, or we can squander it and let it pass us by. I hope it is the former. I feel there is a readiness for that, despite what we are led to believe.

We all have regrets and most of us know that those regrets, as excruciating as they can be, are the things that help us lead improved lives. Or, rather, there are certain regrets that, as they emerge, can accompany us on the incremental bettering of our lives. Regrets are forever floating to the surface… They require our attention. You have to do something with them. One way is to seek forgiveness by making what might be called living amends, by using whatever gifts you may have in order to help rehabilitate the world.

Art does have the ability to save us, in so many different ways. It can act as a point of salvation, because it has the potential to put beauty back into the world. And that in itself is a way of making amends, of reconciling us with the world. Art has the power to redress the balance of things, of our wrongs, of our sins… By “sins,” I mean those acts that are an offence to God or, if you would prefer, the “good in us” — that live within us, and that if we pay them no heed, harden and become part of our character. They are forms of suffering that can weigh us down terribly and separate us from the world. I have found that the goodness of the work can go some way towards mitigating them.

Anyone who says they don’t have any regrets is simply living an unconsidered life. Not only that, but by doing so they are denying themselves the obvious benefits of self-forgiveness. Though, of course, the hardest thing of all is to forgive oneself… One sure path to self-forgiveness is to arrive at a place where you can see that your day-to-day actions are making the world a measurably better place, rather than a worse place — that is pretty simple stuff, available to all — and to arrive at this place with a certain amount of humility."

Hope is optimism with a broken heart ...::: "Faith, Hope & Carnage" | Nick Cave

[orphicrose]

The Only One

Rick x Reader Fanfiction

Summary : life is strange in the rick and morty universe, as we all know. But things get just that little bit weirder when Rick meets you. Something seems oddly familiar with you, but for once In his life he has no idea why. So he searches from reality to reality to try and see if he had met another version of you, only to realise there where none. You where the only one. That’s when it finally hit him…

This is inspired by a song from Rick and morty that I think is beautiful https://youtu.be/epiOcz3HXNo

I accidentally got carried away and wrote too much, so I will probably just do a part 2 so it’s not to much to read if anyone is interested <3

_________________꧁♥︎꧂_________________

Humans are such fragile creatures, always have been and always will be. You knew that, but you refused to surrender down to it. Not wanting to be included In whatever earth had to offer, so you ran away. And not like how a silly fourteen years old runs away from home, Hah… no.

You left the fucking planet, not leaving behind a single trail or speck of dust for someone to follow you with. Your intelligence and ambition was all you needed to carry yourself through life. Travelling the infinite void of space, soon making a name for yourself. For good and for bad. An ordinary person couldnt even dream nor comprehend the things you’ve experienced or seen. And that’s just how you liked it. Being different. It was truly a gift to be intelligent.

And then there was rick, high IQ and normally not happy about it. Seeing his intelligence as a curse. Rick hadn’t seen it all, it was impossible, but he thought he had seen enough to make a valid opinion on life.

It’s pointless.

Such a bitter man with a bitter view on everything, including himself. You see, when you have an overwhelming amount of knowledge weighing down on your mind, you can go two ways. The first being ricks way, not caring about anything since he has seen how big the universe is and doesn’t see a point.

Then there’s your way, feeling blessed to be able to see things that no one else can, and finding a new reason to live every single day.

You two where polar opposites, but also the same. You where both alone in a universe you felt didn’t need you anymore.

The day both of your worlds collided should have been written down in the history books. It was the day both of your beliefs where almost questioned. Wondering whether fate really does exist.

————————————————

Out of the many things you have done, you’ve never visited the same place twice. Making everyday an adventure, as much of a cliche as that sounds it’s true. Not only that, but you seem to have people after you almost everywhere. For your intelligence, or for revenge. But there is one particular spot you cannot get enough of. Finding yourself there when you lose yourself.

It’s an isolated planet in the middle of the andromeda galaxy. It’s a newly ‘emerging moon’ as you like to call it. In fact, you pretty much founded this planet, since its a recent creation. This also means there is no intelligent life yet evolved, so it is safe for you to do what you please.

You go there often, to watch the two suns set over its small horizon and the thousands of stars come into view. Giving you time to reflect on your life. To appreciate it, but not to regret anything. The stars are far to beautiful to bring your mind to anything negative. The planet itself seems to project the meaning of peace and tranquillity even without life. Maybe that’s why it’s so comforting.

Your thoughts where leaving your mind, as you held your eyes closed. Feeling the breeze brush through your hair gently. That beautiful, genuine smile found its way to your face without you noticing. You where to lost in the feeling of relaxation.

But that soon came to an end. That euphoric state was snapped out of you when you noticed a bright light coming towards you. Getting bigger and bigger in just seconds. Until it became more clear, it was a spacecraft of some sort. A poorly built one to say the least. You sat and watched, mesmerised, as the flames from the object slowly engulfed it. Burning in the atmosphere. Finally hitting the ground, you shook your head and sighed. Being brought back into reality.

The flames took a second to fade after the ship had crashed. And it was clearer to see, it was the stereotypical UFO. The type you’d see in cheesy ski-fi films. But it had encryptions written in English. Which was very unusual, especially for it to be in this part of the galaxy.

What was even stranger was that it didn’t have even the slightest burn mark to it’s metal. Your vision of it became clearer and clearer the closer you got, slowly creeping past the incredibly green trees towards it. But just before you got too close, a figure fell out of the vehicle. Swearing like a drunken sailor.

This is what really messed with you, it was a human. You gasped quietly, not being able to remember the last time you saw one. A mix of feelings rushed over you; confusion, fear, excitement? You couldn’t help but stare, his unique blue hair bounced as he picked himself up, not even bothering to dust off the dirt on his lab coat.

“Fuck! You fucking piece of shit spacecraft. You’ve really done it this time Rick you fucking…” he didn’t finish his sentence, as he kicked the lump of metal. Screaming at the top of his voice.

“Fuck!”

You caught a small glimpse of his face, and recognised him. But you weren’t sure where from. You had met millions of people over the years so he could really be anyone. But there was something so compelling about his character. Something that felt like you where being pushed towards him. Or pulled, by a red string perhaps. Something that was just telling you to interact with him.

You stayed hidden behind a rather tall tree, still collecting your thoughts and questioning whether you should help him. Rick had slumped himself against the ship, putting his hands to his face and grunting. Pausing his breakdown for a second to take a sip from his flask, then proceeding to carry on.

He stayed like this for a good few minutes, before you had decided to approach him. Your curiosity and questions where burning at the edge of your mind. You just had to investigate. Keeping a hand on your weapon tucked neatly in a pocket behind your back. You slowly walked towards him, not even being able to speak before he noticed you.

A gun had been pulled to you, aiming directly between your eyes

“What do you want? I’m not in the mood so just tell me in advance if I should shoot you or not..” his eyebrows furrowed, looking at the hand tucked behind your back.

You rolled your eyes, putting your hands up in surrender. Just how you remembered humans to be. Aggressive and impulsive.

“Calm down, I saw your ship crash. Thought you where in need of some assistance. And put that gun down, god…” to your surprise, he did. With a loud grunt he put his gun back into his pocket and turned away. Usually, he probably would’ve shot on site. And who’s to say he still won’t, but right in this moment he is too preoccupied to care.

“God doesn’t fucking exist…” he mumbled “and I definitely don’t need any assistance!”

You raised an eyebrow at him, watching him as he attempted to fix his broken ship. Opening the lid to the engine and being greeted by a storm of smoke. Now Seconds away from another breakdown.

“Are you… okay?” You hesitantly asked, daring to inch closer to him. Probably was the stupidest thing you’ve ever done. He threw the wrench down at the engine as he exploded.

“No, I’m not fucking okay. I lost my grandson, the entire galactic government is after me, I broke my portal gun and I just crashed my ship into a planet with no helpful resources to fix it.!” His speech sped up, and he went dead silent when he stopped talking. Clearly regretting telling you anything. He is usually good at keeping his mind together and keeping his problems to himself. But he had so much adrenaline pumping through his blood, he could barely concentrate.

“I’m, i’m sorry for your loss” is all you managed to get out

“What? Oh no, my grandsons not dead. I just left him somewhere and forgot exactly where…” he spoke slightly softer, still grunting as he tried to analyse his engine.

There was a small silence while you processed everything he had just said. Moving closer to get a look at his engine, you shook your head.

“You’ve burnt it out…”

“Yeah, no shit smart ass” he bit at you

You rolled your eyes and snatched the spanner from the place he had dropped it. Not using it to fix his engine, but you pulled out a small metal box from your pocket instead. Fixing a few pieces together. Rick stood there and watched with a puzzled look on his face. Moving his eyes from the gadget, then up to get a look at you.

His eyebrows softened as he took in your features, the creases in his forehead disappeared. A rush of a strange feeling replaced the adrenaline, not being able to pinpoint what it was but he didn’t like it. He could only describe it as his heart softening, and getting lost in a place that was familiar to him. Thats what he felt when he looked at your eyes, reflecting off of his.

“Hav-have we met before?” He said in a much calmer tone

You placed the gadget on the engine and pressed a small red button on the top, looking up at him.

“I don’t think so?” The box moved around the engine, like a shield. Fixing it effortlessly, Ricks eyes darted from you, to the engine, then back to you. Now with amazement written all over his face.

Deja vu was the only state good enough to describe what he was experiencing. You broke the silence by holding a hand out to introduce yourself.

“I’m y/n”

It took a quick second for him to respond, still trying to process your face and remember how he knows you.

“I’m… Rick” he finally shook your hand.

“Rick Sanchez..”

That name was oddly familiar to you. Like you’d heard it in a dream. Or it was a loved ones name in a past life. You felt like you had heard it before, in a very distant memory. But no recollection of the connection.

“That seems…familiar” you tilted your head, squinting your eyes at the old man who gave you the same look.

“Well, I wouldn’t be surprised if you knew me. I am the smartest man In the universe”

[goingmorry]

Hello <3 I love your writing <3 I'm so thrilled to make a suggestion ! For Sabo of course *hides* Can I please request a scenario where Ace and Luffy put up a blind date for Sabo because he is always busy with his work and always says he has no time for dating ? And reader (female) & Sabo turn out to have really different opinions but they end up bonding in an unexpected way ? Thanks a lot if you decide to write this ! take care

Blind Date [Sabo x Fem!Reader]

Synopsis: Ace and Luffy set up a blind date for Sabo, much to his dismay. An unexpected romance blooms between you and the blond Revolutionary.

Author's Note: Thank you so much for the request! I had SO much fun writing ASL's interaction. I hope you like it, dear! Take care! 💖

Tags: heartwarming sibling relationship, light arguments, budding romance

Word Count: 1,118

"Oi, Sabo! Hurry up! Don't make the pretty lady wait," Ace bellows from the bottom of the stairs, brown eyes twinkling in mischief not too dissimilar to his younger brother's.

Beside him, Luffy sports a goofy grin, rubber hands preoccupied with a large piece of meat skewer.

"Jeez, can't you stop eating for one second?" Ace scolds, watching in disapproval as Luffy ignores his question in favor of aggressively chomping down on the juicy kebab.

A loud resounding smack, enough to shake the foundation of the flimsy house, reverberates from the foyer.

"OW! What'd you do that for?" Luffy rubs the back of his head, eyes widening in shock at his freckled brother's sudden display of violence.

"Control yourself, dumbass," Ace says, grabbing the barbecue stick from Luffy's grubby fingers and shoving it into the trash, "Sabo's got a big day ahead of him."

"Yes! A date!" Luffy's distinctive 'shishishi' laughter falls from his lips.

Ace returns his laughter with a proud smile of his own.

Not too long after, a blond-haired man emerges from one of the bedrooms, top-hat standing proudly while decorated with his blue goggles.

Despite his contradicting physical features — short, curly blond hair in contrast to their matching raven ones and the burn scar marring his left eye — Sabo was every bit as part of the brotherhood forged between Ace and Luffy.

"You can thank me now," Ace says when Sabo reaches the entryway.

"Should I?" Sabo raises an eyebrow in retaliation, "I didn't explicitly say you had to do this on my account."

"You ungrateful—"

"Hey, what about me? Thank me too!" Luffy chimes in, rubber hands stretching to accommodate his brothers in a group hug.

"What are you talking about? You didn't do anything! I did all the work!" Ace corrects, eyes squinting at his younger brother in disbelief.

"No, no! I found her first!" Luffy argues.

"Argh — that was coincidental!" Ace bites his lip, realizing the futility of arguing with his younger brother.

"Can't believe you two idiots put me up to this," Sabo sighs, absentmindedly fidgeting with the end of his cravat. "I mean — a blind date — really?"

"It'll be good! You're busy with work all the time, so Luffy and I had to take matters into our own hands!" Ace reassuringly claps the Revolutionary's shoulder, "And besides, she's a real beauty."

"There's more to a woman than her looks," Sabo plainly states.

"Yeah, it's what's on the inside that counts!" Luffy agrees, earning an approving nod from his blond brother.

"I know that," Ace interjects, giving them an annoyed look, "I checked her interests too; seems to be in line with yours."

Sabo perks up at the newfound revelation, pleased with his freckled brother's thoughtfulness.

"Interested now, huh? Well, you better get your ass into gear. Don't wanna be late to your date!" Ace says, pulling against his younger brother's outstretched arm, "Luffy, move!"

Luffy reluctantly complies, limbs contracting back to their rightful place.

With his hands now free, Ace shoves Sabo outside the front door, not before leaning into his ear for one final message.

Enjoy! Oh, and I expect a detailed report when you come back.

"Thanks... I guess?" Sabo calls out before the door smacks shut, leaving him alone to his scattered thoughts.

- - - - - - - - - -

Ace was right about one thing. You were gorgeous.

But when it came to various topics, both of you certainly had... differing opinions.

Sabo liked a woman who voiced her thoughts and was steadfast in her beliefs. Still, he couldn't help but worry that your differences would put a strain on your relationship if it ever blossomed into a serious one.

With that weighing on his mind, he wasn't quite sure what to make of you yet.

"Is that really what you think?" you say to the blond-haired man sitting in front of you.

"Yes, that's exactly what I think! The aristocrats have been tyrannizing the commoners for far too long," Sabo defends himself, "And the World Government has been enabling their inhumane behavior! The Marines aren't any better, serving as the lapdogs for those scum—" Sabo cuts off, looking at you apologetically.

You nod for him to continue.

"Someone needs to step up. That's what the Revolutionary Army is for. To ignite the flames of rebellion — to inspire people to take action," Sabo finishes, observing your concerned expression.

"I understand. But what of the casualties?"

"Casualties are unavoidable in war," he says.

You frown at his cold statement. "Do you expect mere civilians to take up arms and fight against the world? The nobles have the Marines, while the commoners have... the Revolutionaries," you say, expressing your skepticism, "No offense."

"None taken. But don't count us out so quickly. We're strong enough to hold our own against the top dogs," Sabo confidently says.

The sound of metal tinkling — fork against plate as you proceed to take a bite of your meal — is all he hears in response to his tangent. Other than that, silence on your end.

Awkward, to say the least.

"So... Tell me about yourself. Your family?" you prompt, switching the topic to a more lighthearted conversation.

"Well," the blond Revolutionary stabs a piece of lettuce with his fork, "I have two meddlesome brothers."

Your eyes light up in amusement.

"They set up this date for me actually," he says sheepishly, gloved hand adjusting the front of his top hat.

"Is that so?"

"Yup. Didn't know a thing until the night before," Sabo shakes his head in disapproval, "They're more trouble than they're worth."

You chuckle at him. "I'm sure they had good intentions. Trust me. I can relate."

The blond perks up at your remark. Finally, a subject you can both connect on. "You have siblings too?"

"Yup, I'm an older sister to a rascal," you say, thinking fondly about your younger sibling, "From the looks of it, my little sister isn't too far off from your brothers."

"No kidding," Sabo bites his lip to stifle a smirk. There was no way your little sister was worse than Luffy. No conceivable way.

"She's a little devil. In fact, my description of her doesn't do her deviant nature any justice."

Sabo doesn't stop the smirk from coming out any longer, leaning forward to convey his interest. "Any good stories to share? I'll trade you for one of mine."

You chuckle at his playful demeanor, hands tucking underneath your chin as you humor his request. "We'll be here all night."

"The night is young," he smoothly counters, "And besides, I'd love to do this again sometime."

His dark eyes meet yours, looking for affirmation. You return his look with a genuine smile — the first of many in his presence.

"I'd love that."

[7wanderingpaws]

Always, Yours (1)

(gif not mine) - fluff Baek ㅠ

Pairing: Baekhyun x reader

AU: professor Baekhyun, domestic AU, family AU, triplet craze AU

Genre: FLUFF

Warnings: none

This is a sequel to Simply, Yours! You do not need to read it first, but it will give you better understanding of the situation in the story.

Enjoy!

Masterlist / story masterlist

Next -->

<3 <3 <3

“Ta-da!” Sukyeong held out two coupons in front of your face, her excited smile not dazzling enough for you to mimic it. “Let's start working out!”

You were unsure right away for many reasons. First one was the squirming infants on you and on her. Juna was the eldest triplet but she had nothing on the middle one, Junhee, who was currently tapping away on the play mat made out of pastel coloured puzzles in front of the big couch in the spacious living room. Jun was the only boy triplet and the youngest. He was peacefully sitting on your lap, your palms flat on his cute baby tummy while he was looking up at Sukyeong with huge eyes that, the more he grew, the more they resembled his father's. The issue was, where would you put your munchkins while you'd be working out?

Second one was more personal and one that you felt guilty for thinking about, but you couldn't help it. Would you have enough energy to go through sixty minutes of work-out? You were still breastfeeding and pumping, by now completely accustomed to it. It made up a huge part of your day; if you didn't have the infants pressed to your breast, it was the pump attached to you, hidden under your shirt while you were running around the house, trying to get chores done while the babies would nap. Being exhausted was a given, but squeezing in more exhaustion? Doubtful.

Third one was the one that always gave you a slight headache. Travelling through busy Seoul was difficult to do by yourself with triplets. Despite living in a very good apartment at the moment, which was a kind present from the government as a thank you gift for bringing triplets to the aging society, it didn't mean your financial issues disappeared with it. Keeping up the apartment was a huge responsibility; the energies, the water, the common fees, lots of management with the apartments' committee that your husband became part of - it all required money and the lottery ticket you received and made you a billionaire quickly dispersed in your bank account. Another issue were the triplets themselves. Keeping up with them, buying diapers, clothes that they seemed to outgrow in a speed of light - it all required lots of income but there was only one source - Baekhyun, your husband.

As much as you always told him you would find a job to keep the financial stability, you could hardly find a time to sit down and go through job offers, let alone actually prepare for an interview. You knew many companies would refuse you if you as much as mentioned you were a mother.

“Oh, no, I can practically see the turning gears in your brain, mumma friend,” groaned Sukyeong and leaned in to press a loud kiss to Jun's face which in turn made him surprised. That surprise quickly morphed into a huge, toothless grin and you were fast to follow him, too. Jun was the weakest of the triplets and was prone to get more sick. He had a terrible season of harsh refluxes which made you and Baekhyun extremely worried and unhappy. Jun wouldn't be able to accept your milk, vomiting it out right after swallowing. His smiling face meant more to you than anything else in that moment.

“Auntie Sukyeong is being silly, hmm,” you cooed lovingly and you also leaned down to press a kiss to the top of his head. He had dark baby hair growing, and it always made you realize just how fragile these babies were. “I don't know Sukyeong,” you finally answered her. “I would love to work on my body and gain back my old one but I just can't see it happening.”

She quickly held up her hand. “Before you get into all the details - they have a little baby corner where you can leave the munchkins while we work out! And-and I would come with you! We have a car with Chen, so I'd pick you up and then we don't have to worry about travelling in an over-packed bus.”

You pursed your lips, thinking. “What time is the training?”

“I think it starts at seven in the evening!” she exclaimed and quickly took out her phone to search. “It's lots of cardio and core strengthening so it's very beneficial for you!”

“Hmm, I would have to discuss with Baekhyun,” you murmured. “He comes home late these days but I just want to know his opinion.”

“Make sure you don't get squeezed down by your hubby,” Sukyeong noted and leaned down again to look at Jun. “I know you guys are basically inseparable but he's been working so much since he became a professor. Make sure you don't become second to him over his work.”

“Well, he is the youngest ever, so I understand he wants to try his best.” You wanted to question her words - Baekhyun never prioritized his work over you or your children. He was just about to be thirty and you were just in the middle of your twenties, you didn't think you would reach that kind of crisis in your relationship yet.

“Yeah, but he doesn't have to do the hapkido training in the evening, yet he decided to do it,” she reminded gently, and touched Jun's cheek, “so you can do just the same, right? You are always with the babies and spend lots of time by yourself. You deserve to have a little time dedicated to you and, of course, me!”

You smiled but it didn't quite reach your eyes. Sukyeong wasn't wrong but you knew Baekhyun was only trying to start off his professor career as good as he could. He upped his game as a cool professor by always wearing outstanding suits - dark red, striped, the list went on. He looked very, very handsome and it sometimes even pained you to let him go to school like that. He told you it was to make sure people remembered him in the department and for his students to think he was cool; a trust-worthy professor to whom they could always turn to; a cool professor with whom they could have a good workout session in the evening and try to defeat him in hapkido. It was all great, but his work brought you back a tired husband.

“Maybe you're right. I will talk to him tonight. When do the classes start?”

“Next week! Tuesday and Thursday! I think it's the perfect timing!”

“Okay, okay,” you laughed. Your best friend could always make you giggle when you needed it. “I'll talk to him and let you know, hm?” Just as you finished the sentence, you jumped to your feet, trying to prevent Junhee from climbing over the small coffee table. “Aren't you a little wild girl? You must be after your father,” you breathed and Sukyeong laughed.

<3

Baekhyun returned to a quiet apartment that evening. It was past eight and it meant triplets must have been asleep by then. He felt guilty right away, because he missed their bedtime. It wasn't like it was set - they woke up enough times during the night for Baekhyun to be by their side, but he still wanted to be part of the evening routine like bathing them, being next to you when you fed them, changing their nappies and their clothes. It was all the little things, but he was missing out on them.

You were lying on the couch, your eyes closed, your arm over your eyes to block the light out.

He crouched next to you, taking your hand in his. “Honey, I'm home,” he murmured gently, watching you remove your arm and smiling down at him tiredly.

“Hey, baby. Let me heat up the dinner,” you said, sitting up right away, but Baekhyun stopped you from standing up.

“Sorry I came home late again,” he said guiltitly. He brought your hand to his lips, kissing it a few times while looking intently into your eyes.

“It's fine,” you sighed and cradled his cheek. He leaned into the touch and eventually pulled on your hand to move closer to him, which you did. He met you half-way, pressing his lips to yours. He prolonged the kiss by puckering his lips several times, making little kissy noises that made you pull away and smile widely. Baekhyun immediately grinned.

“How was your day, princess? You look very tired,” he noted, slight worry etched in his features.

You shook your head and pressed another kiss to his lips. “The usual, you know it. Sukyeong was over and we talked,” you told him, and you wanted to bring up the topic of you attending workout classes when he said:

“Good, good, I’m glad she kept you company. I am in charge of some doctoral students now, so I need to lecture them over the summer break, but otherwise I made it clear that I want a full summer holiday so I can be with you more,” he informed you and nuzzled your nose.

You sighed in content. “Do whatever you think is the best, Baekhyun,” you whispered, your breath hitting his lips. Your hand reached out and tucked on his tie. “I just want you to enjoy your work.”

“I know you do but you and the babies always come first. Always,” he emphasized and this time brought both of his hands up to your cheeks and kissed you again, more eagerly. “I missed you,” he murmured and dived back in, nibbling on your bottom lip.

Humming in pleasure, you shimmied yourself closer to the edge of the sofa so that Baekhyun was crouching between your legs, your hand untying his tie. “I always miss you,” you murmured between the kisses.

He kissed you one last time and smiled. “I don’t want dinner. Let’s just cuddle, hm?” He flickered his eyes up to yours, his thumb running over your cheek. “I had a light dinner in school anyway.”

You nodded. You felt like your body weighed another twenty kilograms so you didn’t take much to convince.

After all, finishing the day a little earlier with Baekhyun by your side in the bed was always the best way to wind off. You found yourself in his embrace under the sheets, his black shirt hiked up as your arm rested around his middle.

He smooched your temple. “Was Jun okay today?” he asked quietly into the darkness of the room.

Baekhyun had texted you many times during the day to double check on his son but he still had to ask to make sure nothing happened in the short time he wasn't in touch with you.

You looked up at him. “He was okay, thank god. I hope that reflux is finally over.”

“I hope so too,” he sighed and kissed you again. “It’s so heartbreaking to know he is struggling to receive food.”

Hiding your face in his neck, you pouted against it. Everything about babies was scary. Both of you got used to them and to the crazy lifestyle but anything that would go wrong would throw you off the boat. Jun always needed special attention. “It will be all fine, right?” you murmured against his skin and as a reply, he tightened his embrace around you.

“It must be. Jun is a healthy and sturdy boy just like me, hm?” he joked.

You breathed a small laugh. “Yes, you're absolutely right.” Pushing yourself up, Baekhyun's arm loosened and he looked at you with questioning eyes when you faced him. “Actually, I wanted to ask you - Sukyeong has a coupon for these workout classes. They start next week at 7pm. I'd be away on Tuesday and Thursday for a couple of hours. Would you mind if I go for it with her?”

Baekhyun's eyes kept flickering to your lips as you spoke and you felt your heart swell whenever he looked at you like that. He finally met your eyes and brought his hand up to brush your hair out of your face. “You should totally do it if you feel like it, sweetheart. It's your body and I know you don't get to move around much when you're at home a lot. What kind of workout is it?”

You pulled a thinking face. “She mentioned core strengthening and cardio.”

“That's very good. You should definitely work on those to keep your body strong,” he advised in a gentle tone. “But just know that if it will be too hard, you don't have to keep doing it, alright? Your body is perfect and as long as you're healthy, nothing else matters.”

Baekhyun always made sure to provide reassurance even when you didn't ask for it. You smiled widely and leaned in, hugging him. You were literally splattered all over him and he brought his leg over yours to accomodate you better. “Thank you.”

He hummed and kept playing with your hair that managed to grow quite a lot in the meantime. Even though it was falling out like crazy after giving birth and your hair brush gave you a heart attack whenever you made a single swipe with it, you didn't pay it much attention. Being so busy with the kids, you hardly took notice of how you actually looked.

“What about the munchkins? I'll try to make sure I'll be home early but if I can't make it where will you put them?” he asked again.

“Sukyeong said there is a baby corner where mothers can put their kids for the time being.”

“Is it three-month-old-baby safe though?”

“I will try to contact them to double-check, alright?”

He hummed again in reply.

“You trust me with them, right?”

His hand stopped brushing your hair. “What kind of question is that? Of course I trust you with them, baby,” he replied quickly. “You're their mother. If there is anyone who knows them well, it's you.” He paused and you snuggled yourself even closer, making Baekhyun chuckle. “But you know what?” He leaned into your ear. “You'll always be my baby. My little lady.”

His breath tickled you on the ear and you laughed, even his words tickling your heart. He laughed along and he rolled you over so that he was on top. He started dropping sweet butterfly kisses all over your face and you scrunched your eyes close, emotions of love, joy, contentment making you feel like a millionaire thanks to your husband.

“You don't have anything to reply to oppa?” teased Baekhyun and smooched you under your ear. “Tell oppa you love him.” Another kiss on your neck. “Tell oppa he is the best.”

You kept giggling. “Baekhyun c'mon! Stop!”

“Not until you say what I want to hear,” he refused with a cheeky smile, kissing your lips loudly.

You gasped when you felt his hand under your shirt, tickling you on your side. You squirmed under him, trying to suppress the laughter that was making your muscles hurt. He was being a big tease and you knew he wouldn't stop until he had it his way.

“Oppa, I love you,” you told him through laughter and he stopped tickling you right away, suddenly very attentive to your words, “oppa, you are the best,” you said breathlessly, reciprocating the eye contact. “I'm oppa's baby,” you added and felt your cheeks heat up.

Baekhyun observed you with a smile. “That's right,” he murmured eventually and leaned in, kissing you on the lips. “You're oppa's baby girl,” he said in a low tone, his lips moving against yours. He captured your lower lip in a slow, sensual manner that had your insides ignite with passion. You closed your eyes and followed his lead, his kiss purely there for the sake of showing you love rather than leading to something more.

It was only nine in the evening, but it was by far the nicest time you had in a while; your triplets sleeping, your husband home and only yours until work would steal him away from you, and he did his best to make you feel loved, appreciated, beautiful and wanted.

<3

Morning came much earlier for you. Junhee was up at three which you found quite good since they slept ever since you put them to sleep the night before and therefore enabling you and Baekyhun to have some alone time. 

Quickly grabbing the intercom so that Baekhyun wouldn't wake, you went to their room, the three baby cribs and a small dimmed light welcoming you. Junhee was crying, rolling in her place which was her new favourite pastime to do since she learned how to keep her back up and straight.

“Shh, shh, sweetie, don't cry.” You took her in your hands and rocked her in your arms while you checked the remaining two infants. Jun was wide awake, his eyes looking back at you with interest which you found funny, because he didn't make a single peep, while Juna was about to follow her younger sister, her small face already scrunching up at the sight of you.

Just when you were about to reach for her while you were balancing Junhee in your other arm, you felt a pair of familiar ones on your waist, stopping you. “Let me,” Baekhyun rasped into your ear, sleepily kissing your cheek. He walked up to Juna and brought her out of her crib, the baby looking tiny on his broad chest. She started to wail just in time, and you and Baekhyun exchanged looks that spoke volumes - you would be up for a while.

There was a small corner in their room with two rocking chairs that Baekhyun insisted on buying for feeding time. While you sat down in one, Baekhyun went out to heat up some breast milk you pumped earlier, so that Juna could feed.

You adjusted your shirt and within seconds Junhee attached her tiny mouth to your breast, her eyes closing in delight as she sucked on your milk. Smiling, you made yourself comfortable and closed your eyes too, sleep quickly chasing you down.

Baekhyun appeared next to you with a bottle that contained the heated up milk and had Juna eat. Just like Junhee, Juna closed her eyes as she diligently drank, making Baekhyun's features soften with affection. He had her lying on his thighs, her tiny feet resting against his stomach while he held up the bottle for her. Occasionally, her small hand would tap against Baekhyun's long fingers which you found endearing. His index finger was bigger than her whole hand. “Jun doesn't seem to be hungry,” he commented quietly as he looked at Junhee in your arms. “Did he eat last night?”

“Yeah, he ate well,” you replied in a low voice. “I think he just isn't a crybaby,” you said with a chuckle. “These two sisters keep pushing him aside all the time.”

Baekhyun looked down at Juna. “Well, they better not. You will have to take care of your younger siblings, miss Byun Juna,” he told his daughter in a cooing voice. “So you better be a good older sister.”

You shook your head at his words and he laughed, sending you a wink. “You should go and rest, babe,” you told him after a while, “you have to get up early.”

“I'm not leaving all the work to you. We are in this together, right?” he said just as he always did. That was his iconic sentence that always made you effectively shut up. He was right, and you shouldn't have been taking away his father duties, but you knew he had a lot of work. Eventually, he would be nearing his limit and you didn't want that.

“That's more like it,” Baekhyun commented when you didn't reply.

You only managed to smile, closing your eyes again. Despite getting used to this lifestyle, it still made you feel uncomfortable how the babies would bite down on your nipple or the small cramps you'd get in your abdomen while feeding. Also-

Wetness was what made you open your eyes to look at the unoccupied breast. Before you could say something, Baekhyun spoke up: “Should I bring Jun? Or the pump?” His worried eyes were looking at the leaking milk, your shirt quickly becoming drenched.

You sighed, feeling helpless. If some mothers weren't able to produce milk, you were the exact opposite. There were times where you had to let out milk even though you already fed, even though you already had enough milk in storage for later. It kept pouring out of you and you didn't have other choice but to release it. The entire family could easily feed off of you at that rate. 

It would have been okay, but the pain of dried up milk in your breasts was something you were scared of, so making sure you could let the milk flow was important.

“Can you please bring me the pump?” you told your husband absent-mindedly and Baekhyun was fast to cooperate while keeping Juna in his arms so she wouldn't be disturbed.

And just like that, you stayed up till early morning until the triplets fell back asleep - you waited for Jun to be hungry, and finally lied down when Baekhyun was getting ready for work. He even made sure the babies' nappies were fresh.

With swollen eyes, you watched as he dressed into one of his striped suits, looking like a Burberry model. He turned to look at you as he buttoned up his white shirt, his hair smoothed back, revealing his forehead. “How are you feeling?” he asked you gently, walking over to your side.

You smiled. “I'm good, don't worry, babe. Your lunch box is in the fridge, don't forget it.”

“You didn't have to prepare it,” he clicked his tongue, “just make sure you eat your food, alright, sweetheart?”

Nodding, you sighed and Baekhyun turned to put on his cardigan. “I'll be off. I'll try to come home early, hm?”

“Okay,” you mumbled, bewitched at the sight of him. “Kiss me before you go, handsome professor Byun.”

He gave a half-smile and walked over to you, leaning down so his face was hovering above yours. “Of course I would kiss you before I go. I can't leave my precious princess without a kiss,” he whispered, making you smile amorously. He pressed a sweet kiss to your puckered lips, making sure to prolong it. “Rest, okay?”

You nodded. “Another one,” you demanded and Baekhyun laughed, though complied. “Mm, I'll miss you.”

“I'll miss you too,” he sighed and pecked your forehead as a final kiss. “Text me, hm? I'll go say bye to the munchkins, too. Gotta go now,” he straightened up and gave you a smile before turning and leaving the bedroom.

You heard him shuffle around the apartment before he left for his long day at work.

Deciding to sleep until the babies would need you, you turned around and nuzzled your face into Baekhyun’s pillow, his gentle scent mixed with faint baby detergent pulling you into a fluffy cloud of dreams. That was Baekhyun to you.

<3

A/N: Hi, welcome back to the first chapter. It will slowly all start to roll, but if you read Simply Yours, it is anything but drama after drama. Expect a similar concept too, hope you enjoyed the FAMILY in this chapter!

Thanks for reading!

Please try to comment! I appreacite likes, but a word or two never hurt! ^^

[murkypondwater]

People need to stop acting like marginalized groups responding angrily to accidental bigotry is worse than the bombardment of bigotry we're exposed to on a regular basis. When people are suffering- injured, or sick, or just finished the second 12 hour shift in a row with tons of tasks left to do before bed, or grieving, etc- they're given room to be irritable and angry as long as they're not being abusive. And no, being visibly angry is not abuse.

We are TIRED. We can't log onto any site without being hit with posts or comments or news or attempts from our government or hate groups to make our lives harder. We can't leave the house without the knowledge that we're at risk of harm or harassment if we're too visibly who we are. We can't talk to our family without hearing insensitive comments or insinuations that we're going through a phase, or exaggerating, aka, that we're making it up and it's all in our head. That is literally gaslighting, intentional or not. It has the same effect and even well-meaning family do this. I couldn't even take a walk in my neighborhood without being braced for some jerk in a pickup truck to try something, whatever it may be that day.

It is exhausting living in a state of constant fear and defensiveness, hyper awareness of the people around us plus mannerisms and searching for signs of aggression, and during all that being force-fed media related to how much people want us gone, hurt, abused and dead. Even media FOR us makes sure to remind us of that. So yeah, when someone says something shitty, whether they meant to or not, they just added another five pounds to the weigh on our backs that we have to carry to survive.

How about YOU educate the people around you that have the privilege to not understand what we're going through? How about you make an effort to handle situations where people are being bigoted since you're not the one being crushed under the weight of it? I don't have to be nice and friendly with people who, because I have to be aware of what kind of bigot I'm dealing with, I know aren't saying their bigoted opinions in good faith? How about you stop criticizing people who are hurting for not having the same amount of patience as you? For not having as long of a fuse? Because that's not a problem with us, but with shitty people, and with the people that pretend we're unreasonable when we tell someone they're being shitty without considering how they might feel about it- they sure don't consider us when they're saying "no offense, but I don't believe you" about our demographic-specific lived experiences.

[rayofsunas]

Hey so regarding inazuma and Baal I have some head cannons and your my favorite writer so I thought I’d just dump them all here.

Insazuma is the nation of eternity right? And Baal is basically the second archon after the original one died off somewhere presumably 500 years ago during the destruction of khaenri'ah.

The vision hunt decree was created for the Perdue of “eternity” and subsequently the people who’s visions were taken lost all their ambition. You get where I’m going here? Maybe Baal isn’t acting out of greed, but are justificing her actions to protect her people? The people of khaenri'ah had ambitions greater than anyone in that world could comprehend; they lived withought the guidance of a God, sought knowledge well beyond their limits and created destructive machines capable of “tilling” an enter battle field. Already we can see a shift in the archons perspective towards celestial- venti stated outright that he doesn’t like celestial, and Zhongli not only retired from his role as an archon but placed several meticulously planned tests to gouge his nations strength and stability in the face of a destructive god. Both nations, in a way, are becoming more similar to khaenri'ah in that they are both Godless, independent, and free from omnipotent influences.

Here’s my theory; The Goddess Baal, before inheriting the title of Archon, had witnessed the massacre and destruction of the khaenri'ah people and in order to prevent her nation from suffering the same fate she had launched the vision hunt decree to remove the people’s ambitions before it consumes them. She has witnessed the power of celestia, and in order to avoid the same fate she has made it her goal to separate Inazume from khaenri'ah in all forms and that’s why she continues on her role as archon instead of watching from the sides like venti or Zhongli.

Another thing, a small spoiler warning for those who haven’t finished the quest

I think people who are emotionless used to be the most emotional and heartfelt kind of individuals. Ayaka describes the Raiden Shogun as a cold and emotionless being, akin to a manager or something (I can’t remember her exact words) and I think that’s because Baal had been planning the decree for a long time now and had to steel her resolve knowing the impact it would have on the common folk. In her mind, what she is doing is better for the lo run and is necessary for the survival of her people.

This is just a theory, I haven’t finished the quest myself but it’s been weighing on me for quite sometime now. Anyways, I hope you have a wonderful day!

SPOILERS + be prepared for my declarations rambles.

YOU’RE SO SMART, AND YOU'VE SPURRED ON MY LOCKED AWAY THEORIES THANKS. and I thought similarly, though now that you mention it, baal behaving selfishly seems like she could be protecting her people. after all, the vision hunt decree only happened recently (I think months to a year before the traveler’s arrival in mondstadt), so something shifted dramatically between the archons and celestial for baal to do that in the first place.

me and my friends chat about theories like this all the time on discord and everything you said makes so much sense! I also thought zhongli stepping away from his role as an archon was not just his way of freeing himself, but his way of seeing how his people would fair without a god (this is legit confirmed i think); and they’ve done just fine, proving to celestia that they’re wrong in believing nations and people need a ruling governing body, like an archon. but I feel like baal is still just selfish, even if she’s doing this to protect her citizens, my gut is just telling me she could be both selfish and also be doing this to protect her people.

but about the archons; my friends and I have tied the archons to tons of real life lore and myths, and something that keeps popping up with all the archons is different types of religion and beliefs; we found out that they each represent or are similar to the seven princes of hell (and there’s something about them coming up in demonology a crap ton too, and the similarities are a bit too similar... PAIMON IS MENTIONED TOO AS A KING OF HELL IN DEMONOLOGY LORE AND THAT'S NOT VERY CUTE.... I HAVE SO MANY THEORIES FOR PAIMON YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW!). but I think the archons are like 50/50 bad and good (like they’ve done bad things willingly or not before the travelers arrival aka destruction of khaenri’ah) but celestia is the main antagonist, I’m 100% positive of that.

the hydro archon is said to know not to make an enemy of celestia/the divine, so I feel if any of the gods were to back celestia, it would be the hydro archon. but, this leads me to my first question; what in the world does celestia think about the gnosis’ being taken? I’m gonna assume they may care a little less about venti and zhongli because they’ve basically retired, but the other archons? they’re still active and actively represent celestia, so I’m curious to know what celestia would do when baal’s is taken (we know that she’s the next target, because one of the tsaritsa’s goals is to take them all). will baal be punished since she’s still an active ruling archon, or not? something is telling me she will, but who knows...

and this may sound obvious, but i think the archons represent celestia’s own ideals, although over time with the change of archons and maybe shifted opinions in celestia, said archons have changed and now their actions contradict what their title is, I think the reason behind that is because they’re the original and last reigning archons over their respective nations, but the others? they represent ideals, and some of their actions or just people interfering (harbingers talking the gnosis') have contradicted what they stand for entirely.

for example,

venti (ideal is freedom): his is so ironically obvious, but his gnosis was taken from him, against his will; there's nothing free about that. and he also retired from being an archon, and because of that went into hiding, also nothing free about that either; yet he represents freedom. you see what i'm trying to say? lol.

zhongli (ideal is contracts): nothing for him because i don't know much, but i think it's funny how he represents contracts, which are usually very tedious and there's a lot of depth in them, and he just gave his gnosis up so easily and willlingly (even if he has his reasons) by creating a contract like ???? it's funny to me.

baal (ideal is eternity): I haven’t started the archon quest yet for her, but I know she says she is the most eternal of all and sees herself as everlasting, but she’s legit younger than a good few of the archons (venti and zhongli so far!). I also think the original archons ideal was eternity and that’s what they had hoped for their people, but after the fall of khaenri’ah, war, and their death, baal came into power and realized it would be a threat to celestia if the people believe in eternity (like I said, something shifted severely after the war, because a lot of the original archons died or disappeared and their ideals almost became shrewd and a thing of the past with the new ones who took their places) therefore creating the vision hunt decree to get rid of visions; with more people coming into contact with visions, or maybe even when they realized humanity would be fine without an archon ruling over them, war would break out again and this time celestia would be the target. speaking of targets, this is random, but there’s an overwhelming presence of military surrounding/in inazuma and maybe that’s not just to collect visions and because war broke out amongst the people there, but it’s for protection against celestia and the harbingers (I think the other archons know about venti and zhongli's gnosis' being taken, so they're all weary). if baal were to overthrow celestia or betray them somehow, I’m sure since she’s an active archon they would retaliate.

the dendro archon (ideal is wisdom): the dendro archon is way more obvious, as dainsleif says he’s less than wise, but that’s his ideal... he’s also the youngest, so that’s another contradicting fact; young people are often called unwise.

the hydro archon (ideal is justice): I know nothing about her, but she represents justice. I don’t have a solid explanation for her, but based off of theories and if for a moment we assume celestia is the main antagonist, she is said to be afraid of celestia but seemingly backs them by not leaving like venti and zhongli... considering what they’ve done, I’d say she can’t possibly represent the ideal of justice correctly if what had happened to khaenri’ah was far from just, especially since the archons and celestia were behind it but her ideal is justice?

murata (ideal is war): I have no idea about her at all either, there's not much... but considering vanessa was able to pass into celestia when she died and she's considered the children of murata, I think we'll get more info on celestia then too, and more about khaenri'ah, since she's the god of war. she's gonna have the DEETS I tell you!!

the tsaritsa (ideal is unknown): nothing contradicting for now! she is a bit confusing because of how little info we have, but I have reason to believe she's against celestia, hence her taking the gnosis'. for now, until confirmed, I think her ideal or rather goal is to get rid of celestia. i don't think she has a gnosis or vision tbh, maybe the archon before her did and she's assumed to have one as well or maybe it even got taken away... but, i think that's one of the reasons she's created delusions, they're said to be a lot more dangerous and powerful (i think) than visions too. there's also this thing I found out about the gnosis' being designed after chess pieces, and how although there are 7 archons, there are only 6 chess pieces (pawn, rook, bishop, knight, queen, and king)... meaning one of the archons (not venti or zhongli, because we know what their gnosis' look like) has a gnosis that isn't designed after a chess piece... or in my words, doesn't have one at all. aka the tsaritsa... I think the tsaritsa not having a gnosis fits too snugly with her actions so far. and don't get me wrong! if we assume she doesn't have a gnosis, I don't think she's retaliating because of that, i think she just wants to change or get rid of celestia entirely. like this makes perfect sense because the tsaritsa is the only active archon seemingly and openly going against celestia's ideals, whatever they may be...

and about me saying the archons are "evil" or in the wrong for what happened to khaenri'ah (even if they were forced by celestia), in the archaic petra set, ZHONGLI IS SAID TO HAVE BEEN AN EMOTIONLESS AND MERCILESS GOD WHEN HE SLAUGHTERED COUNTLESS OTHER GODS DURING THE ARCON WAR, in order to fulfill a contract of sorts. this is why I think there were ulterior motives during the war and although yes, for now, it seems the archons were forced into complying during the war, I really think they had some willingness too.

at the end of my ted talk I have come to the conclusion that we can't trust the archons until we know more or celestia like... ever AND I STAND WITH THE REGULAR DEGULAR PEOPLE!!!

[daily-dose-of-imagines]

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ Matchup ♥

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Naruto, One Piece, and Free Match-Up Request

May I request another match-up but for Free, One Piece, and Naruto this time? :) Here’s all my info once more!

Name: Corethra (or Corey for short)

Age: 25

Gender: Female

Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual

Occupation: Hand Packer at an ice cream factory. I work 12 hours (5:30pm to 6am) on a rotating schedule.

Birthplace: Memphis, TN, USA. I was raised in the neighborhood called Frayser which is the most impoverished area in Memphis and has a high crime rate as expected.

Zodiac Sign: Pisces (born March 2) My full birth chart can be found here

Enneagram: 5w6

Chinese Zodiac: Year Of The Pig

MBTI Type: INFJ

Alignment: Lawful Neutral

Hogwarts House: Slytherin

Love Language: Acts Of Service

Race/Ethnicity: African-American

Height: 4'11 (Call me short and I’ll kick your butt!)

Body Type/Shape: Average but well developed figure at best. I weigh about 158 lbs and am pretty insecure about my body. I also have really bad scars on my left arm from being bitten by a dog.

Hair Color/Style: Black and naturally curly but I keep it flat-ironed so it’s straight. It’s long and goes down to just below my shoulder blades. There are times when I will have braids put in of various lengths.

Glasses or No?: Yes I wear glasses

Eye Color: Brown

Dress Style: I usually dress up in a casual way, just throwing on whatever looks good at the time but I will sometimes put in the effort when the time calls for it or when I’m in a good mood. I have an affinity for the punk, emo, and goth styles and I rarely wear feminine clothes but I will wear something risky every once in a while.

Hobbies/Interests: Video games, reading, writing, anime, internet surfing, listening to music, politics (sometimes), watching movies/TV shows, basically being an overall nerd. I’m usually either on my laptop or one of my many video game consoles if I’m not on my phone or reading one of my books.

Dislikes: Ignorance, stupidity, restriction, manipulation/gas-lighting, bullying, humanity, not being understood, corruption/injustice, close-mindedness

Personality: At first glance, I seem quiet and keep to myself, only speaking when I need to or when I’m spoken to. I’m an anti-social introvert to the fullest and don’t care much for small talk or going out. I prefer to have deeper conversations. When I get comfortable enough in whatever environment I’m in, I start to open up bit by bit. I’m a tomboy and pretty rough-minded as well as stubborn. I’m very sassy, have a smart, sarcastic, and witty mouth if not humorous and outrageous at times, can be borderline rude and mean, and I’m more sensitive than I care to be. I can literally cry at someone’s suffering especially if it’s someone I’m close to or even a total stranger. I’m very empathetic and my heart is bigger than what most people would expect. Most people describe me as quiet, intelligent, creative, dorky, a smartass, and really sweet. I love a good laugh and have an open sense of humor to boot.

Many of my friends say that I’m very sweet and kind which I usually am if I’m in a good mood as well as affectionate as hell. Hugs and pet names galore with me! However only my friends and family see that side of me. My language is often unfiltered, harsh, foul, and blunt which shocks people because they think I’m a pure angel. I say what I want when I want and no one tells me otherwise. If they do, they can expect a mouthful from me. I’m an escapist and very imaginative, can be a bit scatterbrained at times, and I’m methodical and detailed to the point of perfectionism. I’m usually a walking contradiction in terms of personality in so many ways to the point where the real me is almost impossible to decipher. To make matters more complicated, I’m not very good at expressing myself verbally and prefer to let my actions do the talking. I also express myself better through written form.

I have many pet peeves and I get annoyed easily in general. I’m also slowly embracing misanthropy and nihilism but I can be pretty idealistic so it balances out. I’m practically zero tolerance when it comes to bullshit. I hate confrontation and conflict but I’m starting to work on it so I can be less passive-aggressive and more assertive. I also wish to stand up for myself more often than I should so people won’t think that I’m weak and an easy target. I’m pretty cynical which is to be expected and usually expect the worst from people. When someone angers me, I will either just withdraw altogether and completely cut them off (slam the door basically) or get in their face and go off before doing the former. I’m the “hold my anger in and release it all at once” type but I hope to change that one day and stop letting things fester before they get out of hand. I can be quite petty and even cold as well and if someone wrongs me, they will have to make the first move to mend fences. I refuse to apologize if I’m not in the wrong and I will not accept gaslighting/guilt tripping. I also refuse to change for others and will admit to having quite a lot of pride but that’s mostly due to me not wanting to be hurt and manipulated, mistreated, or used.

I have issues with trust and a wild imagination to boot. I usually trust my instincts and can see right through bullshit. I don’t like taking risks and I have to know all the details when I do something so I don’t mess up and look like an idiot. I am indeed a perfectionist and introverted to a fault which often prevents me from trying new things and going outside my comfort zone. I haven’t been in a relationship yet and am still a virgin due to my issues with trust and not wanting to be hurt or humiliated as well as being quite picky/perfectionistic with the people I allow in my life. I have high standards for both people and myself although I’m pretty laid-back and my dislike of conflict allows me to also take a lot of shit from people too before I eventually say “fuck it” and slam the door or go off on them. I don’t think very highly of myself and can sometimes fall into a period of self-hatred and self-pity.

Many people praise me for my intelligence which is fitting since I’m an intellectual. My ideals and beliefs are rather odd to say the least (I’m a classical liberal/independent and despise most ideologies/ideas. This includes religion, feminism, social justice, traditionalism, statism, big government, nationalism, socialism/communism, etc.) and I feel misunderstood because of it (mostly because of the black community ostracizing me). I am indeed a rebel, open-minded, and a free thinker. No one tells me how to think or feel or else they face my wrath. I highly value power over myself and I think it’s the most important thing that a person needs in order to survive. I am definitely an outcast at heart and I often distance myself from others and don’t like talking about my feelings or beliefs because I think most people lack the ability/capacity to understand me. Before I give my opinion on something, I like to do as much research as possible as well as look at things from all perspectives before coming to my own conclusion. I don’t mind discussing things but I prefer logic over emotion when doing so which makes it damn near impossible these days for me to have an real conversation without insults and threats being thrown (usually towards me). Chances are I’m gonna find something wrong with damn near anything someone believes in or says and I’m not afraid to call it out when I see it. Once I do open up and express how I feel, the gates of passion will open up and never close. I also have high morals and values and stick to my guns no matter what which can make me pretty stubborn at times.

I’m currently battling depression and often experience many symptoms of it including suicidal thoughts and depression spells. I also suffer from iron-deficiency anemia as well as irregular, prolonged periods. These things are pretty annoying for me to deal with whenever they flare up. 

Overall, I’m pretty crazy and a handful to deal with. Good luck matching me up with someone :P

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Hello @sacredwarrior88 and thank you so much for requesting with us! I am so sorry that this came out so late, but I do hope you enjoy this!

>Admin 𝕋

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

𝐼 𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓅 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽…

Ace! I feel that you and ace would be such a great couple! He is open minded and kind to others whereas you are the same way! You are passionate like he is, caring like he is, loyal to the bone like he is! He would see you and see your personality and just instantly fall in love you and your personality! Like, I can’t even imagine how much he will want you on his crew, so they he can keep on you and protect you at all times-- though he will soon figure out that you don’t need help, you can take care yourself--which he will find extremely attractive, no doubt about that! 

He will love that fact that you are independent, because he really values individualism and independency, he sees it as a great traits to have. But he will also love the fact that you are sensitive, and can sometimes get into your own  head. He understands that, knows it all too well, so he will try with all his might to try and make sure that you are happy and always smiling! But he will love how fierce you can be to other people, never bowing down to their expectations! 

All in all, I feel like Ace would be a great man for you in the one piece universe! He would be attentive to you, would love your attitude and personality, and would absolutely adore how loyal and strong you are! make sure to love him thoroughly!

Ah, Sai! He is much like Ace, just a little less emotional, which is fine! I feel like you and Sai would make a couple for a couple reasons! He would love how mature you are, and how logical you can be, and-- like ace-- he loves the fact that you are extremely loyal to your friends! That is a true factor in the way he will see you, and it is for the better! He will se how strong you are, emotionally and will be envious and at the same time fascinated! I Feel like Sai will look at you with wide eyes, his breath caught in his throat, his heart beating wildly in his ribcage because he will love you that much! All the things you are interested he will want to hear with enthusiasm, everything you love he will want to learn and hear from you, to get to know you better!

Another thing is that if you were to go to him with your insecurities and how you are battling depression, he will try to understand, and once he does he will try to everything and anything to make sure you feel better! You need a massage? He’s on it! You need cuddles? oh yeah he will give you some! You need chocolate or sweets or anything of the like? He’ll run to the store, and be back 5 minutes tops! 

All in all, I feel like the cool, mature Sai, with a heart of pure gold will be such a good match for you! He will make sure that you uncomfortable with him, he will never want to make you unhappy, and he will definitely do anything i his power to make sure that you will keep on loving him as much as you can!

Rei! Now, with Rei, I wanted to go a more cute route. I feel that Rei would be equal parts and scared and in love with you! He sees how strong you are against people that oppose, he sees how strong you are for your friends, and how you have such a different personality to everybody else around him, and he will immediately fall in with you. Like instantly! To him, you’d be like a beautiful butterfly blooming right in front of him, and he will want to have you all tot himself! Of course, he won’t force you, but he will definitely watch you at a distance longingly!

He is very much an introvert and your calm but strong aura would definitely help with his anxiety! I just see him melting next you, into your lap or shoulder whenever you are around him because he is so comfortable around you. He doesn’t do this with just anybody so it would be a real honor! And when it it comes to your insecurities, he would want to make sure that you know he loves you the way are, and if you were to want to change something about yourself, then he will support you all the way, as long as you are happy! He will just love that you are such a freethinker and so openminded about things, so unlike him!

All in all, I feel like Rei would love you and (somewhat) idolize because you have all these traits that he would love to have. This perfectionist will understand how it feels to be such a perfectionist and will want to help you with that too! He will love to the moon and back(stroke)!

[rockofeye]

hey, any chance you can give an overview of what's happening in Haiti? i've been trying to follow the news but it's difficult to put together.

Hi there,

I can do my best, but I will tell y’all upfront that the situation in Haiti is multi-layered and multi-faceted with no easy answers or solutions.

The flashpoint for the most recent visible upheaval in the country is related to the current president, Jovenel Moïse. The runoff election he ran in was in 2015 and the results of that election were heavily contested; he was one of the final nominees that would move forward to the presidential election with just under 33% of the total vote but exit polls had him at less than 10% of the vote. Huge protests started and so the final vote was postponed until late 2016. Moïse was declared the winner with less than 25% of the vote, and was sworn in on February 7, 2017.

This is important because presidential term is 5 years, and this is the crux of the current debates and protests. The opposition party and Moïse’s critics maintain that his term ended on February 7, 2021 according to the original election mandate from 2016, and Moïse maintains he is to serve until February 7, 2022 according to when he actually took office. 

There are a LOT of different opinions (legal and otherwise) about this. Haiti’s highest judicial body (Conseil supérieur de la magistrature) ruled that Moïse’s term ended on February 7, 2021, and popular opinion is kind of mixed; split very evenly along class in Haiti. Folks who are upper class are generally believing Moïse when he says he will leave on February 7, 2022, working class and folks who are poorer say his term is over. Outside of Haiti, it seems like many Haitian think that he will leave in 2022 or that he needs to leave now to prevent further issues, whether his term is over or not.

Of course the US had to weigh in and Biden recognized that Moïse’s term ends in 2022, which is not helpful at all...the US has meddled enough in Haitian politics via sponsoring various coups and generally occupying the country. Biden’s administration has said that there need to be lawful elections to transition a president out of office, which is a a nice ideal...but what happens with the system is totally broken?

Moïse has not been a super popular president and in many ways has been downright ineffective. He ran on a platform with a lot of big ideas and a falsified folksy background to appeal to the common population in Haiti (many Haitian laugh when folks bring up that Moïse was a banana farmer...). He *has* brought electricity and fresh water to a bunch of communities, but that definitely doesn’t make up for his bullshit.

He’s done enough awful things that, in the eyes of many Haitians. He essentially destroyed Haiti’s parliament (sort of like Congress in the US...Haiti’s government systems are very Napoleonic in origin) by not allowing elections and has ruled by decree since 2019 (I believe), meaning no checks and balances in place. He has thrown the prime minister under the bus any time he receives criticism, and has had numerous prime ministers...he just fires and hires, and since the parliament is essentially hamstrung, he just appoints them.

In late 2020 and early 2021, he started looking more and more like a dictator. He had political opponents and high ranking officials arrested and jailed (senators, a supreme court justice, and the head of the national police, among others) and has made accusations of plots to assassinate him that are super suspicious and likely non-existent. He fired 3 supreme court justices, which is unheard of, and has doubled down on maintaining the office. He’s called for a re-write of the Haitian constitution which, if undertaken at any other time, could potentially be a good thing but right now it sure seems like a grab for power, as some of the proposed re-writes give the president’s office more power than it has right now. The referendum vote is scheduled for late June, and has a LOT of opposition.

So, that’s some background.

In late January, the opposition issued a statement that if Moïse refused to leave, the country would be locked down on February 7. There were already a lot of protests with a lot of shutdowns happening, but when he didn’t step down things, stuff got really hot.

Gangs in Haitii are serious business; they run neighborhoods and many of them are government or opposition sponsored with the goal of creating chaos to drive people to supporting one or the other and to create fear. Kidnappings skyrocketed, both of Haitians and foreign nationals. Folks may have seen the footage of folks walking into a church livestreaming a service and kidnapping the pastor and two others live on camera. It’s been serious and blatant. My step-son was at school when armed gunmen walked in and just grabbed two kids right out. 

Gangs have also been used to really instill fear. In poor neighborhoods, they have done things like break into people’s homes, drag them out, and kill them in the street, or burn a block to the ground. Gang leaders say it is in response to various other things happening in the country, but that’s crap...gangs are used as tools to control. 

In response to the heightened violence and the kidnapping of at least two lawyers, the entire judicial branch of the government--all of the courts and associated offices--went on strike on February 15, which halted all legal proceedings in a legal system that is deeply broken already (up to 90% of people held in Haitian jails have no charges filed against them). There was a massive prison break in the capital in February where close to 500 people escaped and around 50 were killed during it and in the aftermath, including a gang leader shot at a police checkpoint. A group of police responding to gang violence in a neighborhood in the capital were massacred and the gang responsible refused to turn over their bodies. It’s been a lot.

In the last week, the large gangs (400 Mawozo, the G9 alliance, etc) have agreed to stop kidnappings, which is a huge deal. It’s possible that this is in response to veiled threats coming from the UN and a Caribbean nation alliance about peacekeeping forces to address violence and ensure elections. It seems that Port-au-Prince is the most volatile area (which is pretty average honestly), with much of the other parts of the country not experiencing the same level of violence.

Also in the mix is the deeply disheartening situation with the Dominican Republic. DR continues to deport Haitians and people of Haitian descent regardless of their citizenship status, meaning that hundreds and hundreds of people are being forced to go to Haiti, even if they have never lived there before, do not speak the language, and have no connections to help them. It is an absolutely overwhelming crisis that there has not garnered much foreign notice. At least 200,000 Haitians and folks of Haitian descent have been forcibly removed, with that number likely being much higher. There have been a lot of rumors about extrajudicial killings by police of Haitians in the DR, but of course there is no official statement on that.

These actions by the DR are heavily rooted in colorism/anti-Blackness and anti-Haitianismo, and, if we are really honest, this is a type of ethnic cleansing that has been utilized long-term by the DR.

In all of this, COVID19 has almost been a non-issue. Haiti has not seen the level of pandemic the rest of the world has. Folks are paying attention to the lack of transmission and, when there is a positive case detected, non-symptomatic infection. A lot of folks I know in Haiti don’t know anyone who has had COVID or even heard of anyone having it. Of course, Haiti is well-versed in pandemic management (thank UN cholera-bearers) and folks are used to taking preventative measures so folding in things like handwashing and extra disinfection have been pretty easy for lots of folks.

All of these things have increased the reach of poverty, lack of food and basic needs, and general misery for many folks living in Haiti. Haiti has been dealing with the long-term effects of colonization and occupation since basically forever; Haiti struggles to remain independent in the face of crushing poverty, corrupt governments, and many-strings-attached foreign aid. 

So...that’s convoluted basics. I hope this provides some context; please let me know if I can clarify anything.

[phoenixtakaramono]

THE UNTOLD TALE - CH3 PREVIEW

There was an important takeaway to be had from tonight’s interaction: Shen Yuan had asserted his place as the lord of this residence and as Luo Binghe’s future ally.

Several thoughts had, however, been plaguing him ever since Shen Yuan gifted Luo Binghe the handscrolls, leaving like the composed gentleman he was while the half-demon pondered over the newfound revelations for the night. Those thoughts filled Shen Yuan’s brain with a renewed vigor that his exhausted body did not feel, roiling through his brain as he changed into his night clothes. Even now, lying down with his hands folded over his stomach, they consumed his mind as he stared up at the azure, gauzy canopy that looked eerily similar to the one in the guest bedchamber that Luo Binghe now slept in.

Wisps of hazy white rose from the lotus-shaped censer he’d brought to his bed. The coals within were still fresh in the copper, keeping him warm in the night, with the fragrance of sandalwood circulating within the room.

His unyielding companion, the blue text box, hovered above. Shen Yuan kept his gaze averted from it; he had read and reread the Chinese characters countless times that if he closed his eyes, he could still see the most recent notification engraved in his mind’s eye.

【Prediction! Future Event <<A NIGHT OF PASSION>> has been changed into <<LOADING CHEKHOV'S GUN>>. You have reached the conditions to clear the scenario. Countdown commencing. Reward: B-Points +50.】

The planes of his face were bathed in a soft blue glow as he ruminated. Shen Yuan couldn’t find it within him to feel any guilt or to throw blame at anyone other than himself. He’d unlocked the <<TRUE END>> main scenario and, judging by how the <<SYSTEM>> was not giving him a choice, he had to build that rapport between themselves and see that friendship through.

These are the seeds you’ve sown, Shen Yuan, he reminded himself. Improvise. Adapt. Overcome. He could only dig his hands into the soil and watch the seeds slowly bear fruit.

Bing gē—or, rather, Luo Binghe—was not a 2D character on paper; he was now a real person who breathed and talked and had a will of his own. Even so, Shen Yuan didn’t know the extent of the ramifications if an extraordinary “prodigy” gained self-awareness that he was the male protagonist of a fictional erotica series.

It’d be interesting. If someone found out one day that they were a precious existence in a world which catered to them, they’d naturally become arrogant. All the attractive people belonged to them, hearts were won over for no real reason, and enemies would be seen as less of a threat and more as an annoyance. Shen Yuan could envision it; Luo Binghe would probably behave more recklessly, confident in the fact that he was protected by plot armor. He’d be a spoilt menace in a male power fantasy world—until the novelty wore off, and then the boredom set in.

The corners of Shen Yuan’s mouth curved. He didn’t know how likeminded Luo Binghe was, but if he thought like he did, he’d exploit his advantages.

A protagonist’s existence was akin to a cockroach, dragged from door’s death each time without fail.

This was not merely a case of schadenfreude—another difficult foreign term he’d learned during his pursuit as a novelist—where he reveled in another person’s misfortunes. It was a well-established trope in all forms of literature that when a person was casually dropped into a life-or-death situation, they would resurface as calamities. Since Luo Binghe was an important main character, he would naturally benefit.

...Sorry, youngster. Shen Yuan raised a white flag in commiseration for him in his heart. I didn’t mean to conscript you, but you must continue to work hard. Nationalistic pride exists among many Chinese writers.

Even pre-enlightened Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky had not been exempt from that.

In most narratives, the protagonist’s role was to rise above the rest and “smash the system.” Shen Yuan squinted up at the UI, his eyes beginning to water from its bright glow. He blinked rapidly, but the strain in his eyes refused to ease.

He swore in his head. This better not be the sort of tale where he and Luo Binghe had to compete to establish who was the one true protagonist, having to assert narrative dominance. Shen Yuan had no intention of pulling aggro to himself.

Raising a forearm up to shadow his vision, he groaned. He declared to no one, “Airplane brother, you’ve done your first son a great disservice.”

(He’d done a disservice to the original Shen Qingqiu and Yue Qingyuan as well as among many others.)

The events that had played out tonight strengthened Shen Yuan’s conviction. He could now see how people easily fell for his act; the charisma of a stallion protagonist was potent. Even so, he had capitalized on goodwill—and Luo Binghe’s strange fixation—hoping continuous acts of kindness being demonstrated toward him would soften him toward Shen Yuan and prove his intentions were sincere.

Should he prove himself to be of use, surely even somebody like Bing gē would not discard him during his rise to power or see him as a threat?

The only method he could foresee showing his fellow protagonist that his services were indispensable was by lending him his wisdom—and his predictions on the account of Shen Yuan being a <<FORTUNETELLER>>. His goal to leave a favorable impression with the other protagonist was already well underway, with the aim of establishing how it would be in Luo Binghe’s best interests to remember Shen Yuan’s acts of compassion and to return them tenfold in the future unless he wished to owe the celestial favors.

He recalled the last question he’d asked of him before Shen Yuan left, regarding the compatibility of his fated one.

Would it be strange if I wrote a predestined romance, for once? As much as Shen Yuan favored subverting expectations, he was aware of what sold commercially. There was a structure that made their literature different from those in the Western market whose shocking narratives could not only arouse pity in their audience, but also a sense of awe, excitement, fear, and suffering.

Their protagonists were not always someone of high society; they often hailed from humble origins as a device for the writer to underscore the merits of working hard and to criticize the system—a fictional one though, to avoid absolute censorship by the Chinese government. Their heroes began as nothing more than a windblown leaf in the social structure and years of ethical traditions set in place. They started on the bottom rungs of society to draw people’s attention to their lives, to the injustice and unfairness, which made their struggles all the more impactful to the reader.

The fates of the leading characters were tied to the juxtaposition of the harmonious ideal of society and the reality of a flawed system. Chinese tales were inherently romantic oftentimes, with tragic conflicts written to emphasize the beauty of a bond and rousing sympathy and pity for their plight. The archetype of a tragic hero was meant to be presented so profoundly that great reverence would well up spontaneously in one’s heart.

In his opinion, Luo Binghe had suffered plenty.

Under normal circumstances, as Peerless Cucumber, Shen Yuan was the sort of novelist where it would not be considered strange for him to challenge the romantic notion of soulmates by making his leading characters comrades or adversaries instead of lovers.

It was like the overseas Inception movie; he’d satirized enough old and tired clichés, it almost became expected of him to subvert expectations for all of his publications.

Guilt weighed on his mind. While he understood the implicit reality of his situation, he still felt like he was, in some way, disappointing his audience. The shame he felt was bizarre.

He swallowed. “My cherished readers...,” Shen Yuan murmured to the void as though they could hear him, “forgive this writer if I don’t subvert your expectations in this aspect just this once.”

The harem was the closest Luo Binghe had to a family. After the parental kindness of the washerwoman was torn away from him early in his life, after having endured the unhealthy environment that followed, the only love and tenderness he received in his life came in the arms of beautiful women. Tokens of affection were given in the form of intimate acts. It was no wonder Bing gē’s character had ended up twisted. He collected lovers with a greed not unlike a hedonistic minister who accepted bribes.

What a complicated man. Shen Yuan’s heart ached for the “blackened hero.”

There were so many women in the harem. In the presence of Luo Binghe, each one was gentle, kind, respectful, and submissive. But it was unrealistic for one husband, who had undergone the traumas that he had, to share his heart equally amongst them and not expect any misgivings.

What this Luo Binghe needed was a foil to his temperament, somebody patient, charismatic, and well-educated. Since Luo Binghe would be uniting the Three Realms, they needed to be proactive keeping him in check from becoming a self-indulgent, fatuous ruler. They cannot be sensitive to criticisms and speculation. A sensible head was needed on their shoulders to guide their merciless husband in understanding right from wrong and from any sycophants looking to lead him astray. It was integral to help the protagonist maintain a harmonious empire so that, together, they could lead a golden age of reform.

Shen Yuan wondered if there even existed such an extraordinary person.

Luo Binghe’s reputation was already in tatters in the Mortal Realm on the account of having a demonic heritage and having razed down the great righteous sects. Whatever goodwill he’d originally cultivated with his deceptive “nice guy” act had to be regained. Winning the war against the son of heaven and finding a good match would be integral in swaying public opinion to his favor. In public, they must present a united front, ruthless against their adversaries but dependable towards their subjects. It was only over time that the Sacred Rulers would prove themselves worthy of being idolized and beloved by the masses.

The <<SYSTEM>> had said that he and Luo Binghe should work together and in the end, they would unlock the epilogue that blessed them with their star-crossed lovers.

Until such a person was found, he supposed he could step into the role as his counsel whenever Luo Binghe needed advice. It was like tossing a peach and getting a plum back. Celestial or not, Shen Yuan used to be the son of a family of manufacturing executives. His profession might have been as an author, but he was educated in the principles of economics. Aside from sharing the <<PROTAGONIST’S HALO>>, his modern knowledge and his knowledge of both novel series were his cheats.

Like the spring breeze that thawed the frozen soil, he would be someone who reached into the abyss and grabbed that bloodstained hand. He could set a standard for Luo Binghe to emulate as the type of wise leader he should be, and his handsome junior could learn from his modern examples and put some of them into practice for his kingdom.

He’ll enable him into becoming the best person that he could be. And maybe, just maybe, the new era might be salvageable and worthy of pride for generations to come for not only the immortals and demons, but for the mortals as well.

“I’d redeemed you once,” Shen Yuan declared, his lashes fanning against his cheeks. He closed his eyes in reminiscence of his own fanfiction, inhaling the light, woody scent of the censer nearby. “I can do it again.”

In the meantime, he reflected, I must collect more merits. I cannot be lazy and lag behind in accomplishments.

While Luo Binghe fought his battles, Shen Yuan would be fighting his own—whatever they might be. He would not be outshone by his junior in his own meteoric rise.

“...System?” he inquired drowsily, his voice barely above a whisper. Turning on his side, he stared at a faraway wall. The glazed white surface of the porcelain pillow felt cold against his cheek, its smoothness reminiscent of jade. “Can you hear me?”

Ping.

【This <<SYSTEM>> provides the Esteemed Host a 24-hour service.】

“I don’t remember Airplane brother going into detail about what the education system is like in this setting. Is it supposed to be historically accurate to the ancient feudal model or…?”

Ping.

As he listened to the long encyclopedic explanation, what he’d heard confirmed his worst fears. Education was the privilege of the elites. Immortal cultivators prioritized studying matters of the “spiritual heart” and Qi refinement, in the martial and mystical arts, breaking through the bottleneck of each cultivation stage until their dedication allowed them to reach the pinnacle that was the Ninth Stage.

With that narrow-minded focus on self-enlightenment, the basic education curriculum of the twenty-first century would be seen as innovative in the pre-established setting of this strange world.

In the early webnovels, Bing gē had stagnated as a late-stage Core Formation expert. Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky, in his laziness to research the many intricate nuances of the Cultivation World, had waved it all away by attributing his protagonist’s OPness to his ancient, heaven-fallen demonic heritage and to the deus ex machina that was his legendary sword. Even then, Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky still occasionally confused the Foundation Establishment with the Nascent Soul stages.

It wouldn’t be until the end of the series—after the outcry of the netizens—that the unsatisfied Luo Binghe made the breakthrough into the proper Nascent Soul stage with the help of his wives and their many gratuitous papapa scenes.

Then in the epilogue, the author had infuriatingly time-skipped all the way to the penultimate Ninth Stage, describing how Luo Binghe became a legend among legends who had finally attained eternal youth and aged back into his late twenties in his new immortal body after having miraculously passed the Heavenly Tribulations—disasters from heaven which were akin to nuclear radiation for those of demon blood. After an unspecified many years of rule, he’d left his legacy behind—with the uncountable size of his harem and a boundless number of his descendants “mourning the loss of a great and oftentimes misunderstood man.”

Just remembering it made Shen Yuan’s blood pressure spike dangerously. Taking deep, calming breaths, he rolled back onto his back as he forced himself to attain catharsis from listening to the mind-numbing exposition the <<SYSTEM>> was extolling to him like a history program. His fingers clenched the bed sheet.

Eventually he found himself feeling adrift, the words beginning to lose their coherency to him as he phased in and out of consciousness, his mind becoming wrapped in a haze of smoke. Soon his tense muscles relaxed.

The countdown had reached 00:00:00 when sleep finally claimed him.

Note: Small details of this scene might be subject to revision when the final draft comes out. Ch1-2 can be found on AO3. Link is in my bio!

[slytherinbarnes]

Sub Rosa [4]

iv. murphy’s law

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x reader

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: Character death, language, violence, hanging, fighting, character suicide (canon compliant). 

Summary: Everyone learns that actions have consequences when Murphy seeks revenge on Charlotte. You team up with Bellamy and Clarke and try to  save her from death.

a/n: thank you for all of the love on this series so far! if anyone wants to be tagged in future parts, I’d be more than happy to do that! also, did you guys see the poster?! what do you think??

previous chapter // season masterlist // series masterlist

You wake up to the sounds of chaos from the camp.

You blink against the early morning sun and sit up, looking around the clearing, watching as people run by with supplies, fear written on most of their faces. You grab one girl’s arm as she runs past you. “What’s going on?”

“They found someone dead outside of camp. Bellamy has us building a wall for protection.”

You stand quickly, “Dead? Who?”

“I don’t know.”

You jump up and take off running, looking for Clarke. She’s not in the dropship or anywhere in the camp, and you don’t see her working on the wall. You look around in panic, before you spot Octavia getting some water. You run over to her, “Where’s Clarke? Is she okay?”

“I think she’s at the graves.”

“Thank you!” You make a beeline for the small clearing being used as a graveyard, and you let out a sigh of relief when you see Clarke kneeling at the edge of a freshly dug grave. She spins around when she hears your approach, knife in hand, and you hold up your hands in surrender. “Easy, it’s just me.”

She lowers the knife, “Sorry, I’m a little on edge today.”

“I heard someone died,” you kneel down next to her, eyeing the grave. “Who was it?”

“Wells.”

You turn to her, confused. “Wells? Good riddance then.”

She turns to you, abruptly. “Don’t say that.”

“Clarke, he’s the reason our father is dead. 

Her face falls, “He’s not...he didn’t…” Tears well up in her eyes, and you put a hand on her knee. “He was protecting me. Us.” 

“I don’t understand.”

“Wells let me think it was him who turned in dad. But it wasn’t.” She looks up, her eyes meeting yours, voice hard. “It was mom.”

You recoil, staring at her in shock. “Mom?” Anger heats up your skin, and rolls off your body in waves. “Mom turned dad in? Why? Why would she do that?”

Clarke shakes her head, “I don’t know. I only just realized last night, and confronted Wells about it. I was going to tell you, but I couldn’t find you.”

You both sit in silence, facing each other, saying nothing. Clarke reaches up and brushes a finger over the moon around your neck, before pulling up her sleeve to reveal dad’s watch, and a bracelet that’s nearly identical to your necklace. Except, instead of a moon, a silver star glints back at you in the sunlight. You whisper, “His little la lune and his shining star.”

She smiles sadly at the memory, and you both start to silently cry, one small part of the crack in your relationship starting to heal as you mourn the loss of your father together. 

You don’t know how long you sit there, but the silence is soon broken by the sound of approaching footsteps. Clarke pulls out her knife again and holds it up, before lowering it when Finn comes into view. You don’t miss the way they look at each other, and suddenly you feel very out of place. You stand, wiping the tears from your eyes, “I’m gonna go see if they need any help on the wall.”

Clarke nods and you turn and walk back to camp, giving Finn a small smile as you walk by, which he returns. Every step you take away from Clarke, and Wells, you feel your anger start to rise back in you, drowning out the sorrow. You look around at the members of the camp, looking for one in particular.

Bellamy.

You finally spot him near the wall, talking to Murphy. You stalk over, stopping in front of him, chin tipped in defiance. “I need to talk to you.”

He looks over at Murphy and nods, before leading you into a tent that he often uses as a headquarters. As soon as you’re both inside, you spin and face him. “I want you to take my wristband off.”

He shakes his head in confusion, “What?”

You hold out your arm, the wristband on display, “I’d do it, but I don’t want to hurt myself.”

“Why?”

“Doesn’t matter why.” You point towards the door of the tent, “If you won’t do it, I’m sure Murphy will.”

“No, I’ll do it.” He motions towards the small table, “Put your wrist on the table.”

You do as he says and he grabs a small metal bar. “This might hurt.” 

You nod and he slides the bar under the bracelet, near the clasp, and pulls the bar up, creating tension on the lock. You wince as the bar digs into your skin and the small needles in the bracelet shift. With one final pull, it pops off and drops to the table. Bellamy steps back as you grab the bracelet, and you pick it up and hand it to him. “I didn’t do it for you. Just so you know.”

And before he can respond, you turn and walk to the exit of the tent, only to stop short when Jasper, Octavia, and Clarke come running in. You step back as they pile in, and you don’t miss the scared expression on Jasper’s face. You turn to Clarke and ask, “What? What happened?”

She turns to Octavia and nods, and Octavia places a small bundle of cloth on the table, before pulling out a knife and using it to flip the cloth open, revealing two severed fingers. You inhale a sharp breath, full of shock, before leaning in to observe the fingers closer. You turn to Clarke, “Is it...are they...Wells?”

She gives a single nod, and you let out a whoosh of air, before picking up the knife to inspect it. “This knife was made of metal from the dropship.”

You pass it to Clarke, so she can look it over. Jasper’s voice is thick with fear when he asks, “What do you mean?”

“Who else knows about this?”

Octavia turns to Bellamy, “No one. We brought it straight here.”

Clarke lets out a soft sigh, “It means the Grounders didn’t kill Wells. It was one of us.”

“So, there’s a murderer in the camp?”

Bellamy gestures to the door of the tent, “There’s more than one murderer in this camp. This isn’t news. We need to keep it quiet.”

Clarke steps forward, towards the door, and Bellamy steps in her path. “Get out of my way, Bellamy.”

Bellamy holds his arms up in surrender, “Clarke, be smart about this. Look at what we’ve achieved… the wall, the patrols.”

You see annoyance flash over her features and you step forward and grab her arm. “He’s right, Clarke.” You see a look of surprise flash over Bellamy’s face, but you push on. “Putting this out there will only start a riot, cause chaos.”

She shakes her head, voice quieter. “That’s what mom told dad.” She lifts her eyes, expression hard. “Before she turned him in.”

You recoil, as if she slapped you. “This is not the same thing, Clarke. That was a ship full of people, governed by rules and regulations.” You point towards the camp, “This is a camp full of delinquent teenagers, who crave nothing more than chaos. You can’t give that to them.”

Bellamy adds, “Like it or not, thinking the Grounders killed Wells is good for us.”

Clarke ignores you and spins towards Bellamy. “Oh, good for you, you mean. What...keep people afraid and they’ll work for you? Is that it?"

“Yeah. That's it. But it’s good for all of us. Fear of the Grounders is building that wall. And besides, what are you gonna do…just walk out there and ask the killer to step forward? You don’t even know whose knife that is.”

She holds up the knife, flashing a set of initials. “Oh, really? J.M. John Murphy. The people have a right to know.”

She pushes past him and storms out of the tent, and you catch Bellamy’s eyes, both of you sharing a look of worry. You turn and follow Clarke out of the tent, the others right behind you, as she storms up to Murphy, shoving him hard. “You son of a bitch!”

Murphy lets out an amused laugh, “What’s your problem?”

“Recognize this?” 

She holds up the knife and he shrugs, reaching for it, “It’s my knife. Where’d you find it?”

“Where you dropped it after you killed Wells.”

As soon as the words leave her mouth, the camp falls eerily silent. The teenagers all stop working, and turn to watch the confrontation. You can sense the mood growing uneasy, and you turn to look at Bellamy, who’s lingering nearby with Octavia and Jasper.

Murphy balks at her accusation, and steps closer. “Where I what? The Grounders killed Wells, not me.”

“I know what you did, and you’re gonna pay for it.”

He smirks, nodding in disbelief. “Really?” You step closer, not liking the look on Murphy’s face, as his eyes flick over Clarke’s head and land on his leader. “Bellamy, you really believe this crap?”

You turn and watch as he says nothing, silently clenching his jaw and folding his arms tighter. Clarke pushes on, “You threatened to kill him. We all heard you. You hated Wells.”

“Plenty of people hated Wells. His father was the Chancellor that locked us up.”

She steps closer, leaving inches between her and Murphy. “Yeah, but you’re the only one who got in a knife fight with him.”

“Yeah, I didn’t kill him then, either.”

Octavia yells from behind Clarke, “Tried to kill Jasper, too.”

The camp falls into further silence, weighing the evidence. Murphy senses the shift in opinion, and doubles down on his defense. “Come on. This is ridiculous. I don’t have to answer to you. I don’t have to answer to anyone.”

Bellamy steps forward slightly, head tipped. “Come again?”

Murphy approaches Bellamy, “Bellamy, look, I’m telling you, man. I didn’t do this.”

“They found his fingers on the ground with your knife.”

Clarke stands in the center of the group, and addresses them all. “Is this the kind of society that we want? You say there should be no rules. Does that mean that we can kill each other without…without punishment?”

You feel the pulse of anger, and revenge, moving through the crowd, and you step closer to your sister, your voice a soft warning. “Clarke.”

She turns to you, about to answer, when Connor yells from the thick of the crowd, “I say we float him.”

A resounding chorus of agreement follows the proposition, and you watch as alarm flashes over Clarke’s face. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Why not? He deserves to float. It’s justice.”

Another chorus of agreement as Clarke yells, “Revenge isn’t justice.”

“It’s justice. Float him!” The group of teenagers all begin to chant, closing in on Murphy, before someone trips him and everyone descends upon him, kicking him and hitting him as they continue to chant. 

You grab your twin and pull her away from the thick of the fight, as she screams, “No! Get off him! Let him go!” 

The crowd gags Murphy and ties him up, before kicking him down a small hill, into a clearing. A sturdy branch stretches from one side of the clearing to the other, and the crowd tosses a rope over the branch, attaching it to Murphy. Clarke pulls free from your grasp and you follow her as she pushes her way to the front of the crowd, next to the Blake siblings. You all watch in horror as they string Murphy up, his feet precariously balancing on the edge of a container. 

Clarke runs to Bellamy and shoves him, screaming, “You can stop this! They’ll listen to you!”

Connor turns to him, “Bellamy! You should do it.”

The group starts to chant his name, and you can see his resolve weaken second by second. You step over to him, pushing Clarke out of the way, and try to reason with him. “I saw you with Atom. I know you’re not a killer, Bellamy.”

He looks over at Murphy, the crowd still chanting, and you see him make the decision before he even moves. You and Clarke grab his arm and yell his name, but he shakes you both off and stalks over to Murphy, who is begging for his life. Bellamy takes one last look at him and kicks the container from beneath Murphy’s feet, leaving him to hang to death. 

Clarke screams and pushes him again, and you grab her and pull her back as she yells at him. “No, Bellamy, no! How could you?!”

He closes the distance and gets in her face, “This is on you! You should’ve kept your mouth shut.”

Before she can answer, Finn’s voice breaks through the crowd, “What the hell are you doing? Cut him down!” He grabs Charlotte, who has been watching the whole thing. “Charlotte, get out of here now!”

Finn tries to get close and cut Murphy down, but Connor pulls a knife on him and stops him in place. Clarke launches herself towards Finn, to protect him, and you try to grab her. 

Suddenly, a small voice calms the chaotic crowd. “Stop! Okay? Murphy didn’t kill Wells! I did!"

Everyone stills, frozen in place, and you look from Charlotte, to your twin, to Bellamy, all in shock, before jumping into action and grabbing the axe from Bellamy’s belt, cutting Murphy down. As he hits the ground, Finn and Clarke run to him and cut him free of the ropes and binds, and you move back to Bellamy to return the axe. His eyes are still locked on Charlotte, completely still with shock. You see the crowd start to turn towards her, and you nudge him. “Bellamy, we have to protect her.”

He nods and jogs towards Charlotte and you follow, as he leads you both into the tent. Seconds later, Clarke and Finn rush in, looking worried. Finn mutters, “Murphy is getting restless.”

You hear him yell from outside, “Bring out the girl, Bellamy!”

Bellamy glances in the direction of Murphy’s voice, and then looks back at Charlotte, fear in his eyes. “Why, Charlotte?”

Her voice is small, quiet. “I was just trying to slay my demons, like you told me.”

You let out a sigh and Clarke turns on Bellamy, “What the hell is she talking about?”

“She misunderstood me.” He turns to look at the small girl, “Charlotte, that is not what I meant.”

Murphy’s voice reaches the tent, louder than before. “Bring the girl out now!”

“Please don’t let them hurt me.” The fear in her voice makes you step closer to her, feeling protective. And you assure her quietly, “We won’t, Charlotte. I promise.”

Bellamy looks between Finn and Clarke, “If you guys have any bright ideas, speak up.” They both look around, worried, but stay silent. “Now you stay quiet.”

Finn snaps at Bellamy, “Those are your boys out there.”

“This is not my fault! If she had listened to me, those idiots would still be building the wall.”

Outside, Murphy’s voice is louder, and angrier. “You want to build a society, princess? Let’s build a society. Bring her out.”

Charlotte turns to look at Bellamy, her eyes wide with fear. “No! Please, Bellamy.”

You swear you can visibly see his heart melt, and he kneels down to her level. “Charlotte, hey, it’s gonna be okay. Just stay with them.”

And then he gives you one last look before stepping out of the tent. You look between Finn and Clarke, and move closer to your sister. “Clarke, you have to protect her.”

She nods, but you aren’t sure she hears you, the stress of the situation weighing on her heavily. You turn to Finn instead, and find him lost in thought. “Finn.” He looks up at you and you continue, “You and Clarke have to get her out of here.”

You can hear Murphy yelling outside, but you aren’t paying attention well enough to understand him. Finn nods, “I have a plan.”

“Okay. When I step out, slip out of the back of the tent. The brush is thick enough that it should conceal you so you can sneak out of camp.”

You start to step away, but Clarke grabs you. “You aren’t coming with us?”

“No, I’m going to buy you some time.” She hesitates but releases you, and you step back to the front of the tent. “Stay safe.”

You step out of the tent as Murphy is mid rant. “So, it’s okay to string me up for nothing, but when this little bitch confesses, you all let her walk?”

You come to walk past Bellamy and up to Murphy, leaving some distance between you. “The difference is, Murphy, that you’re an asshole. No one cares that you murdered Wells, they just cared that they had a reason to get revenge.”

He steps towards you, closing the space you left, and you repress the fear in your body, trying to focus on anger instead. You think about being locked up, and your dad’s death, and your mom’s betrayal, channeling it as Murphy bites back, “You know, princess, I wouldn’t mind hanging you in her place.”

You step closer, your noses now practically touching, and smirk. “I’d like to see you try.” You hear rustling in the tent, and from the corner of your eye, you see Bellamy shifting, because he heard it too. You know you have to push Murphy over the line to keep him distracted. You nod towards the crowd, “They may hate me because of my family, but they hate you because you’re the scum of the earth.”

Murphy lets out a dry laugh and appraises you, before he pulls his head back and slams it forward, crashing it into your nose. You let out a cry of pain and stagger backwards, seeing stars, and already feeling the warm rush of blood from your nose. You can hear Bellamy walking towards you and you turn to him, holding up a hand. “Don’t.”

You can see him weighing his options, but it only takes you a few seconds to recover, before you take off running towards Murphy, and pounce on him. The impact sends you both flying to the ground, and you lean back enough to land a punch on his face. He returns a blow to your cheekbone with his elbow, knocking you off of him, before he stands and delivers a kick to your ribs. Your breath leaves your body in a quick whoosh, and you curl into yourself, groaning in pain as you hear Octavia screaming and Bellamy yelling as he lunges at Murphy, grabbing him. “Hey, Murphy! Murphy. It’s over.”

“Whatever you say, boss.” Bellamy releases Murphy and turns around, walking towards you, but he barely takes three steps before Murphy grabs a log and hits him with it, knocking him to the ground beside you. Octavia screams out in anger and lunges towards Murphy, but Jasper steps between them, only to get punched in the face. Murphy’s posse holds them back as he lifts the flap of the tent, and yells out, “Son of a bitch! Charlotte! Charlotte, I know you can hear me! And when I find you, you are gonna pay!”

He turns to his group, looking at the rest of the teenagers in disgust. “Come on.”

They release their hold on Jasper and Octavia, who both come running to you and Bellamy. Octavia falls to her knees beside her brother, who waves off her concern with a groan. “I’m fine, check on her.”

Octavia turns to you and looks at your injuries before muttering to Jasper, “Help me get her up.”

They haul you to your feet and you wince, as they pull you towards the dropship and settle you into a chair. Monty comes running over at the sight of you, looking between Octavia and Jasper. “What happened?”

You mutter, “Murphy happened,” and Monty nods in understanding. Octavia returns with a pile of rags and water, and they clean the blood from your nose, while you protest, “I’m fine, honestly. It looks worse than it feels.”

Octavia gives you a look, and turns to Jasper. “We need more water, can you help me get some?”

He agrees and follows her dutifully, leaving you alone with Monty. You stand and walk to the dropship door, ignoring the pain in your ribs, and manage to catch sight of a curly head of black hair leaving the perimeter of the camp. You look around and find a pack at your feet, before stuffing a few things inside. A rope, a knife, some extra bandages, and you take off running from the dropship, ignoring Monty’s protests behind you. You keep to the perimeter of the camp, avoiding curious eyes, and follow the same path Bellamy just took. 

It only takes a few minutes for you to find him, as he quietly jogs in and out of trees, following some unseen trail. An hour into you following him, as darkness begins to fall, you step on a branch, and he spins around, knife drawn. You freeze in place, and when he recognizes you, he lets out a sigh and lower the weapons. “You have a thing for following people, don’t you?

You shrug and close the space between you, “They don't call me the invisible twin for nothing.”

He smiles a little and starts walking again, leaving you in a surprisingly companionable silence. As the sun sets further and the darkness becomes more pressing, you sink deeper and deeper into your thoughts, still trying to process everything from the last few days, until you blurt out, “It wasn’t his fault.”

Bellamy’s brows pull together in confusion, and you clarify. “Wells didn’t turn my dad in, like I thought he did. It was my mom.”

He lets out a quiet breath, but says nothing, not quite sure what to say. “I never really knew who to blame for my dad’s death. I was already locked up when it happened.” You see a flash of a memory as you run down the corridor, failing to make it in time. You shake it away and push on, “I started out in solitary, so no one ever told me anything, except…”

You cut yourself off, and Bellamy glances at you, “Except who?”

“No one.” You look up at him, “It was kind of nice to have someone to blame and hold responsible. Except, I spent all this time hating someone who didn’t even deserve it.”

You touch the moon around your neck, drawing comfort from it, and you catch Bellamy’s eyes following the action. He says nothing, remembering the last time he asked. This time though, your vulnerability gets the better of you. “It was from my dad. We all have one, me, Clarke, our mom, but they’re all different. Dad always said mom was the center of his world, his sun. Clarke was like the stars, always shining, always bright, always there.” You look up at the sky, finding the Ark blinking amongst the stars. You let out a shaky breath, and your voice comes out softer than before, “I was his little la lune.”

Bellamy’s voice is as soft as yours when he asks, “Clair de lune, is that what you were humming to Atom?”

You smile a little, impressed he recognized the song. “Yes. He used to sing it to me when I was upset or didn’t feel well. Do you know it?”

He shakes his head, and his curls bounce against his face. “Not well, only in passing. But I thought I recognized it.”

You continue wandering through the woods in silence, keeping an eye out for Charlotte or Murphy, when the sound of footsteps grows closer. Bellamy grabs your arm and pulls you behind a tree, out of sight. Then he creeps forward as the footsteps slow and then stop near the tree, before grabbing them. You hear Charlotte scream out once, before Bellamy muffles her mouth with his hand, and you step from behind the tree, into her line of sight. 

Nearby, you can hear yelling from Murphy and his posse, and you exchange a worried glance with Bellamy. He takes Charlotte’s arm and starts to pull her away from the yelling, and you follow close behind. She screams and protests, trying to pull herself free from his grip. “Let me go!”

He turns on her, “We’re trying…hey, hey. We’re trying to help you!”

“I’m not your sister! Just stop helping me!” She bites back, before running towards the glow of light from Murphy’s group, “I’m over here!”

You manage to grab her and pull her back, asking, “Are you trying to get us all killed?”

“Just go, okay? I’m the one they want.”

Bellamy steps up and kneels to her height, “Okay, Charlotte, listen to me. I won’t leave you.” He glances over at you, “We won’t leave you.”

She seems to soften as she looks at him, “Please, Bellamy.” And in a split second, she pushes Bellamy away, screaming, “Murphy! I’m over here!”

Bellamy runs after her and grabs her, tossing her over his shoulder, he yells at you, “Let’s go!” And you take off running through the woods, as Charlotte screams for Murphy, alerting him to your location. As you tear through the trees, branches smacking you and tripping over unseen obstacles, you hope more than anything you’ll all make it out of this alive. As you step through the line of trees and into a clearing, Bellamy stops quickly and sets Charlotte down, muttering, “Damn it.”

As you move closer, you realize you aren’t in a clearing at all, you’re all on the edge of a cliff. As you all peer out over the edge, Murphy steps through the trees. “Bellamy!” You all spin around, as the rest of his group moves into sight. “You can’t fight all of us. Give her up.”

“Maybe not, but I guarantee I’ll take a few of you with me.”

He steps forward and you follow suit, pulling Charlotte safely behind you. Clarke and Finn run through the trees, before Clarke stops between the two groups. “This has gone too far. Just calm down. We’ll talk about this.”

Murphy glances at Charlotte for a second before suddenly grabbing Clarke and pulling her to him, lifting a knife to her throat. “I’m sick of listening to you talk.”

You step forward, and you see Finn do the same, as you beg, “Let her go."

Murphy holds the knife up to you, then Finn. "I will slit her throat."

Charlotte cries from behind you, “No, please! Please don’t hurt her.”

“Don’t hurt her? Okay, I’ll make you a deal. You come with me right now, I will let her go.”

You watch as Bellamy steps in front of Charlotte, protecting her, and Clarke yells to Charlotte, “Don’t do it, Charlotte!”

You stand between them, feeling conflicted, as Charlotte screams at Bellamy for holding her back, and Clarke stands beside you with a knife at her throat. You turn to Bellamy, practically begging with your eyes for him to fix this and save your twin as Charlotte screams, “I have to!”

Bellamy spins and levels a glare at Murphy, “Murphy, this is not happening.”

A quiet voice shakes and mutters, “I can’t let any of you get hurt anymore. Not because of me. Not after what I did.”

You watch the muscles in her body twitch before she starts to turn, and you all lunge towards her, screaming her name, as she jumps off the cliff. You all reach the edge as she falls, disappearing from view, tears streaming down your faces. 

Bellamy recovers first, standing and spinning towards Murphy with a look of animalistic rage. Murphy senses the danger he’s in and starts, “Bellamy!”

He lunges at Murphy the same way you had hours before, delivering punch after punch to Murphy’s face. You and Clarke stand, and she screams, “Bellamy, stop! You’ll kill him!”

Finn pulls Bellamy away, before Clarke steps between them. Bellamy yells, “He deserves to die.”

“No! We don’t decide who lives and dies. Not down here.”

You all glance at Murphy, bleeding on the ground, and he closes in on Clarke. “So help me God, if you say the people have a right to decide…”

“No! I was wrong before, okay?” She glances at you, then Bellamy, “You were both right. Sometimes it’s dangerous to tell people the truth. But if we’re gonna survive down here, we can’t just live by whatever the hell we want. We need rules.”

Bellamy scrubs his face, frustrated, “And who makes those rules, huh? You?”

“For now, we make the rules. Okay?”

Bellamy points at Murphy, “So, what, then? We just take him back and pretend like it never happened?”

“No” She glances back at him, thinking, before deciding, “We banish him.”

Bellamy glances at Clarke, then Finn, then you, before pulling Murphy to his feet, and to the edge of the cliff. “If I ever catch you near camp, we’ll be back here. Understand?” He tosses Murphy back on the ground, before turning to the posse, “As for the four of you, you can come back and follow me, or go off with him to die. Your choice.”

He turns to you, waiting for you to lead the way. Surprised, you step forward and he follows, before everyone else falls in line behind you. The walk back to camp is mostly quiet, save for the conversation regarding how to tell the others about Murphy’s banishment. 

As soon as you are all back, everyone is gathered for a meeting and told of the banishment. With no objections, the meeting is over as quickly as it began, and you turn to Bellamy. “I wanted to tell you earlier, that-”

You’re cut off by two girls bounding over to Bellamy, and wrapping themselves around him. “Bellamy, we’ve been waiting for you all day.”

The other girl pouts, “Yeah, you said if we were good today, you’d reward us.”

Your brows raise in surprise, and you watch as Bellamy opens his mouth to say something. Feeling weirdly jealous, you give him a single nod. “Night, Bellamy.”

Embarrassed, you make it back to your tree in record time, and scale the branches until you reach your favorite. Once you’re settled, you lean back to contemplate your evolved relationship with Bellamy, trying to decipher your feelings. 

On the one hand, he’s an asshole, who mocked my assault. But he was so sweet with Charlotte. And he stepped back to let me lead the way back to camp earlier, almost like a show of respect. But he’s also a dick. 

Your thoughts turn in circles, never quite landing on a solid conclusion, and you fall asleep unsure of anything other than the fact you were jealous of the two girls in the tent, and you hated yourself for it. 

-

next chapter

[travllingbunny]

The 100 rewatch: 5x03 Sleeping Giants

Continuing my joint rewatch of season 5 with @jeanie205. After two great episodes where we caught up with our main characters and saw (or did not see, in the case of Spacekru) their experiences during the 6-year time jump, Sleeping Giants is another excellent episode, this time fully about the present day action with the Eligius prisoners moving into Eden, their conflict with and capture and torture of Clarke, and most of all about the Spacekru trying to find a way to deal with the Eligius crew, get to the ground and save their people.

It’s also a great Bellamy episode, just as 5x01 was a great Clarke-centric episode and 5x02 a great Octavia episode. Raven also gets still getting pretty good character moments here (and has maybe more lines than in any other episode, but to be fair, most of it is exposition).

What particularly struck me - especially after quite a few slower episodes in season 7 - is just how fast, intense and full of both action and loads of new information (about Eligius 4 and Diyoza, but also a lot of setup for season 6, and even for the possible prequel). There are also lots and lots of parallels and contrasts to season 1, and callbacks to previous seasons in general; morality debates, fights, and one very epic (and romantic-looking) reunion of the show’s two main characters in the closing scene.

Timeline:  2 days have passed since the present day events of 5x01 - it is 2201 days since Praimfaya.

This episode is full of action and new information - if you don’t pay attention to every second, you may miss some of it:

First mention of Eligius 3: their mission may have been top secret. but the crew of Eligius 4 obviously knew that the corporation was sending Nightbloods and that one of the planet was a binary star system (Shaw males a comment "Two suns, no sunscreen”).

Eligius 4 was a mining ship; one of its engines got busted in the rebellion of the prisoners, which is why the ship needed a hundred years to get back to Earth (as opposed to Eligius 3 - which we later see took just a few years to reach Sanctum from Earth)

Possible prequel info: Raven mentions great-great grandpappy Blake who was an astronaut with multiple PhDs (but it’s unclear if he was an ancestor of both Bellamy and Octavia, in which case he has to be Aurora’s ancestor).

We start getting some of Diyoza backstory here (there’s more in the following episodes), when she mentions to Clarke that she fought when the “fascist government” tried to take her home. (This could’ve been seen as just Diyoza’s bias, but now that we have an idea - from 7x08 - what USA - under a President Wallace - was like just before the apocalypse, her description seems fitting. Callie also considered the government fascist.)

Instead of more exposition, the show follows the Show, Don’t Tell rule and gives the backstory about the rebellion in a more exciting way, by having Spacekru find and watch a video message that the late captain of the ship filmed  and was about to send when he was killed. But the show also still intentionally withholds some info: the captain mentions that the prisoners have learned about Order 11 but we don't find out what that was until a few episodes later - that it was an order to kill all the prisoners. This would change our perception of Diyoza and the entire situation to quite an extent, but so far, all you get from this is that the prisoners, and Diyoza in particular, are very dangerous. The captain was about to send the message that Eligius be blown out of the sky, saying that “Diyoza can't be allowed to weaponize the cargo", which first hints at her terrifying reputation. But considering he was just going to do that, I’m not sure you can’t blame Diyoza for letting McCreary kill him. (Even though Shaw just does that, reminding Diyoza that she promised she wouldn’t kill any of the crew - to which she laconically replies she didn’t promise the others wouldn’t.)

There is, however, already some moral ambiguity there because Spacekru learn that prisoners were seen as “expendable” by the people in power - and Murphy says this sounds familiar, pointing out a parallel between the Eligius prisoners and the Delinquents. In general, season 5 plays a lot with the (imperfect) parallels (and contrasts) between season 5 and season 1. Some of the not-so-subtle callbacks include Diyoza saying “We’re not alone” in 5x01, Clarke making notes and drawings of the weaponry that the newcomers have, which is kind of a "parallel" to how Lincoln made notes in his notebook (except Lincoln was mostly making notes of how many people were there, not their weapons - since they didn’t have any), Clarke being captured and refusing to give any info by staying silent, and Clarke getting tortured, like Lincoln was. And just like Octavia argued that Lincoln didn’t speak English, but Bellamy was sure he did, now Shaw tries to argue that Clarke can’t speak English but Diyoza is smart enough to know she does. (It was really obvious in both cases - someone who doesn't speak your language but wants to communicate would say something in another language and make gestures, a mute person would make gestures, but when someone is looking at you silently and with a stone face, they obviously don't WANT to talk. Octavia seems to have actually believed that Lincoln didn’t speak English, since she was later surprised that he did - but she was still naive at the time. I find it hard to believe Shaw really believed that - he was probably just trying to dissuade Diyoza from letting McCreary torture someone.)

But here’s the thing: a parallel doesn’t have to mean two things are really the same - sometimes, as in this case, it’s more like “this is kind of reminiscent of that other thing, but when you compare them, you see that they’re drastically different”, which is pretty obvious, as in one case, we had a hundred kids with no weapons (aside from one gun and one knife), just going around without a plan and trying to have a good time in a rather small area, vs thousands of organized people with at least hundreds of armed warriors in a much wider territory. In this case, we have a bunch of heavily armed (and that’s an understatement, they really have all sorts of incredibly powerful weapons) adult murderers who came in with the express plan to take over the Valley - which was the only habitable area on Earth, vs a sole woman and a child. In other words, the Eligius prisoners are exactly what the Grounders claimed in season 1 that the 100 were, but what the 100 most definitely were not - a real and massive threat.  But on the other hand, there is a reason why this parallel exists - and that’s to point out that the prisoners, no matter how scary they are, no matter how good the reasons to be afraid of them, no matter how bad they may be... are still people who were sent as forced labor, deemed expendable, and now are trying to get back home, to Earth. What else could they do - float forever in space, in cryo? 

Another callback in this episode was to season 3 - and it’s a particularly important one for Bellamy’s character arc: the dilemma of what to do with the 283 Eligius prisoners in cryo. Murphy is the voice of ruthless pragmatism and suggests that they simply pull the plug and kill them all, before Diyoza could wake them up from the ground and use them as her army. Echo, though she says she understands why this is hard for Bellamy, backs up Murphy’s suggestion, but Bellamy refuses. You can see how awful even the idea is to him, reminding him of one of the things he has been regretting and feeling guilty for years - helping Pike kill Lexa’s army while they were sleeping. There are differences in circumstance, but it is basically the same thing, kill people in their sleep pre-emptively, before they could be potentially used against you, because if they are, they would be a huge threat to your people. (Well, it is the same thing for the purposes of the show - if we believe that experienced Trikru warriors could all sleep at the same time and not wake up and start fighting - which the show really wants us to believe, though it never made any sense. The Eligius prisoners, however, are really helpless here because they are cryo frozen, so this would really be the massacre that season 3 pretended Hakeldama was.) Murphy brings up Clarke, in what is one of the weirder lines in this episode - “If Clarke was here, this wouldn’t even...” I’m not sure what exactly he was trying to say - did he mean to imply Clarke would be in favor of killing them all (which doesn’t make much sense - it’s not like Clarke was the one more in favor of violent solutions than the peaceful and diplomatic ones compared to Bellamy, in fact, it was typically the opposite in seasons 1-4, especially whenever Murphy was around to witness their actions and decisions, On the other hand, the show went on to give Murphy some weird opinions about Clarke in season 6. Or did he mean that Bellamy himself would opt for drastic measures to protect Clarke? 

It’s unclear, and it feels like this line just exists to set up Bellamy’s response and show how much the loss and memory of Clarke is still weighing heavy on Bellamy and motivating him. Bellamy has been trying to be better and redeem himself for mistakes of his past that he made when he was more inclined to react violently against enemies - and, since Praimfaya, he has been trying to honor Clarke’s memory, and be the kind of leader she wanted him to be, and the kind of leader she was. "Clarke didn't die for us to go back and make the same mistakes".  

Ironically, Clarke has in the meantime become a lot more like season 1a Bellamy: her focus has narrowed to trying to protect a single person, a child she loves and feels responsible for, and in her present situation, she’s a lot more inclined to opt for violent solutions. We’ve already seen that in 5x01 with the “There are no good guys” scene, and in 5x03 she is quite ruthless when she doesn’t want to mercy kill a prisoner stabbed by one of her and Madi’s traps, even when Madi is asking her to do it. Season 5 Clarke characterization is pretty controversial - and I’m not 100% sure how I feel about it. It was clearly meant to show Clarke changed and not like herself after 6 years isolation with just Madi as a companion - but I don’t like the way it seemed to almost reduce Clarke to the “Mama Bear” trope. On the other hand, this is not entirely new - Clarke was always kind of mother to the Delinquents, even though they were her age, and driven by the desire to protect those she loves and/or felt responsible for -  especially in season 2, we saw how far she can go when she is cornered and desperate to save her people. And she is certainly cornered here. We could argue  whether some of her decisions here - such as to start attacking the prisoners - were smart, but with Eden as the only livable place, there wasn’t much else she could do other than hide, which she and Madi couldn’t do indefinitely.

Bellamy’s. Echo’s and Raven’s fight with Kodiak - a particularly large and dangerous prisoner that Diyoza had woken up because of the alarm Spacekru had set off - is IMO one of the best in the show, very raw and brutal and desperate. It reminds me of the 2x11 fight where Bellamy also ended up strangling a man after a desperate fight, with the help of Echo and someone else who’s mostly a non-combatant - in S2 it was Maya, here it’s Raven. (For someone who isn’t a fighter  and in spite of her disability, Raven has the right moves - going straight for the eyes.) Bellamy and Echo work well as a part of the team, the leader and his right hand, but if you just saw this episode, you’d have no idea that they’re a couple. They don’t get the little everyday moments of chemistry and coupley behavior that we see here with Marper (when Raven teases “lovebirds” about Zero G sex, we immediately see that Marper is who she meant) or that we see with Memori in other seasons, whenever they are together. Here, they are on a break, and it’s so weird after seeing them in S7, watching Emori and Murphy snapping at each other with animosity - but there’s a thin line between love and hate.

Sleeping Giants is generally a great showcase for Bellamy: this is arguably him at his best as a leader, not only negotiating and saving his people while also refusing to commit mass murder, but we also see how good he is at instilling confidence in other team members - be it asking Murphy for his opinion, or building up Emori’s confidence as a pilot. The moment where they smile each other after she lands successfully is one of the best scenes in terms of the Spacekru dynamic - and in terms of genuinely platonic m/f friendships in the show (which should get more screentime).

It’s also a good episode for Raven, who insists she stays behind even though she knows there is a huge chance of dying, and lies to Bellamy that there is an escape pod for two, to stop him from insisting on staying instead, with his own self-sacrificial tendencies. In season 7, Raven felt guilty for not putting her life on the line in 7x03, but she did it here. Murphy ends up unintentionally kind of doing the same - fooled by her lie about the escape pod. Would he have stayed behind if he knew there was no escape pod? At this point in his development, probably not, but he is still showing the desire to contribute and do something heroic. He isn’t even sure himself what his motives are - was it just to impress Emori and show he’s not selfish, or if he really wants to be a hero who is ready to sacrifice and/or risk his life, the way the others do?

There are so many callbacks in this episode! Murphy even says the line "See you on the other side" and Raven tells Murphy: “You're right, dying alone would have sucked", referencing their scene in 2x01, back when they were just starting to not be enemies.

But of course, what this episode is mostly remembered by is Bellamy learning that Clarke is alive, and their first meeting in 6 years, in the epic last scene. The show made Bellamy and the rest of the Spacekru a bit incompetent for a moment when they get themselves captured by two prisoners, so Madi would rescue them and deliver the news that Clarke is alive. Clarke has obviously told Madi stories about Bellamy and described him, since Madi immediately recognizes him. We get Bellamy’s Harper and Monty’s reactions (as they are the Delinquents and much closer to Clarke than Echo and Emori). So Madi rescues Bellamy and then Bellamy rescues Clarke, and it feels like a lot of the plot was written in order to set up that last scene.  (Incidentally, Bellamy and Clarke are paralleled with the way they both say the same line: “No, Madi”.)

Let’s be honest here - there was no plot reason whatsoever to put this kind of emphasis on Bellamy rescuing Clarke in this scene, other than to emphasize the importance of Bellamy’s and Clarke’s relationship. He was already planning to use the prisoners in cryo as leverage to rescue Octavia and the rest of the people in the bunker - which he will also do. He could have rescued Clarke in a brief scene and then continued negotiating with Diyoza. In plot terms, this is not a cliffhanger or last scene material. But in relationship terms? That’s another story. And there was no reason to make it look so goddamn romantic - other than to portray their relationship as a romantic one, regardless of their actual relationship status. 

The entire scene is filmed to look like a dream. We see Clarke looking at him, with a dreamy look in her eyes. From Clarke’s POV, it looks like Bellamy is appearing out of the darkness, bathed in light (and holding the “Best dad in the universe” cup from Eligius 4).  

 If this was just your run-of-the-mill rescue of some of our protagonists by other ones, there was also no reason for Diyoza to say the line: “283 lives for one. She must be pretty important to you.”  In fact, this line used to bug me - because I thought it didn’t make sense for her to ask that. Come on, Diyoza, you know how hostage negotiations and leverage works! You know he is making a smart play here. Release my people and I don’t kill your people - there’s nothing strange about that. But on second thoughts - I can see Diyoza bulls*itting like that in order to try to suss out what exactly Bellamy’s relationship to Clarke is, so she could potentially use it later in dealing with them. In any case, this line clearly exists to set up Bellamy’s answer: “She is”. Set o dramatic music, as the ending line of the episode.

Rating: 8.5/10

[agoodsfpage]

“This is Morgan Winters, Barely Alive on GLNS News!” - Part 1

Hey!  Posted this here and on the forum. Those of you who know me there will know this will not be the first time I've posted the first part of a story, promised to deliver more, and then abandoned the project within, like, an hour, but trust me, guys... I'm going to finish this one this time. I can feel it in my bones.

Anyway, something about the concept of a news reporter catching a cold has been weighing on my brain for just the longest time so I bring you this first part, in which our news reporters does *not*, in fact, catch a cold yet.

There is a little bit of sneezing and illness stuff at the end, but this is mostly about setting the scene, establishing some characters. I feel like actually having some kind of plot is a nice minimal standard to achieve with storytelling, but this might be why I'm always too lazy to finish telling them. If I do fail to post the second part of this one, my next story will just be called 'woman with a cold who is sneezing' and will just be about someone, like, going to various places.

With that in mind, do feel free to remind me to pick this up if you actually really want to see where this story (kind of inevitably) ends up going.

And, excuse the poor formatting. It is not my strong suit.

"...and despite facing calls to resign, the counselor has confirmed he'll remain in his post. From GLNS, this is Morgan Winters, back to you Alex."

   Morgan yanked the earpiece out from her ear as quickly as she could, and ran a hand through her long black hair.

   "How was that?" she asked Derek, from behind the camera, who gave a simple thumbs up in response. "Good," she said. "Now get me out of here. It's fucking freezing, and these old government buildings never seem to have any heating" "We got a taxi waiting for you outside to get you back to the studio" he replied, as he rewound the footage. "Think we're going to end up back in the van, though, if you ask me. Molly just took a phone call from the boss. Suspect she's going to be looking for you any minute now"

   Morgan rolled her eyes and sighed. "Of course she is. What now? World's tallest scarecrow just collapsed? Local teen gets tongue frozen to lampost? Or are we going to interview the mayor's husband again, and hope he's sober enough to string together a full sentence this time?"

   Derek shrugged. "I don't commission 'em, Morgan, I just film 'em. You'll have to ask her." "I'll have to avoid her, more like. I'm going to the office. I have a mountain of work to catch up on. I don't have time to do some twee interview with Farmer Dan about Potatofest '22, or whatever they want from me." "You do what you want. Taxi's that way, though. Next to the van" Derek replied, smirking, pointing to the east side of the building, and not taking his eyes off of the footage.

   Morgan sighed and made her way to the city hall car park. She spied her taxi from across the road and started to walk towards it when she heard her name in an all-too-familiar and all-too-cheerful tone of voice.

   "Slow down, Morgan" Molly called out, from behind her. Morgan closed her eyes, silently cursed her luck, and turned around to face Molly, who was dressed in a garnet-red beret, that (in Morgan's humble and, admittedly, uninformed opinion) badly compliment her curly, silver-blonde hair.

   "I am so sorry, Molly, I almost forgot to wait for you," she said, forcing herself to smile. "That's alright, I'd just disappeared to make a quick phone call" Molly replied. "From the station," she said after a slightly uncomfortable pause. "Oh, they're always bothering us while we're busy. Well, I best be going, I need to get back to the--" "Could you do me a favor, Morgan?"

   Morgan gritted her teeth, her green eyes lightly glazing over as Molly carried on.

   "You see," Molly continued barely registering Morgan's expression, "the public health department just got in touch. It's that time of year when colds and such things are going around, you see. So, the department was wondering if we could send a reporter down to a local physician's to do a quick cold and flu safety report"

   Morgan shook her head. "No, Molly, no, absolutely not. I told you, I'm done with these... nothing reports. I'm a serious journalist, alright? I have a degree-- two degrees! Two degrees, I have a Bachelors in Communication, and a Masters in Media and Journalism, okay? I should be covering far more serious topics than this. Health- public health isn't even something I know anything about. Can't you ask Alice to do it?" "We did ask Alice to do it!" Molly replied. "And?" "She can't" "Why not?" "Caught a cold."

   Morgan rolled her eyes. "Well, what about Steve or Michael? They should be grateful for any work at this point, to be honest" "No, look, the department wants *you*. They've seen you! They think you have a really down-to-earth personality and a great presentation style. Perfect for delivering this kind of message."

   Morgan paused. "They asked for me?" "Yes" "...and they think I have a great presentation style?" "Absolutely" "And a down-to-earth personality?" "Yeah, maybe. Anyway, look, if you do this, there's sure to be some more work coming your way. Good work, too. Not these fluff pieces, not these interviews with outraged retirees. You get to do what you want." Morgan really thought about it. "...No more local food and culture festivals?" "No more anything, just pure you." "...Fine. Fuck you, but... fine." Morgan replied. "When do they want me?" Molly looked at her watch and looked back up at Morgan. "Half an hour ago."

--------

   It was not often that Morgan got to visit the more affluent side of town. She lived pretty far from here, and the people who did live here were wealthy enough to keep the cameras away from their neighborhood. While she wasn't thrilled about this assignment, she couldn't help but gawp at the mini-mansions, and luxury restaurants that lined the streets.

   Still, all the money and lawyers in the world couldn't keep out the common cold. Almost every face she could spot from the van, was adorned with a red nose, or a tissue pressed tightly against it. Morgan shifted uncomfortably in her seat, as she turned her head towards her phone. She was really starting to regret this.

   After a short drive, in which Molly had to negotiate with an incredibly congested toll-booth operator, the van pulled up outside the district's medical center. Derek scrambled out of the van to get the equipment ready, while Morgan and Molly went inside to meet the nurse they were going to be interviewing.

   "Hey," Morgan said approaching the receptionist at the front desk, who was busy scribbling some notes into a pad. "Morgan Winters, I'm with GLNS news. This is Molly, I was told you both spoke on the phone about an interview?"

   The receptionist looked up from her notepad and something instantly struck Morgan about her appearance. The long, wavy red hair, Morgan had already noticed from a distance. The bright blue eyes were distinctive but didn't immediately catch her notice. No, Morgan's attention was right away drawn to the sore, red rim that ran around the woman's nostrils, that was accentuated by the sudden and thick sniffle she gave.

   "One moment..." she muttered, barely managing those precious m's and n's that would have lent clarity to what she said. She casually reached over a small PA system on her desk. "Ndurse Halloway? GLNS are here" she muttered, or something to that effect, at least. Some tinny, staticky voice gave a robotic reply, and the receptionist looked back up to Morgan. "Just take a seat with the oh-others... ih-ISHIEW!"

   Morgan was grateful that the receptionist was able to grab a tissue. Still, she would have liked it all the more if the receptionist had actually managed to bring it to her nose, some time before letting out the surprising sneeze.

   "Ugh... 'scuse mbe" she mumbled, using the barely touched tissue to blow her already sore nose. "Was the last one standing up until I came in this m-mordi-ih...it'SHIEW!" she sneezed again, clearly an aftershock from the previous sneeze, but this time, thankfully, with the tissue ready to catch it.

   'Last one standing...' Morgan mentally repeated with a degree of exasperation, before directing Molly to sit beside her in the waiting room.

   "We better make this quick, alright? I'm already regretting every second of this..." she whispered to her assistant, as the woman beside her, blew her nose for the fourteenth time. "Why, what's wrong?" she asked "What do you mean, what's wrong? This place is gross. I feel gross. I want to go back to the office, where it's... I mean still gross, but less gross than this" "Oh, hush. Don't worry about it, it's just a quick interview, bit of filming of... doctor-y things, and we can do the V/O back at the studio" "I don't know how you can be so calm about this" Morgan snapped, as the man next to Molly launched into a coughing fit. Molly simply shrugged. "I'm not bothered. I had my flu shot" she said, confidently. "Do flu shots protect against colds?" asked Morgan Molly paused for a moment. "I mean, yeah, of course, they do. They're basically the same thing. Wouldn't be much point in a flu vaccine if you're just going to get a cold anyway, surely!"

   Morgan was skeptical, but before she could open her mouth to object, she heard her name called from the reception.

   "Ms. Widters?" the receptionist asked, holding a tissue to her nose as she spoke. "Ndurse Halloway will see you both dow..." she managed, before sneezing three more times into the tissue. As she pulled it away, Morgan winced at how sore and red her nose was starting to look. At that point, Morgan realized that there was nothing she could do to protect herself. From the moment she walked into the health center, she was a dead woman walking.

[master-sass-blast]

Front Lines.

Summary:  Given the immense violence law enforcement keeps showing towards those protesting the death of George Floyd and the systemic racism infecting the law enforcement system, the X-Men decide to help protect the protesting groups -and you and Piotr are right there with them on the front lines.

Pairings: Piotr Rasputin x Reader.

Rating: G.

Warnings: Mentions of police brutality, heavily reflects the current political/social situation in the United States, but NO scenes of violence.

Set after “It’s Truly Magical,”  but this one's kinda outside the canon timeline; if the protests hadn't popped up, this fic wouldn't have happened. I doubt it'll be mentioned in other fics or used as a timeline measuring point, but Piotr's mentioned as your husband in this, so it's after the wedding/honeymoon.

Author’s Note: Just to be clear, this isn't me coming back from my hiatus. However, given the protests and the particularly depraved nature of Mr. Floyd's death, I did want to make it clear where I stood --and where the series stands, in particular.

The X-Men, as far as I'm concerned, would never take an idle role in letting the police brutalize protesters. They would stand and protect the crowds and do what they could to ensure that the citizens involved in the (non-violent) protests were as safe as possible. This series doesn't view them or their role as protectors any differently.

Granted, I didn't write a quarantine fic --and I'm not going to. It's the result of an entirely different set of problems, has at least impacted certain communities to some extent on a unilateral level, and -frankly--I'm too stressed out over Coronavirus to want to commemorate a fic to it.

This is different. The history of racism and abuse towards African-American communities --towards all communities of color--in America is far too longstanding. There may be good cops, but the law enforcement system and justice system as a whole are corrupted, abusive husks of what they were intended to be.

I don't want the protests --specifically, what the correct side of the protests were--to be forgotten. Hopefully, this fic will help ensure that they aren't.

I also didn't include any scenes of what happens during the protest or on the front lines because, frankly, I don't think it's my place to. I don't want to set any sort of tones predicting how a protest would turn out; I also don't want there to be any sort of debate over whether it "ought" to end peacefully or not. Also, I think that, while unfortunately realistic, including potential scenes of police brutality would be highly traumatic for any readers, so... Yeah. No protest scene. No recap of how it went. Those aren't the important parts, in my opinion. Feel free to disagree, but it won't change the fic or my stance on what ought to be included in it.

If you are participating in any protests, demonstrations, or marches, please use your best judgement and stay safe. Don't do anything that would unnecessarily put yourself or others at risk. (And yes, I know, the protests have inherent risk because of how the police forces are responding to protesters. All I mean is don't go out of your way to do something risky, please.)

Black Lives Matter.

No taglist for this fic. That’s not what this is about.

There’s a lot of fear. A lot of hesitation and questioning and second-guessing.

“Okay, say we go,” Russell pipes up, breaking the silence that had settled after the Professor’s announcement. “What happens when law enforcement kills another mutant? Or when the government tries to put more restrictions on us? Are these people even going to remember us?”

“Besides, what’s even going to happen to us?” Kitty added, forehead creasing. “We’re all going to be in our suits. We’re easy targets –and the cops already totally hate us.”

It’s understandable, the fear. The doubt. The need for assurance.

You’ve all felt society’s anti-mutant sentiments at more than one point in your lives.

“We’re going to take every precaution necessary to safeguard the members of our group,” Charles states, tone reassuring. “We will not be recklessly risking ourselves or partaking in violent movements. But these protests are important. They reflect law enforcement’s and the government’s ongoing deliberate ignorance to society’s discontent with the status quo –a status quo that impacts mutants, too. And it doesn’t matter if any of the protestors or communities of color remember that we were there. We’ll remember we were there –and, more importantly, we’ll remember that we weren’t.” He pauses, smiles despite the melancholy look in his eyes, and adds, “Sometimes, doing the right thing means there’s no guarantee you’ll gain something from it, even if that something you want isn’t inherently selfish.”

You look up at Piotr, trying to gauge his reaction to everything.

Your husband looks pensive –but also resolute. From the straight set of his shoulders to the determined glint in his baby blue eyes, you can tell he agrees with everything Charles is saying.

Piotr notices you watching him. The corner of his mouth twitches up. He puts an arm around you, kisses the top of your head, then goes back to giving his full attention to those around him.

You lean against him and do the same.

In the end, there’s no way either of you are staying out of this.

***

 The rules are made clear to the nth degree.

First: No member of the X-Men –or those specifically joining the X-Men during the protests—will be armed or interact with law enforcement, members of the National Guard, or other protesters in a violent manner –including partaking in looting and destruction of public and-or private property.

“This protest is about drawing attention to the atrocities suffered by African American communities at the hands of law enforcement, as well as other communities of color,” Charles states, tone brokering no room for retort. “None of us are going to make things more difficult for them or contribute to casting these protests in a negative light. Anyone who refuses to comply will be escorted back to the mansion and held in a safe room until we’re all back before facing further consequences.”

Second: All members of the X-Men participating in the protest will wear last resort masks, both for personal health and the public image of the protests.

“The media’s already trying to treat the protests as a reckless act, given the ones that have devolved into riots and the pertinent Coronavirus threat,” Hank says, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Aside from taking steps to protect the members of our team, we need to make sure we don’t inadvertently expose the protesters to additional criticism.”

Third: Senior members of the X-Men –specifically those with abilities that will let them shield the protesters from potential violence—will stand at the edges of the group. Junior members will stay further in the group with various team leaders for their own safety.

“We have the ability to make sure no one else gets hurt,” Jean says, impassioned. “We need to ensure these people can be heard without risking their safety.

Fourth: Should things devolve into violence, junior members of the team will be promptly taken back to the mansion for their safety. Senior X-Men will stay only as long as necessary to promote the safety of the public, then leave as well.

“We’re not tryin’ to win any fights here,” Logan speaks up when Ellie raises the question of possible rioting. “The only goal is to get people in immediate danger to safety, and then to make sure we all stay safe.”

“But everyone’s going to be in immediate danger,” Ellie argues. “These cops –these soldiers—have guns. And rubber bullets. And –and mace and riot shields and tear gas and—”

“Which is why only senior members would stay, NTW,” Piotr interjects, voice soft and soothing. “And only for short time. We have training to handle dangerous situations and to weigh out who needs immediate help. Everything will be fine.”

“What if we get arrested?” Russell asks, frowning. “Or picked up by the Icebox guys?”

You exchange glances with the other adults in the room. “Pretty sure that’s when Nathan and Wade would break us out of prison.”

“That would be illegal,” Scott says, crossing his arms over his chest. He frowns at you. “The X-Men don’t interact with criminals.”

“Pretty sure the pole up your ass is in violation of the Geneva conventions,” you snap, “but you don’t see any of us whining about it.”

“Measures will be taken to ensure the safety of our fellow mutants –which, for the sake of plausible deniability, will not be discussed at this time,” Charles states, fixing both you and Scott with a stern look. “Are there any other questions?” When there are none, he nods. “Alright. We’ll leave at one in the afternoon tomorrow. Don’t hesitate to come to me with any other queries or concerns before then.”

***

 The crowd is massive. Borderline gargantuan.

“Can we even cover everyone?” you murmur, regarding the throng of demonstrators and signs with concern.

“That’s why we’re here.” Erik lands next to you, along with a few less recognizable –read: “smaller rap sheets”—of his brethren. “To add to the numbers.”

Nathan, Neena, and Wade stroll up to where you’d all parked, along with Piotr’s family members and your uncle.

“We’ve got this covered,” Neena says, squeezing your shoulder reassuringly. “We’re gonna handle it just fine.”

“Is that your way of saying you’ve got a good feeling about this?” you mutter as you eye the litany of cops and National Guard soldiers. “Because I’m not sure even you can swing things in our favor.”

“Doesn’t matter how I feel,” Neena says firmly. “We’ve got it handled because we have to. Plain and simple.”

You hang back as everyone else heads to talk with the protest organizers. You’re not regretting showing up –far from it—but all your scuffles have been with other mutants or the rare team of traffickers, not the people sworn to protect you and this country.

Daunting doesn’t even begin to describe the situation.

“Myshka.” Piotr puts his hand on your back. He’s not armored up yet; he’ll do that at the front of the crowd, when there’s no risk of crushing any feet. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s just… a lot.”

“I know.” He draws you into a hug and kisses your temple. “But you can do this. We all can.”

“I don’t think we can protect everyone if this goes apeshit, honey. There’s a lot of people –on both sides.”

“We’ll do our best,” Piotr says. “That is all we can do.”

You take a deep breath, then nod. You interlock your fingers with his. “Let’s go do our best.”

The two of you walk into the crowd.