#scholarly debate over here

[aradia-queen-of-the-sheep]

my completely unprompted anime hot take of the day was that I hated ultimate bladeworks

[rxzennia]

rare critters

– tales of the voracity pathstrider

✎𓂃 a healthy dose of curiosity (ft. dr ratio) yall if i have to write another report i think i might kms sorry im 3 days late lol i was busy making concept art 

when dr ratio somehow acquired a few rare critters from herta space station, he thought of one person:

aventurine.

if he’s so bad at looking after himself, maybe he could take care of something else instead. and these cat cakes are pretty tame and adorable… seems just right for him.

ratio sent a text to let aventurine know he’s coming to drop off some souvenirs

said souvenirs being these critters

ratio has one on top of his head and two in one arm as he rings the bell

it’s sometime in the afternoon, and you’re not around

(you’re attending a meeting on aventurine’s behalf so he can have a longer lunch break)

(you do that pretty often, actually. that’s why your boss can have entire afternoons or evenings to himself)

nothing would’ve prepared ratio for what he sees when aventurine opens the door

one, no, two? no, three?? faceless serpents slithering around his feet

and one really huge one around his neck???

their maws, aeons, their maws. as stunned as ratio is, he’s also scared shitless

they remind him of a certain aeon and he isn’t sure if he liked the implications

though, that aeon has long since disappeared…

the very moment the serpents sniffed something in the air, they’re all right up in ratio’s face

the trash cakes are definitely scared shitless

they’re quivering and whimpering

ratio is trying so hard to hide his unease

“since when did you have pets, gambler?”

“oh, they’re my assistant’s – don’t bite, please.”

and these dangerous, dangerous noodles listened???

they backed off obediently while still scenting the air again and again

at least they’re not one hair away from ratio anymore?

wait, more importantly…

“you’re living with your assistant?” ratio can’t help but ask. “and… they brought their pets over?”

technically, the slithery creatures around the house aren’t your pets, they’re literally parts of you, but does aventurine want to get into the details? not particularly.

“doctor, it’d be heartless of me to tell them to leave their pets,” aventurine chuckled, “it’s a long story. are these…?”

“i thought pets would do you some good. seems like your assistant has the same idea.” ratio passes the three cakes over to him. “here – from the space station.”

aventurine tells the especially thick leviathan on his neck to get off so he could hold the trash cakes

more like patting its body a few times until it got the signal and slid off of him

the cakes like him!

once he’s passed the sniff test, the cakes are all over him

they do remind him of someone, with those yellow eyes and grey… trash can(?) like body…

he holds them carefully, because unlike your creatures, he needs to hold onto these little guys

else they’d fall

invites ratio in while he’s at it, and he sits down to properly examine them

ratio watches aventurine for a moment, until your serpents catch his attention

oh, he’s so unnerved by them, but also…

he’s so curious! his scholarly senses are telling him to seize the opportunity!

are they really the same creatures as the ones depicted in the scriptures for oroboros?

how did aventurine get his hands on them? or rather, how did you get your hands on them?

and why are they so, so… docile, if they are really what he thinks they are?

what have you done!? how did you get them to be your pets?

his academic interest in you might have just skyrocketed

he engages in a staring contest with a creature with no eyes

somehow, somehow he just knows it’s a staring contest

he’s debating between approaching or not

they look like they would snap his neck before he could even react

“don’t try it, doctor,” aventurine warns, reading ratio’s actions from a mile away, “they’ll probably bite.”

“huh…” ratio makes a sound of pure wonder as he stands still, staring at the few noodles slithering over each other and scenting the air around him. “how did you tame them, then?”

“i didn’t.” aventurine shrugs as he plays with the new critters in his arms. “just sit tight, my assistant should be back soon.”

does that mean you’re the one deciding who gets to touch your serpents and who doesn't???

meanwhile aventurine has taken to the cakes from the space station

they’re so delicate and adorable, with their huge eyes and how stretchy they are

such a contrast to your huge serpents

your serpents are curious about them too, it seems

they keep trying to slither up aventurine’s legs

he has to keep pushing them down, all the while their maws opened and closed

trying to get a feel for the taste of these critters

not trying to outright eat them, just trying to get a taste

ratio is itching to just… grab one of your noodles

he can’t

how devastating

just then, the door opens with a click

“i’m home, aven.” you enter and practically throws your shoes off. 

the sudden need to retain some semblance of formality in your home feels foreign to you now, but you’ve sensed someone else’s presence. it can’t be helped, even if the name aven feels odd on your tongue.

weird, aventurine usually runs out the moment he hears you

when you made your way to the living room, you see him and… some random guy?

said random guy looks like he’s into greek mythology?

is he like zeus or something

no, more like male athena or something

“oh, welcome back!” aventurine perks up as he lifts one of the cakes and shows it to you like a proud parent. “look at these little guys!”

your eyes never quite look away from the stranger, but you also dazedly take the critter into your arms. “this is…”

you immediately catch ratio’s eye – the way you carry yourself, the way the ends of your scarf seem to move on their own, and the way the few serpents find their way up your neck without so much as trying to touch the cake in your hands (even though they’ve been trying to taste it when it was in aventurine’s arms).

“veritas ratio.” he stands up before aventurine could introduce him and offers you a handshake. “you might know me as dr ratio of the intelligentsia guild.”

you stare at him without much of a reaction

his hand stays outstretched as he watches you expectantly

after a few seconds, you give his hand a firm shake and introduce yourself

you do know him, actually, you’ve read a few of his works

you quite liked his takes on philosophy and natural theology

he’s very insightful for a mortal

“can i help you?” you ask, because you don’t think ratio would bother talking to you if he hadn't been curious about something.

“your pets are most fascinating,” he gets straight to the point, “may i examine them?”

???

your pets?

the serpents? 

you look to aventurine, who just turns away like he didn’t tell ratio those are your pets

you pinch the bridge of your nose and exhales exasperatedly

then again, perhaps calling them your pets is the best course of action right now

because the other option is spilling the beans about yourself

yeah

so… nice save, aventurine

you set down the critter in your arms on a nearby table and turn to face the doctor

“here.” you pick up one of your leviathans and guide it over to ratio. “they might do… things around you, but they won’t hurt you.”

ratio tries not to flinch when the heavy leviathan slither up his arm and coil around his neck loosely, but he winces and backs away slightly anyway. “how are you so certain?” he watches the creature with so much wonder as it scents him, then lifts its head so he can stare at it properly. or the other way around; so it can stare at him properly. who knows.

a healthy dose of cynicism is always good

it’s not like you don’t understand where he’s coming from

you shrug, because you really have no better answer without outing yourself

“i have them trained.” you say, but at this point you’re just pulling shit out of your ass

aventurine immediately covers his mouth to hide a snort

you shoot him a quick glare

you run a hand along its smooth body to show ratio that yes, he can touch them

its maw opens a little wider and drools a little onto the carpet

ratio carefully puts his hand on top of its head

it turns its head on contact and nudges against his hand

trying to scent the thing touching it (aka ratio’s hand)

but it doesn’t do anything other than what appears to be purely harmless scenting

could this possibly be the subject of his next paper?

“don’t think about it, doctor.” you cut him off the moment you see the telltale glint of academic interest in his eyes. 

“i must disagree; they are of leviathan descent, are they not?” ratio asks, now caressing the big noodle with both hands and handling it with less hesitation than before, “this is of utmost significance; they might shed some light on the mystery of oroboros the voracity.”

you narrow your eyes at ratio

he doesn’t even try to prod around the subject, he just hits you in the face with it

as expected of such an erudite scholar, but still

(aventurine is watching the interaction with much interest while he plays with the cats)

(it’s like he’s enjoying the show)

(the remaining free serpents of yours has coiled up by his feet and fallen asleep)

(since they’ve realized aventurine doesn’t want them near the cakes)

you don’t want to bring too much attention to yourself, or your serpents

you don’t want things about oroboros to spread, either

in fact, you’re quite thankful to the enigmata and the ipc for heavily censoring them 

“with all due respect, i refuse.” you do not allow any room for disagreement. “you are prepared to uncover the truth. is the rest of the cosmos ready?”

that’s not all of your argument, but the one you determine would be enough to keep ratio from conducting and publishing research about leviathans for now. oh, right – you’re not against ratio’s curiosity. you simply don’t want that curiosity to spread far and wide.

ratio frowns, not expecting such a swift rejection from you, but you do have a point. he’s a little blinded by his excitement.

your rejection sounds a little personal, if aventurine may say so himself

to ratio, it is very much just you being overprotective of your pets

as all pet owners do

to be fair, it’s hard to say. ratio is a sharp man

you stare at him, and he stares at you

the leviathan hanging on his neck tilts its head in confusion

if ratio is anything, he’s persistent

especially when it comes to knowledge

he opens his mouth to try to convince you again

you beat him to it and raise a hand to stop him from talking. “you can examine them for as long as you do not make publications.”

ratio is taken aback, his brows furrowing as you give him permission for further interaction with these descendants of ancient leviathans. this is your first meeting, so why –

in fact, aventurine is wondering the same thing

like, why are you getting along with the doctor so well when you’ve only met today

he’s not jealous or anything, he just has a huge question mark on your reactions

you’re usually very, very guarded against people who ask questions

especially about your scarf

but then ratio did see your serpents slithering around

perhaps you see no way of weaselling your way out of this?

anyway

if we’re being honest, ratio also has a huge question mark on your reactions

“i am a fan of your philosophical works,” you say, guiding your serpent back around you, “hence i am willing to satisfy your curiosity… provided you agree to my terms. think of it as an invitation.”

ratio takes a moment to mull over your words. to think that someone under the ipc has read multiple of his works, and has enjoyed them… is that why you are willing to compromise? but, well… you give him a feeling of a learned person. perhaps he will enjoy debating you.

“very well, that is good enough.” he nods, even if he still feels just a little bit disappointed, he’s anticipating a good back-and-forth with you already. “in that case…”

“i will let you know when i am free.” you sit down next to aventurine and let the critters on his lap crawl over to you and knead your thigh with their little paws. “and, doctor?”

it’s apparent to you that ratio has the same thought as you did when you decided to let your serpents drop their disguises at home. you glance towards aventurine next to you, then back at the doctor.

“thanks for the critters.”

[crystalis]

twitter thread by Mouin Rabbani

March 14, 2024

Who was there first? The short answer is that the question is irrelevant. Claims of ancient title (“This land is ours because we were here several thousand years ago”) have no standing or validity under international law.

For good reason, because such claims also defy elementary common sense. Neither I nor anyone reading this post can convincingly substantiate the geographical location of their direct ancestors ten or five or even two thousand years ago.

If we could, the successful completion of the exercise would confer exactly zero property, territorial, or sovereign rights.

As a thought experiment, let’s go back only a few centuries rather than multiple millennia. Do South Africa’s Afrikaners have the right to claim The Netherlands as their homeland, or even qualify for Dutch citizenship, on the basis of their lineage?

Do the descendants of African-Americans who were forcibly removed from West Africa have the right to board a flight in Atlanta, Port-au-Prince, or São Paolo and reclaim their ancestral villages from the current inhabitants, who in all probability arrived only after – perhaps long after – the previous inhabitants were abducted and sold into slavery half a world away?

Do Australians who can trace their roots to convicts who were involuntarily transported Down Under by the British government have a right to return to Britain or Ireland and repossess homes from the present inhabitants even if, with the help of court records, they can identify the exact address inhabited by their forebears? Of course not.

In sharp contrast to, for example, Native Americans or the Maori of New Zealand, none of the above can demonstrate a living connection with the lands to which they would lay claim.

To put it crudely, neither nostalgic attachment nor ancestry, in and of themselves, confer rights of any sort, particularly where such rights have not been asserted over the course of hundreds or thousands of years.

If they did, American English would be the predominant language in large parts of Europe, and Spain would once again be speaking Arabic.

Nevertheless, the claim of ancient title has been and remains central to Zionist assertions of not only Jewish rights in Palestine, but of an exclusive Jewish right to Palestine.

For the sake of argument, let’s examine it. If we put aside religious mythology, the origin of the ancient Israelites is indeed local.

In ancient times it was not unusual for those in conflict with authority or marginalized by it to take to the more secure environment of surrounding hills or mountains, conquer existing settlements or establish new ones, and in the ultimate sign of independence adopt distinct religious practices and generate their own rulers. That the Israelites originated as indigenous Canaanite tribes rather than as fully-fledged monotheistic immigrants or conquerors is more or less the scholarly consensus, buttressed by archeological and other evidence. And buttressed by the absence of evidence for the origin stories more familiar to us.

It is also the scholarly consensus that the Israelites established two kingdoms, Judah and Israel, the former landlocked and covering Jerusalem and regions to the south, the latter (also known as the Northern Kingdom or Samaria) encompassing points north, the Galilee, and parts of contemporary Jordan. Whether these entities were preceded by a United Kingdom that subsequently fractured remains the subject of fierce debate.

What is certain is that the ancient Israelites were never a significant regional power, let alone the superpower of the modern imagination.

There is a reason the great empires of the Middle East emerged in Egypt, Mesopotamia, Persia, and Anatolia – or from outside the region altogether – but never in Palestine.

It simply lacked the population and resource base for power projection. Jerusalem may be the holiest of cities on earth, but for almost the entirety of its existence, including the period in question, it existed as a village, provincial town or small city rather than metropolis.

Judah and Israel, like the neighboring Canaanite and Philistine entities during this period, were for most of their existence vassal states, their fealty and tribute fought over by rival empires – Egyptians, Assyrians, Babylonians, etc. – rather than extracted from others.

Indeed, Israel was destroyed during the eighth century BCE by the Assyrians, who for good measured subordinated Judah to their authority, until it was in the sixth century BCE eliminated by the Babylonians, who had earlier overtaken the Assyrians in a regional power struggle.

The Babylonian Exile was not a wholesale deportation, but rather affected primarily Judah’s elites and their kin. Nor was there a collective return to the homeland when the opportunity arose several decades later after Cyrus the Great defeated Babylon and re-established a smaller Judah as a province of the Persian Achaemenid empire. Indeed, Mesopotamia would remain a key center of Jewish religion and culture for centuries afterwards.

Zionist claims of ancient title conveniently erase the reality that the ancient Israelites were hardly the only inhabitants of ancient Palestine, but rather shared it with Canaanites, Philistines, and others.

The second part of the claim, that the Jewish population was forcibly expelled by the Romans and has for 2,000 years been consumed with the desire to return, is equally problematic.

By the time the Romans conquered Jerusalem during the first century BCE, established Jewish communities were already to be found throughout the Mediterranean world and Middle East – to the extent that a number of scholars have concluded that a majority of Jews already lived in the diaspora by the time the first Roman soldier set foot in Jerusalem.

These communities held a deep attachment to Jerusalem, its Temple, and the lands recounted in the Bible. They identified as diasporic communities, and in many cases may additionally have been able to trace their origins to this or that town or village in the extinguished kingdoms of Israel and Judah. But there is no indication those born and bred in the diaspora across multiple generations considered themselves to be living in temporary exile or considered the territory of the former Israelite kingdoms rather than their lands of birth and residence their natural homeland, any more than Irish-Americans today feel they properly belong in Ireland rather than the United States.

Unlike those taken in captivity to Babylon centuries earlier, there was no impediment to their relocation to or from their ancestral lands, although economic factors appear to have played an important role in the growth of the diaspora.

By contrast, those traveling in the opposite direction appear to have done so, more often than not, for religious reasons, or to be buried in Jerusalem’s sacred soil.

Nations and nationalism did not exist 2,000 years ago.

Nor Zionist propagandists in New York, Paris, and London incessantly proclaiming that for two millennia Jews everywhere have wanted nothing more than to return their homeland, and invariably driving home rather than taking the next flight to Tel Aviv.

Nor insufferably loud Americans declaring, without a hint of irony or self-awareness, the right of the Jewish people to Palestine “because they were there first”.

Back to the Romans, about a century after their arrival a series of Jewish rebellions over the course of several decades, coupled with internecine warfare between various Jewish factions, produced devastating results.

A large proportion of the Jewish population was killed in battle, massacred, sold into slavery, or exiled. Many towns and villages were ransacked, the Temple in Jerusalem destroyed, and Jews barred from entering the city for all but one day a year.

Although a significant Jewish presence remained, primarily in the Galilee, the killings, associated deaths from disease and destitution, and expulsions during the Roman-Jewish wars exacted a calamitous toll.

With the destruction of the Temple Jerusalem became an increasingly spiritual rather than physical center of Jewish life. Jews neither formed a demographic majority in Palestine, nor were the majority of Jews to be found there.

Many of those who remained would in subsequent centuries convert to Christianity or Islam, succumb to massacres during the Crusades, or join the diaspora. On the eve of Zionist colonization locally-born Jews constituted less than five per cent of the total population.

As for the burning desire to return to Zion, there is precious little evidence to substantiate it. There is, for example, no evidence that upon their expulsion from Spain during the late fifteenth century, the Sephardic Jewish community, many of whom were given refuge by the Ottoman Empire that ruled Palestine, made concerted efforts to head for Jerusalem. Rather, most opted for Istanbul and Greece.

Similarly, during the massive migration of Jews fleeing persecution and poverty in Eastern Europe during the nineteenth century, the destinations of choice were the United States and United Kingdom.

Even after the Zionist movement began a concerted campaign to encourage Jewish emigration to Palestine, less than five per cent took up the offer. And while the British are to this day condemned for limiting Jewish immigration to Palestine during the late 1930s, the more pertinent reality is that the vast majority of those fleeing the Nazi menace once again preferred to relocate to the US and UK, but were deprived of these havens because Washington and London firmly slammed their doors shut.

Tellingly, the Jewish Agency for Israel in 2023 reported that of the world’s 15.7 million Jews, 7.2 million – less than half – reside in Israel and the occupied Palestinian territories.

According to the Agency, “The Jewish population numbers refer to persons who define themselves as Jews by religion or otherwise and who do not practice another religion”.

It further notes that if instead of religion one were to apply Israel’s Law of Return, under which any individual with one or more Jewish grandparent is entitled to Israeli citizenship, only 7.2 of 25.5 million eligible individuals (28 per cent) have opted for Zion.

In other words, “Next Year in Jerusalem” was, and largely remains, an aspirational religious incantation rather than political program. For religious Jews, furthermore, it was to result from divine rather than human intervention.

For this reason, many equated Zionism with blasphemy, and until quite recently most Orthodox Jews were either non-Zionist or rejected the ideology altogether.

Returning to the irrelevant issue of ancestry, if there is one population group that can lay a viable claim of direct descent from the ancient Israelites it would be the Samaritans, who have inhabited the area around Mount Gerizim, near the West Bank city of Nablus, without interruption since ancient times.

Palestinian Jews would be next in line, although unlike the Samaritans they interacted more regularly with both other Jewish communities and their gentile neighbors.

Claims of Israelite descent made on behalf of Jewish diaspora communities are much more difficult to sustain. Conversions to and from Judaism, intermarriage with gentiles, absorption in multiple foreign societies, and related phenomena over the course of several thousand years make it a virtual certainty that the vast majority of Jews who arrived in Palestine during the late 19th and first half of the 20th century to reclaim their ancient homeland were in fact the first of their lineage to ever set foot in it.

By way of an admittedly imperfect analogy, most Levantines, Egyptians, Sudanese, and North Africans identify as Arabs, yet the percentage of those who can trace their roots to the tribes of the Arabian Peninsula that conquered their lands during the seventh and eighth centuries is at best rather small.

Ironically, a contemporary Palestinian, particularly in the West Bank and Galilee, is likely to have more Israelite ancestry than a contemporary diaspora Jew.

The Palestinians take their name from the Philistines, one of the so-called Sea Peoples who arrived on the southern coast of Canaan from the Aegean islands, probably Crete, during the late second millennium BCE.

They formed a number of city states, including Gaza, Ashdod, and Ashkelon. Like Judah and Israel they existed primarily as vassals of regional powers, and like them were eventually destroyed by more powerful states as well.

With no record of their extermination or expulsion, the Philistines are presumed to have been absorbed by the Canaanites and thereafter disappear from the historical record.

Sitting at the crossroads between Asia, Africa, and Europe, Palestine was over the centuries repeatedly conquered by empires near and far, absorbing a constant flow of human and cultural influences throughout.

Given its religious significance, pilgrims from around the globe also contributed to making the Palestinian people what they are today.

A common myth is that the Palestinian origin story dates from the Arab-Muslim conquests of the seventh century. In point of fact, the Arabs neither exterminated nor expelled the existing population, and the new rulers never formed a majority of the population.

Rather, and over the course of several centuries, the local population was gradually Arabized, and to a large extent Islamized as well.

So the question as to who was there first can be answered in several ways: “both” and “irrelevant” are equally correct.

Indisputably, the Zionist movement had no right to establish a sovereign state in Palestine on the basis of claims of ancient title, which was and remains its primary justification for doing so.

That it established an exclusivist state that not only rejected any rights for the existing Palestinian population but was from the very outset determined to displace and replace this population was and remains a historical travesty.

That it as a matter of legislation confers automatic citizenship on millions who have no existing connection with the land but denies it to those who were born there and expelled from it, solely on the basis of their identity, would appear to be the very definition of apartheid.

The above notwithstanding, and while the Zionist claim of exclusive Israeli sovereignty in Palestine remains illegitimate, there are today several million Israelis who cannot be simply wished away.

A path to co-existence will need to be found, even as the genocidal nature of the Israeli state, and increasingly of Israeli society as well, makes the endeavor increasingly complicated.

The question, thrown into sharp relief by Israel’s genocidal onslaught on the Palestinian population of the Gaza Strip, is whether co-existence with Israeli society can be achieved without first dismantling the Israeli state and its ruling institutions.

[currentfandomkick]

So previous part here

Danny’s adoption as far as GZ in concerned requires Plas to indergo some trials to prove himself as Danny—debated between being the Future King or exalted as the Will of the Infinite—‘s majority caretaker on the mortal side.

A mentorship is one thing—parenthood is taken far more seriously. Especially for a traumatized child ghost.

So, premise aside, lets begin!

Phantom had been beaming for a while. Everyone knew that. Between the JL spot and having a mentor, Amity “Mittens” Park knew her guard was more content than he’d been in a long, long time.

The city spirit was proud for him. Few kept their cool when it came three ancients appearing on their doorstep.

Her guard had chosen his mortal fright well. Between Undergrowth’s High Priestess and the Pharaoh reincarnation his choice of peers, though limited, was good… but he lacked suitable guiding presences.

There is only so much Amity can do herself. She’s not quite physical enough to manifest, no idea to form her base around. And she is not mortal, so how could she ever help?

As the witness to her guard’s life and death, her vote would hold the most sway, regardless of the Trials’ outcome.

Her wonderful guard found himself a father, she would see that this bond is acknowledged.

Nerves flooded Phantom’s form again. He twisted his tail around Plas’ arm and held Cujo close to his chest.

The JL light side hadn’t caught the implications of his potential adoption. They didnt have the whole story on Danny’s place in the Infinite’s pecking order…

Plas does.

Unfortunately, so does the JL Dark. Which is why Plas was checking over anything he should prepare for them by customs and for the usual rites for Living adopting a “Curtain Child” as Constaintine’s text dubbed Danny and his cohorts.

He’s not sure if he should just… ignore the scholarly term for his kind or not. On one hand, he’s been calling himself a halfa since he stopped saying he was a living boy with ghost powers. He’s hyperliminal—functionally dead on command, as far as Yeti were concerned atleast. He straddles the line of liminal and death, while remaining a living being. Three for one deal and passable as all three and not at once.

Halfas aren’t super rare naturally so much as exterminated en masse in the past, and the word for ‘too dead to be liminal’ that survived was, well, halfa. the slur used to justify genocide.

But his alternative was hyperliminal (which he barely qualifies as given he transforms and liminals just exist as ‘merged’ with the opposite natural state (be it mortal side or infinite) and the bucket of issues of using the wrong medical term as a species indicator. Or “Curtain Child” which. No.

Where was he? Oh right, finding Plas before the Trials and his death day and the ‘clock’ starts.

“Patro?” Danny began as he flew into the room.

Zatanna’s eyebrows shot up. Constantine turned to him slowly. Deadman was too happy for Danny’s taste—the off-ecto leaving a sickly sweet-bitter blend in the back of his throat.

“You good kiddo?” Plastic man ran a hand though Danny hair while Danny looped his tail around his arm.

He leaned into it.

“Just nerves. Mittens already approved, but Grandfather can be… intense. So can Auntie Dora, and Nocturne is a wild card on a good day… those three claim parental fright rights and all over me and my dumbass agreed before i understood since i was new and Ember and Kitty and Johnny didnt know i didnt know and—“

Plasticman hummed louder than usual, glancing at his phone and opening one of those boring adult apps Danny can’t be bothered with at the moment.

Patro whistled. “No wonder, why don’t we head back home? Ellie and most of your fright will be there.”

Danny made a small noise of protest, but let his Patro lead the way to the zeta tubes.

“Your doctor said if you can’t be in your usual haunt for this, you should at least be in your nest back home, before the symptoms get worse.”

Danny huffed, looking about the stars. He wanted to fly among them but Patro said not until after his Death Day and they can see the affects.

So two days.

Basically forever.

—

Jazz raised an eyebrow at Ellie, Sam and Tucker. All flopped down in Danny’s “not a nest” of blankets and star projection lamp.

The stray cacti pots and tech were not unnoticed.

Not were Ellie’s pictures of her travels.

Jazz put bearert and danny old lego starships in before he got back.

“Any preferences on what disaster smoothies we give Danny?” Jazz began. “He’s not allowed chocolate during this time—and we cant give him caffeine so no teas, energy drinks and coffee…which Nasty Shake horrors are we unleashing?”

“Lunchlady already swung by with some sandwhiches,” Penny answered from the hallway.

Jazz opened and shut her mouth, forgetting that she didnt need to be in charge of things this time.

They have reliable adults.

Weird.

Good weird, but still weird.

“That covers ecto food, not what he needs on the living side,” Sam answered while typing away on her phone. “Best Red agreed to watch Amity for the week solo and send any updates of GIW and Fenton activity.”

Patrick slipped in with an anxious, seven tailed Danny in ghost form.

“And Technus is in their tech, so he’s having a blast destroying their mainframe and plans.”

“Good for him.” Patrick herded Danny into his blanket nest.

“Patro,” Danny huffed, looking to his frightmates for help.

“Oh no, your dad, your problem, remember?”

“Don’t make one excuse for you when you got caught hacking sulker and this is what i get?”

“Yep.”

“Some best friend,” danny grumbled, rubbing his arm as he began to burrow under a galaxy blanket and turned on his lamp.

Patrick turned off the lights.

“So as the lead of in best friend olympics—“

“Hey!”

“—i say we plot our revenge. Jazz, Ellie, you two dont have to join but we will accept suggestions.”

Jazz smiled as Danny relaxed, skin bursting with nebula freckles more puddle than person.

—

Patrick isn’t dumb.

He knows he’s being tested by the gods the second he closes the door.

He has to get the Master of Time, the Guardian of Hope and Sleep Soother(? He’s still not sure what title to use for this flavor or sandman) to approve during a trial each of then get to run.

He smiles at Penny before time freeze and the cursed Eyeballs nab him and complain about him ignoring procedure and blah blah blah.

Do they ever get tired of hearing themselves talk?

He doesnt think so…

A familiar council appear before him, for once less riddled with the eyeballs of bureaucratic nonsense and attempted murder. On one side a too familiar yeti waved enthusiastically at him from the side, while the horned cosmos man next to him flopped onto the table unmoving.

On the other side there was a familiar set of armor on an excitable giant who should be on Danny-Sitting a week after his death day. his least favorite trickster had the same grin on that meant Plas would be refereeing Dan and Danny’s “visits” where Dan chose to be a menace about fixing paradoxes and demanded Danny ask more questions while Danny just… did as the weird ageshifter asked before stealing another batch of cookies for himself and hoarding them from his frightmates.

The blue four armed lady in the middle clapped her hands together, waking up the other occupants in the room.

Plas still wasnt sure if said being was related to Wonder Woman or not. both were (sort of) daughters of Zeus but something about dead one being made from all the greek gods available? He tries not to think about it, and roll with the Infinite’s insanity.

“Welcome Plasticman,” a four armed woman began. “We have gathered here to test you to your limits and judge your worthiness as our little star and his moonbeam’s mortal-side parent.”

“Told you we should have tested the first ones,” grumbled the horned man. “Their subconscious was a hot mess and we all know what they turned his holidays into.”

The armor suit made disgruntled sounds on the side, grabbing for a dimension dumping sword.

“Danny was not ready,” the trickster stated. “If he was to leave his caregivers, it will always have to be on his own terms. Especially given his core’s state.”

“He would have accepted it if you let me have Jazz bring up the idea sooner,” Nocturne complained, turning to Clockwork’s child state with a scowl.

“But no. Not part of the plan. Like all your plans actually work out Mr. time madness”

“I have it under control.”

“For the moment,” Frostbite added in. “But you have relapsed before, and now the Great One acts as the counter and has lessened the load.”

“You’re forgetting my second ward.”

“We dont speak of him when it is not a matter of his parole,” Pandora interupted. “Especially when we are here to be certain that Danny is not allowing another, what was that word he like to use to describe the other halfa?”

“Fruitloop,” everyone else chimed in.

“… yes. To ensure no kore fruitloops and otherwise unfit parental figures are able to mistreat, neglect or abuse Danny and Danielle.”

“So, do i need a number 2 pencil for the test, or is it trial by combat or,” Plas listed off absently, watching the five carefully.

“We have each designed a trial or test of our own design. You will begin now.”

Next here

So, any ideas for the trials Plas has to go through?

Tags below

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[door430]

Finally, after hours of designing and drawing and coloring, here is a full lineup of my humanoid designs of the AVA/AVM stick figures! Below the cut is just me rambling about each design.

victim: For victim, I wanted their design to be very business-esque to reflect both their position at Rocket Corp and their apparent preference for manipulation over violence. I gave them two gold necklaces and a gold belt to highlight their current high status in Rocket Corp. I chose yellow accents because of their intelligence and lack of fighting skill, which is similar in some ways to Yellow.

Chosen: I wanted to go for something a little more casual for Chosen, as I feel like they would want to settle down into a more normal life after the fiasco with Dark. The baby blue of their sweater also emphasizes their calm attitude. I put them in leggings to make their legs appear thinner, because Chosen is just an awkward baby deer with skinny little legs that can barely hold up their body to me.

Dark: The design of Dark's outfit is very much the stereotypical punk look. I also like the idea that Dark is shorter than everyone else but wears platform boots to appear taller. Their hair is a bit unkempt to give them a bit of a 'mad scientist' look, and the two curls on top look like devil horns as a reference to their evil nature.

Second: Since Second is the youngest of the sticks, I wanted to give them a somewhat childish look with the curly hair, striped shirt, shorts, and sneakers. They still have a collar though, as they seem to be the most sensible of the Color Gang. The green of the shoes is a reference to their powers in AVA 5 being green.

Red: Since Red loves animals and is the most childish, I wanted their outfit to be something plain and comfy that they could afford to get mud or fur on. Their hair is unkempt as a reference to their childish and impulsive nature.

Yellow: Yellow's design is pretty simple, as I just went for a nerdy/scholarly look. I debated over giving them glasses or goggles, but in the end I thought the glasses fit better with the rest of the design.

Green: I'm going to be entirely honest, Green's whole design is based on the 'Faces' short where they get an anime-style face. I thought a karate outfit would suit them, as karate is a very mobile martial art, and Green has a very mobile fighting style.

Blue: I designed Blue's outfit after a hippie fashion style because of their love for plants and friendship. If you look on their wrists and ankles, you'll see they have one friendship bracelet for each member of the Color Gang.

Purple: Purple's outfit is a mix of comfortable and easy to fight in. Their elytra are based on dragonfly wings because I thought it looked cool. I made their outfit similar to Mango's , as I feel like Mango's influence on them might also extend to their fashion.

Mango: I gave Mango a very royal look to match their crown and kingly manner. Their outfit is very flowy and probably not good for fighting in because of their tendency to make Purple do the hard work for them. Their cloak is blue to show their similarities to Purple's parent, and the lining is gold as a reference to their child, Gold. They have very little of their actual orange color in their design to show them slowly losing themself. The Galactic along the lining is a reference to their knowledge about Minecraft's more obscure mechanics and their use of 'magic' with the staff. Fun fact: it translates to 'no cost too great', because I like the way the phrase's meaning turns more sinister as Mango's plan goes on and they do worse and worse things in the name of avenging Gold.

[iridescentmirrorsgenshin]

I find it so interesting that kaveh always knew that he and alhaitham saw the world differently, but they were still best friends. In kaveh's notebook he wrote this about alhaitham, "Our views are contradictory, but it is through contradiction that more speculation and philosophy may be born." Only when alhaitham noticing kaveh was activity harmful lifestyle for himself with his mindset and called him out. I always thought they had their first argument from different philosophy, but it stemmed from kaveh activity harming his lifestyle WITH this mindset that alhaitham got concerned and confronted him

Hiya! Thank you so much for your ask!! <333

Kaveh's old sketchbook has a very special place in my heart <3 it's as you say!! initially he believes that he and alhaitham have views which align, but then comes to the realisation that they actually hold opposing views, however, instead of viewing that a negative, this is actually a benefit to their relationship, as it can lead to new points of discussion!

it's only after their approaches in dealing with other people come to the surface do problems arise in their friendship - as brought about by their collaboration with others during their thesis. kaveh exerts himself to help others whilst alhaitham maintains the view that this is a fruitless endeavour as this a short-term solution to the marked difference between those driven by hard work and those by natural ability. by kaveh denying his own capabilities in spreading himself thin for others, alhaitham deems this as harmful, as kaveh effectively denies his 'true self'.

their problems culminate in this criticism of each other's philosophies, whereas their friendship was strongest when they perceived the positives in the differences of their respective philosophies. kaveh asserts his altruism as correct over egoism, critiquing alhaitham's aversion in helping others, whereas alhaitham highlights the detriment of kaveh's altruism. it is particularly interesting to note here that the comment that makes kaveh revoke their friendship is not solely their differences in dealing with people, as their previous arguments had been about, rather, it is the source of kaveh's altruism. this is noticeably different from their other disagreements, as this is seen to be the first time alhaitham has made such a personal comment, given how kaveh reacts to it, feeling 'seen through'. it is this personal comment which causes kaveh to end their friendship, more so than their differing philosophies

in-game, alhaitham is aware that their true issues don't merely lie with their differing philosophies, and instead focusses on kaveh's detrimental altruism stemming from his guilt of the past. this can be seen in a parade of providence, in which he researches sachin in order to gain clarity and closure around kaveh's father's disappearance into the desert not directly being tied to kaveh

as seen within their conversation, alhaitham initiates the conversation for a personal reason - to tell kaveh of his findings, in an attempt to alleviate some of his guilt; to provide closure - whereas kaveh sees this interaction as a debate of philosophies, as in a potentiality for correctness over the other. alhaitham changes the subject when kaveh discusses, and insults, alhaitham's egoism, which directly leads back to his own personal interest, being that of sachin's involvement with kaveh's father's disappearance

kaveh standing his ground in defence of his altruism prompts alhaitham to claim that their issue does not lie in correctness with the answer as to what, then, is their issue being subtextual - being provided in alhaitham seeking kaveh out for his personal interest over a scholarly debate

overall, i think it's pretty easy to simplify their relationship due to their opposing philosophies, but the fact they were best friends complicates this concept - yes, their approaches to life and dealing with other people are inherently different and acts as a point of contention between them, but in actuality i'd say that it's the concern behind this opposition of each other's way of life and the way this is miscommunicated to the other which appears to be the main issue

kaveh is a highly empathetic person and this empathy is further extorted by his own sense of guilt, therefore his altruism is excessive, detrimental even, and he denies his true capabilities by attempting to merge with the crowd - this is the issue that alhaitham has tried to express to kaveh, whereas kaveh sees this as a personal critique on his ideals and philosophy, and thus kaveh is rejected

alhaitham is a socially averted person who prioritises himself over others, actively denying himself the care and company of others due to this individualism - this is the issue kaveh has with alhaitham's egoism, whereas this comes across as asserting the correctness of collectivism as a philosophy over individualism, which denies alhaitham as an egoist, and thus alhaitham is rejected

i'd say the issue is balance - they must have achieved a harmony in the foundation of their friendship, so much so that they were best friends, they wanted to combine their 'opposing' fields of language and architecture to pursue a thesis project together. this balance was lost due to the idea of their being a correct way to live life, a correct philosophy, and this balance has yet to be retrieved.

ultimately, the two want the best for each other according to their own values, but with this comes acceptance. a level of understanding has to be realised once more before progress can be made, i think

This got super long but you raised a really intriguing point!! this has me thinking a lot about a parade of providence so i think i'll make a separate post on that!! <3333

[hadesoftheladies]

alright, some misogynist and ableist goons on this site keep bothering me about my jkr post because they cannot fathom the fact that calling out bias doesn't necessarily equal endorsing. so i'm going to be super nice about it and put all the facts here for the fact-enjoyers.

let's go over the claims made against jkr by testerical twitterheads, because everything to do with trans politics regarding jkr is just extremist white liberals reaching.

Claim: JK Rowling is friends with Matt Walsh. False!

Claim: JK Rowling is friends with Kellie-Jay Keen. Ambiguous! (She has agreed with Kellie-Jay Keen on several issues and advocated for her based on false allegations about nazism concerning Kellie-Jay Keen. Men-rights activists made shit up about her endorsing nazi salutes at her women's campaign. also, JK Rowling has agreed with many people whose politics she does not wholly endorse, like matt walsh. agreeing with someone on an opinion or fact, does not mean you agree with their politics.)

Claim: JK Rowling denies the Holocaust. False! (For proof, see this thread. JK Rowling does not DENY that the Holocaust happened, but that trans people were specifically targeted by the Nazis. Some argue that this makes her a Holocaust denier based on some German article, but I find the term muddies the water. It can be an offense, a grievous one, to deny the Nazis did something when they did, but calling JKR a Holocaust denier makes people think she doesn't believe the Holocaust happened when she absolutely does.

Additionally, the topic as to whether trans people were explicitly targeted by Nazis has had a fair share of scholarly debate. They may have faced some measure of harassment, but being specifically targeted is also a reach considering how little historical evidence we have of transvestites being outrightly persecuted, at least, to anywhere near the same degree homosexual, black or Jewish people were. Cross-dressing certificates were legal in Nazi Germany, for example, and I have found no record of a transvestite suffering things like forced sterilization. This article briefly mentions a German author who thought that the Nazis would finally take care of "the transvestite problem" because now they could be sent to concentration camps and castrated there, but there is still no record of any transvestite having undergone such a thing. Furthermore, of the examples of transvestites that were taken to concentration camps, both of them were homosexual, so it would be more accurate to say they were targeted for being homosexual, especially when you look at why they were arrested. On the other hand, some transvestites ended up in concentration camps, but it was likely due to the fact that they were Jewish rather than trans.

It is also very significant that in the German Republic, transvestites had permits while homosexuals did not!

JKR might be denying that they burned trans books. Unfortunately for her, she is wrong. Transvestite research WAS targeted by the Nazis. Again, not much is known about transvestites during this time and I have found no solid numbers. It most definitely didn't happen on the same scale as what gay, lesbian, Jewish or Roma people were suffering through--and why would it, transvestites weren't a large population, also i have found no record of transvestites being forced to wear pink triangles, like homosexual men were--, though gay men and transvestites seemed to get more leniency if they were "Aryan." )

Claim: JK Rowling directly funds government suppression. (Which government? Source? I'll make an assumption and guess that you're referring to her 1 million pound donation to the Better Together anti-Scottish independence campaign? Yes, she has. But she respects the opinions of those who disagree with her on the subject. She's also donated to the Labour Party, which is more centre-left politically.)

Claim: JK Rowling has financially supported groups that repress Scotland's right to independence. True! (She also voted "No!" on Scottish independence).

Claim: JK Rowling is gunning to be a Neo-Nazi. False! (She has not expressed any explicit Nazi views! Please tap the source to see what Nazi views actually are! JK Rowling has been explicitly leftist in her politics and anti-racist.)

Claim: JK Rowling is a fascist. False! (She does not identify as fascist and does not have any explicit fascist views. Unlike the people burning and trying to ban her books, which contain very little of her politics.)

i don't worship JKR, i don't even agree with a good chunk of her politics. especially when it comes to her sympathy for israel. she's a millionaire white woman, and i am a born and raised african middle-class person. we won't have many politics in common. but unlike you lot, i don't need to be misogynistic or ableist in order to disagree with a woman. resorting to misogyny, ableism, racism or homophobia just because you hate someone is still misogyny, ableism, racism and homophobia. i wouldn't call a transperson the "t-word" even though i don't profess their gender faith. because i recognize that using the "t-word" on a trans-identified person that's done or said disgusting things like, idk, andrea long chu or hunter schaffer (are these your leaders? seriously?), saying that word will still hurt trans-identified people who didn't do or say those horrible things unnecessarily.

see what i did there? i read things up for myself, added sources from people i disagreed with politically, discussed the valid history of people who i disagree with without resorting to dehumanizing language, and called out the celebrity you lot think are "my hero" without being a hypocrite!

class dismissed.

now fuck off you rancid misogynists and go back to snivelling about how righteous you are to your echo chamber.

also, radblr girlies feel free to reblog or link this for all the anti-jkr posts that make any of these claims or keep trying to bait you with this braindead discourse to save yourselves the effort. love you and muah! :)

[stevetonyweekly]

SteveTony Weekly - December 23

This week’s list is a day early -- if you didn’t see the holiday posting schedule, we’re gonna have two lists this weekend and next: 

Regular Weekly List - Dec 23 

Holiday Special ft Long Fic - Dec 24 

Regular Weekly List - Dec 30 

Best Fic of 2023 - Dec 31 

Lots of recs to get you through the holiday season--enjoy!! And be sure to leave a comment/kudos for your author. 

~ 

In Trouble Deep by FestiveFerret, SirSapling

"Whoever did this has a reason, and Stark needs to be with someone who can protect him. He won’t exactly be able to protect himself like this.” Fury looked at the baby consideringly. “No, it’s you, Steve. Besides, he likes you. Suck it up, soldier, you’re stuck with him.”

remember to remember me by xWinterDreamsx 

“Look at me. Look at me.”

Tony looked. He looked and he felt, for a moment, that this can’t have been the first time he got lost in those blue eyes. It felt familiar, in a way he didn’t understand.

Snowed In by ashes0909

“Are you flirting with me, Tony? Because this feels a lot like arguing and we argue a lot. Have we been flirting this whole time?”

Hot Chocolate by ashes0909

The hot chocolate that currently warmed Tony's hands still reminded him of Steve, because these days everything did. 

Insulation Inspiration by ashes0909

“It’s rare to get a blizzard this bad but I remember…” Steve chuckled again, shifting so he could brush a kiss on the top Tony’s head, but he didn’t continue.

So, Tony prodded. “Yes…? Vague memory alert. You know I’m all about instant gratification. Don’t leave me hanging. What do you remember?”

Blanketed in Snow by ashes0909 for betheflame

“I know you’ll say this isn’t the best time for me to point it out, but I mentioned needing a survival bag in this car last month,” Steve greeted.

“And yet…” Tony quirked up a half smile. “Pointing.”

Unwrapped by ashes0909

Steve waited by the tree like a present wrapped in red satin and rosy cheeks.

Steve still can’t believe how long it took for him to notice. It wasn’t a secret really, just something that no one had cared to ask...it honestly took Rhodey pulling him aside and pulling out an old photo album, before Steve really understood.

Tony Stark was a Bucky Barnes fan.

(aka The one where Tony is the biggest Bucky Barnes fanboy, Steve is a supportive boyfriend, and Bucky is perplexed by it all.)

"Free to Good Home" by Captain_Panda

"Oliver and Company" AU.

There's a great big world outside the box.

the world spins madly on by goodmorningbeloved (3799steps)

This isn’t about the beginning.

This is about the bullet that slices through Steve Rogers’s heart, neat and clean, and leaves him for dead in the dust. This is about the gun that suddenly feels cold, colder, in Tony’s hand as he lunges to his feet and lurches forward, screaming and screaming.

_

Or, Steve and Tony meet again in the afterlife.

a properly scholarly attitude by goodmorningbeloved (3799steps)

“You’re.” Steve takes one look at him and stops after this one word—or two, technically, he’ll fight Tony to the death on that debate—because his boyfriend’s behind a pile of books with a pair of thick frames drooping low over the bridge of his nose, just at the right angle to emphasize his thick lashes and— and— Tony has glasses?

From the Ground Up by ohjustpeachy

Tony and Steve broke up years ago and Tony never quite got over it. When they finally see each other again at Pepper's wedding, Rhodey convinces Tony this might just be his second chance.

the sun rises back home by goodmorningbeloved (3799steps)

“Now, how’d a big guy like you get all the way in here, huh?” Tony doesn’t have to bend down too far to run his finger through soft golden fur. It’s not that the tower is built to actively keep out strays - Tony knows Bruce and Natasha take turns nursing stray cats that come around - but dogs this size don’t usually manage to squeeze past the back gates, especially one that looks bigger than the standard golden retriever.

You Could Stay by tinystark616

Steve doesn't expect Tony to go on a mission with him now that he has a daughter to take care of. Tony doesn't expect Steve to take care of him after they save the world. They're both wrong.

Or,

Two moments where Steve and Tony choose to stay together, during and post the events of Avengers: Endgame.

The Ghost of Christmas Present by ashes0909

Steve was hoping he could get through the holiday season by staying alone in his apartment and not talking to anyone. But then Tony Stark happened.

Jingle All the Way by ashes0909

The helmet lowered and Tony smirked. “You mentioned they seemed festive.”

Reasons Why We Ended It by ashes0909 for ohjustpeachy

This was the fifth time he’d seen Tony since they broke up, and it was easier every time...but that was hard, in and of itself.

Premier by JehBeeEh

“One hour and we can go home,” Tony reminded him when his lips left Steve’s brow and moved to the tip of his nose. “Happy will go straight from here to the back entrance where our SUV is waiting.” He finally joined their lips and Steve sigh into the kiss.

“One hour,” Steve repeated quietly as he felt the truck inch forward to its position at the start of the red carpet.

"death by coffee" and other search queries by goodmorningbeloved (3799steps)

In which Steve's feelings are hopelessly obvious through his Google searches. JARVIS decides to step in.

[telleroftime]

I'm tired so here's some Treasure Planet x Reader longfic ideas before I take a nap. All are post-canon by the way:

Silver x Reader where Silver looks back on his life and tries to do something new with it. He no longer has a treasure planet to find and the only thing he's good at outside of pirating is cooking. So, he starts working at Reader's inn/restaurant. They're the only person that will take him in, though if that's because they're kind or desperate he does not know.

Silver x Reader where Silver, inspired by Jim, decides to try and settle down. A retirement sort of deal. He ends up finding a comfortable enough place on a fairly popular planet. The countryside would do him well though he yearns to sail again. The first time he meets Reader, the local blacksmith, is when he needs to get his arm fixed up. They are patient with him and confident enough to comment back their own offhand flirts. Slowly but surely, Silver gets comfortable and Reader is happy that such an exciting ex-pirate settled down in their town.

Silver x Reader where Reader is a teacher. The school they work at just so happens to hire a new cook, who just so happens to be a retired pirate. The two don't interact at first, but after Reader organises a story time for the children and Silver tells one of his own, Reader becomes completely enamoured. The two get along well as Reader helps out in the kitchens in their free time, if only to hear more of his stories.

Silver x Reader where Reader is a scholar. Though they weren't too keen on the cyborg suddenly working at their place of research - be that as a cook or some other not-so-scholarly job - they end up growing fond of the alien. They enjoy his charisma. Eventually, they even offer to sponsor him despite what their colleagues have to say about it. Silver has great stories and Reader knows that. It would be wasted potential otherwise, and the two bond over that.

Of course, because of his pirate background, Reader would have to teach him how to read and write. Well, at least better than the bare minimum. And who's to say no to cute study dates?

Silver x Reader where Reader owns a pub on one of the Etherium's more dangerous space stations. A space station that is known for how many pirates and corrupt politicians it harbours. With Silver's lacklustre lineup of previous jobs, he's lucky that Reader needed a bouncer. Looking at them, he assumed they were someone that would be easy to take advantage of - not that he would - but it turns out the saying it true: don't mess with the barkeep.

Scroop x Reader where Reader is the boss of a gambling den at one of the more notorious pirate strongholds. They just so happened to be in need of a bodyguard to keep the loud clientele in order, and who better to fill the role than someone who begrudgingly admitted to be part of Silver's crew. Well, at least before he was found floating in space that is.

He'd pretty much be 'scary dog privilege' incarnate, though that's not to say that the Reader would be weak. Someone has to keep him in his place, although someone also needs to keep him out of trouble.

Scroop x Reader where Reader is a farmer. They were just about to scare away the Etherium's whales that were floating too close to the small planet's atmosphere when they encountered the arachnid-like alien, unconscious and too cold to the touch. They take him back down and nurse him back to health. Scroop, now stranded with no real life to get back to, helps Reader on the farm. Though he isn't too keen on it.

Scroop could end up learning to relax a little. There is no one he need to perform to anymore. It's just him and Reader, and if he needs alone time with his own thoughts then that's okay too.

Scroop x Reader where Reader and their tribe find Scroop floating in space. He's not too keen on having woken up on a tropical-like planet, let alone in a place where he doesn't understand anyone. He's aggressive and the elders debate whether to just get rid of him. Reader, naturally, decides to keep him around. It takes a while to break through the language barrier, but eventually the relationships better. Scroop shows Reader how to uses a cutlass, Reader shows Scroop how to forage the planet's resources, and the two bond over that.

Scroop x Reader where Reader is a surgeon on a pirate ship. After Scroop's been floating in space he is lucky enough to be picked up by a different band of pirates. He's back to being his mean self, instantly being seen as an outcast that is only kept on board because of his good spacer skills. However, compared to what he was accustomed to when part of Silver's crew, he now has a Reader to deal with. Someone who isn't too happy about being disrespected.

Both would end up growing in the end. Reader, who previously had little skills in terms of ship duties, ends up being taught by Scroop. Well, less teaching and more following him around as if he had a choice. Scroop on the other hand would learn how to take care of others and of himself.

I haven't read this back yet so sorry if there's any errors.

[whatudottu]

Ayo, bard anon here, have a few more of my epic (non-Ben related) mythology pitches for various species that I may or may not eventually make fanfics for (sorry if this is too rambley BTW, I tend to get carried away with this kind of stuff sometimes):

The Galvans having their very own version of Prometheus in the form of the very first First Thinker, who allegedly stole knowledge itself from a race of terrifying giants that regularly terrorized the prehistoric Galvans and kidnapped them to use as slaves and pets (exactly what alien species these giants were supposed to represent is still heavily debated to this day) and granting it to his people, which they used to become the scientifically and technologically advanced civilization they are today. Pretty much every First Thinker has at least one story about them and their achievements, for that matter. If Azmuth is anything to go by, the Galvans tend to pick rather unique individuals to lead them. 

The Cerebrocrustaceans having a similar myth to the Galvans where a legendary trickster stole lightning bolts from the gods and imbued its power into the foreheads of his species so that they couldn’t be reclaimed, created as a way to explain how they’re able to generate electricity from their brains. Despite the Cerebrocrustaceans claiming that the Galvans “stole” the story from them, the two myths seem to have been created completely independent from one another, although there’s still much scholarly debate over which one emerged first.

The Petrosapiens having tales that envision Sugilite as omnipotent, omniscient, and omnipresent, having emerged from a gigantic space geode Ra style and sculpted the landscape of Petropia and the first Petrosapiens (who were created in his image) from a cluster of jagged crystal. Sugilite always found it too awkward to correct them about it and basically just rolled with it for eons.

The Vilgaxians naturally having many (extremely white-washed) stories of their great leader, the most popular one being how he was banished at a young age for speaking out against their planet’s cruel tyrant of a ruler, only to return years later to defeat said ruler in the Conqueror’s Challenge and usher in a new age of peace and prosperity for the Chimera Sui Generises (I think that’s the plural for them?). Most bards tend to change the names when telling those stories to non-Vilgaxian planets if they bother to ever tell them at all.

The destruction of the Incurceans’ homeworld being re-envisioned as them majorly pissing off the Gods and getting smited for it a la Atlantis or Troy. In such stories, Azmuth is usually portrayed as an emissary of the gods if not one of the gods in disguise, something that he has gone on record numerous times saying he isn’t a huge fan of, to put it mildly.

Bestie, you want to ramble you've come to the right place! Rambling is all we do here haha!

Oh and I am totally an utter HUGE fan for these little myth snapshots, especially with certain cerebrocrustacean folk complaining that the galvans took their story from them- Even with their similarities (a member of their species stole something from someone powerful and gave it to their people) I like how there's like a difference between the specifics, particularly how the FIRST First Thinker stole knowledge from another species and how it contrasts with a legendary trickster stole lightning from the GODS! Not only are these stories just additional worldbuilding, it's also packed with an additional set of worldbuilding down to political and religious roots.

And I am constantly a Mor'Otesi believer, even if present day it's barren of any people (love me an overgrown planetary wasteland), so anytime Sugilite gets all awkward about being deified I'm all for it! Irrespective of how I view canon I can totally see petrosapien myths about Sugilite being essentially a 'god' if not THE god of Petropia and them in kind, heck maybe a few vocal languages use Sugilite's name as inspiration for godly words lmao- considering how Mor'Otesi was mythologised in of itself, he himself would have probably been on Petropia for a LONG while (doesn't help that my mutants and magic Sugi would need to meditate for forever essentially to record the memories of a planet, so long in fact he might accidentally get overgrown by Petropia itself lmao).

Hehe- from one rambler to another, I would read the absolute fuck out of any worldbuilding fic you may or may write!

[psalm22-6]

What May Possibly Be the Worst Les Mis Fanfiction of All Time aka the Legal Scholars AU

Look, if Mr. Justice Gilles Renaud reads this, I am sorry, but I read his 90 page book and each page was filled with some new horror. First of all, “Mr. Justice” is not his first name; Mr. Justice is apparently what you call a judge in Canada. And he is an actual judge, which kind of frightens, but does not surprise me. He is also a legal scholar and this book was published by a scholarly press, the Sandstone Academic Press in Melbourne. 

This is the book’s premise: 

The reader is invited to participate in an unprecedented educational conference, held at Deakin Law School [in Australia], hosted by the publishers of the International Journal of Punishment and Sentencing [also real, also based out of Australia] to which are invited Jean Valjean, Fantine, Javert and Bishop "Welcome" as guest lecturers. Each in turn, and at times together, will address a plenary session of criminologists, lawyers, judges, probation officers, politicians, and others vitally interested in the reform of sentencing law. Drawing upon their lives, as penned by Hugo, and upon a surprisingly well-developed knowledge of academic writings, they will debate the merits of current penology as defined in the widest sense, and in so doing, will confront contemporary views on themes such as the mitigation arising from social deprivation, the merits of criminalizing prostitution, the need to maintain prisons while radically enhancing the methods of re-integrating former detainees into the community, and the scope to be accorded rehabilitation in selecting a fit and fair sanction, among other issues. [emphasis mine]

Look, I don’t hate the premise but I promise this conference is going to be a wild ride. So, please head over to the registration booth, sign in and pick up your swag bag, then stop by the lobby for some light refreshments, and head into the first event of the day:

That’s right, Fantine will be leading the first session, and it will be chaired by Professor D. E. Nine of Harvard University (I do not think this is a real person, I think this is the first of the many OCs who are attending the conference). Professor Nine introduces Fantine to the audience. (In this introduction Cosette is spelled both correctly and incorrectly in the same sentence). You will be happy to know that Fantine strode to the podium "with a confident air." Apparently she has had a lot of time to study the law since she died (Canadian law, that is.) Fantine uses a projector to show the audience her notes on the Canadian penal code and argues that Bamatabois's attack constitutes sexual assault. 

"It is plausible for me to suggest that Mr. Bamatabois would be found guilty of a sexual assault as his verbal attacks coupled with his physical attack made it plain that he was assaulting me, a prostitute, by reason of my being one, coupled with the fact that I was unattractive in his eyes."

According to Fantine, Bamatabois could receive a maximum prison sentence of 18 months. However, she says, a person convicted of placing bets on behalf of others may be imprisoned for up to two years. Using a laser pointer, Fantine gives other examples of criminalized behavior that received harsher penalties than sexual assault, "to illustrate that certain values are given pre-eminence over those of the sexual integrity of men, women and children." 

After taking questions from the audience, Fantine concludes by saying "The point of my presentation this morning is to urge you to return to your home jurisdictions and to search out for these types of unequal penalty schemes and to seek legislative amendments in order that the violations of the personal integrity of our brothers and sisters be penalized with greater objective severity than gaming offenses." I'm not a legal scholar (unlike Fantine), I'm just trying to summarize a book so I'm not going to offer commentary on the ideas she presents here. Let's just go to the next session.

Professor Sacha Trofimenkoff of the School of Criminology at Saint Mary's University chaired this lecture and entertained the audience by name-dropping famous Australian judges. Some members of the audience were running late and came to the lecture hall directly from the airport. 

Bishop Myriel, or Bishop Welcome as he is introduced by Professor Trofimenkoff, "began his presentation in almost too soft a voice, apparently ill at ease at having to discuss his private affairs." Although he describes Hugo's account of his own life as "relatively unimportant passages," he cites his life story as evidence that humans can change for the better at any point in time, which he wants to see reflected in sentencing guidelines. 

"Sadly," Myriel says, "the evidence seems to suggest that many more offenders pursue the opposite journey and come to adopt anti-social behaviors or attitudes, as was the case of our beloved Fantine." (Kind of a rude thing to say about his colleague.)

Myriel gives many examples of books on the topic at hand and then "hesitated, fearful that his listeners were growing disinterested, but he realized the silence that marked the room was evidence of rapt attention." 

The bishop was about to end the first part of his lecture when he said "May I add a few words, which I wish to do as a result of a pointer I received from an American friend who suggests that I must always complete a speech with a humorous comment." The comment is not important, I just want to point out that apparently, Myriel has an American friend. 

The conversation turns to war criminals (?!), Dr. Trofimenkoff quotes Hamlets and the session is over (for now). 

During the recess, the Bishop receives many requests to speak at different schools. Upon returning to the podium, he introduces several books on the topic of restorative justice, arguing that the communities from which criminals originate (side eye at the idea that there aren't criminals in other communities that aren't being hyper-policied) and the communities to which they return need to be invested in. Although he is very modest and therefore hesitant to share about himself, he gives as an example the city of Briancon, a community in his bishopric where there hasn't been a murder in 100 years, as well as the improvements made to Montreuil-sur-Mer by Jean Valjean.   I know this doesn't seem that bad, and I am going to skip over Fantine's small group discussion on the subject of the unintended consequences of sentencing (except to say that she is a very skilled facilitator) and jump straight to:

The report on this small group session begins with a note on “concerns surrounding reliability of information.” I was expecting this to be about Javert’s reliability but instead, it was about the reliability of character witnesses who often exaggerate (for better or for worse) an offender’s qualities. As an example of unreliable information, Javert cites rumors which were spread about Bishop Myriel, as well as Fantine. Although there was a rumor that Fantine had abandoned her child, “ ‘the truth,’ noted Javert, who was always scrupulously punctilious as to the facts, although often blinded by class issues, ‘the truth is that Fantine had not abandoned her child, far from it!’ ” He urges sentencing judges not to rush to conclusions, saying: “in effect, most questions may be ‘flipped’ or stopped on their head, and one ought not to leap to judgment,” which is funny coming from a man who jumped off a bridge in order to avoid critical thinking.

The next morning, Javert kicked off the second day of the conference with his plenary session.

“Good morning, Ladies and Gentlemen," intoned the career police officer whom Hugo had described initially as a Spartan, a monk, a pitiless individual lying in wait, possessed of a ferocious honest, ‘Brutus in Vidocq.’ Of course, he was no such thing as we well know given his subsequent suicide, the only means he knew to justify his decision not to arrest Valjean. [No, I did not know that about him.] "As you are all liberals who despise the prison system and libertarians who hate justice and retribution, I need not mince words in addressing you. I am a firm believer in populist law and order, in just deserts, indeed, in punishment for the sake of punishment . . ." Needless to say, he had gained the rapt attention of all those present. [Is he negging the audience?]

He explained the circumstances of his birth and his career in the police. He said “I owe my liberty and my freedom to the very existence of a jail system. . .Custody of some serves the liberty of all!” (Now do you see why I hate this?)

Javert took a sip of water (“disdaining the juices and other beverages”) while the audience thought about his words. Before he could continue he was interrupted by Professor Simon Segovia of the University of Seville, who quoted Hemingway and stated that “Prisons harm those they seek to improve.” In response, Javert emotionally revealed his strict moral code, as a result of which he “led a life of privation, isolation, abnegation, chastity, with never a diversion” (and thereby sidestepped Professor Segovia’s question).

Another professor (“who looked on at him with a mixture of frank puzzlement and understated bemusement”) asked him to comment on the case of Paul Crump (sidenote, you may be familiar with this name if you are a fan of Phil Ochs).

“What say you respecting the tremendous strides that felon achieved when given access to books?”. . . “What would you have me say,’ sneered Javert, “I have never stated that prison ought not to assist offenders, quite to the contrary. . .the fact that so many prisons represent abject failures in respect of their foundational purpose is no justification for demolishing them, however. In fact, it might be said that there is a better advocate of the. . . utility of prison. . .in our midst’s. . .and that is Jean Valjean himself.” 

That's right. The room was silent except for some whispers and the sound of pens on paper. Everyone in the audience disapproved of what Javert had said except one man, “the former forçât [sic] Valjean” who “began his comments with a whispered 'Bravo!' " He came up to the podium and continued:

Javert has said out loud what I have long believed. Indeed, prison did elevate my base instincts somewhat in that I did receive a form of education that was far superior to what I had obtained in my childhood. Further, I did learn discipline in the prison setting . . . In addition, I did acquire a grudging sense of respect for the justice that was meted out in that place.

After taking a drink and “whispering to those around him that being over two hundred years old meant that he should take his time in completing his assignment,” he said:

My old foe and friend is quite correct . . . it was just that I be jailed for my crime . . . It is important for me to acknowledge publicly, once again for the sake of emphasis, although this may affront certain liberal-minded reformers, that I was able to acquire the rudiments of an education while in prison . . . and I might well have done far better had I applied myself.

I'm sorry for putting the whole quote in bold but I can't help it. Jean Valjean says actually prisons are good! Then, in support of that idea, a South African student, Kagiso Nankudhu, (again, this is a fictional character) gives the example of anti-Apartheid political prisoners who studied while imprisoned.

Overall though, Valjean’s claim that there is no “new punitiveness,” and that the idea is just political rhetoric, did not go over well with the audience. He did concede, however, that Canada seemed to be heading in the right direction. (Really??) Javert closed the session by quoting Nelson Mandela. 

At the 1 o’clock plenary session, Professor Saku Maki of Helsinki University introduced Valjean thus:

Jean Valjean is the universal symbol for English-speaking lawyers and criminologists of the impoverished individual who became an offender only by reason of the State having offended against him . . . I will now invite him to explain in his own words how he feels about this popular image of Valjean as the victim, and never as the victimizer.

In short, Valjean has come to the conclusion that the theft of bread was “extreme and blameworthy,” that he should have just asked for the bread, and that, even though there were starving children involved, he should have waited to earn enough money because it is very rare for someone to die of hunger. (So what is the point of this whole "debate" if you are just going to change the character's beliefs from the book?)

Then Valjean turned the mic over to Professor Reed Johnson of the University of Ottawa, “a genial, ruddy-faced middle-aged individual whose nickname among the student body is ‘Guinness’” (another one of the author’s OCs), who lectured on the question “is it relevant to the selection of a fit sentence that an offender has known but sadness in life?” He cites Eponine and Azelma as examples of abused children who grow up to have a life of crime and speculates that Valjean’s nephews probably became criminals as well. This went on for some time until it was Javert’s turn to speak. Javert stated that he disagreed with Victor Hugo’s assertation that “the faults of women, of children, of the feeble, the indigent, and the ignorant, are the fault of the husbands, the fathers, the masters, the strong, the rich, and the wise.” (So why write a book about the law and Victor Hugo if you don't like what he has to say about the law?) Jean Valjean knew that the audience would want to debate the ideas discussed but to avoid that, he invited Bishop Myriel to provide some closing comments. (Why frame this as a debate if the characters try to avoid a debate!?)

On Wednesday, Jean Valjean recounted the whole story of his 19 years in prison and said:

Having reflected long and hard on my further crimes, and the foolishness of my behavior, I wish to state to you that my friend Javert cannot be faulted for his belief that each of the individual sentences was proportionate to my misconduct, that the total penalty in each case was fairly estimated, and that the gradation of the penalties was not ill-advised.

He asserts that the harsh penalty for his second escape attempt, in which he hit a guard, was warranted, in order to protect “those who hold such dangerous occupations, be they police officers, prosecutors, judges, probation officers, social workers engaged with offenders, etc.,” even though he admits that it is unclear whether punishing attacks against prison guards prevent further attacks. In fact, he admits that “it is the retribution visited upon the prisoners during periodic assertions of naked force by prison staff. . . .that serves to deter future acts of aggression and not the workings of an organized scheme of penalties.” 

If I may say, the worst of it is now over (but not entirely done.) At one o’clock, the Bishop led a small group discussion. Recalling the example of a woman in Les Miserables who was manipulated by the police into denouncing her lover for a crime punishable by death, the Bishop said “I am familiar with the words of Robert Reiner, ‘To fight crime the police must themselves resort to tactics which appear to mirror those of their foes, using violence and guile for just ends’, but I am not about to commend such tactics.” Well thank god.

Unfortunately, Fantine’s small group discussion at 3 was not well attended.

I do not doubt that many of you might be surprised that a literary figure such as me, who lived in the Napoleonic period, might be so vitally concerned with the welfare of animals, but such is the case, given Hugo’s own intense respect for all forms of life.

One participant, “Ms. Rita Joe, who was pursuing her doctoral studies at the Faculty of Law, National University of Singapore but who was a member of the Dene Nation and who was grown up in the Yukon Territory of Canada,” contributed to the conversation by quoting Jack London. This seriously short session was the last one on Wednesday.

Thursday was the last day of the conference and in the opening session, Fantine set out to argue that “it is a crime for society to make criminals and offenders out of women, and men, who sell their bodies for money. . .and I do not think that I will need to address you at length in order to demonstrate [my thesis’s] essential validity.” And indeed, she did not address the crowd for long at all, all she did was quote her own story at length. These last few chapters do not feel fleshed out.

Finally, it was time for the last plenary session. The Bishop delivered some closing words about reacclimating to life outside of prison. However, it was Javert who had the final word. He quoted (and no, I am not kidding) David Llyod George, who said, with regard to the establishment of a Jewish state in Palestine, “our function is to guide the path of reform and all trail-blazing is fraught with risk.”

[pridepages]

Philatos: The Song of Achilles

I just finished The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller. I have thoughts...

Here there be spoilers!

Madeline Miller’s The Song of Achilles is a classic in more than one sense. Any baby gay or ally looking for gateway LGBTQIA+ literature will inevitably find this book on every list (quite likely near the top). Its source material is classical greek poetry, and one of the most famous love stories of the mythology: that of Achilles and Patroclus. You’ve probably heard of Achilles and his infamous heel, Aristos Achaion, best of the Greeks. A demigod hero who felled mighty Trojan Prince Hector in the war for Helen--the face who launched a thousand ships and the tale of a war sung down the centuries.

You might be less familiar with Patroclus. He was, by his time’s standards, a nobody. Son of a lesser king who was exiled from his home, fully human and a shadowy figure who barely appears in the pages of Homer...but whose love changed the course of Achilles’s life.

It is said that only the love of Patroclus, and grief for his death, could spur Achilles to meet his destiny.

But there’s the debate: what kind of love was it exactly?

It seems strange after the success of Miller’s novel in popular culture that this is up for debate...but it technically still is. Search “Patroclus” in scholarly articles and you’ll find him identified as Achilles’s...friend.

His buddy. His pal.

Fucking. Yikes.

Some may say my insistence that their love is queer comes from my belief that everything is better gay. (Which...okay, yes, and I’m right!) But I’m gonna push back and point to one word:

Philatos.

This is a Greek word that Miller applies in her novel. One that was used between men in the ancient world. It means: ‘Most Beloved.’

It’s a loaded word, particularly when we consider homosexuality in the classical world which was...complicated.

People like to believe that history is as simple as: ‘the ancients were chill about homosexuality, it was only with the rise of certain religions--side-eying Christianity--that it became criminal.’

To which I answer: um...not quite.

Let’s be clear: it’s totally true that the immortal philosopher Plato set forth models that classified different kinds of love. And that one of them, eros, was desire so strong that it was akin to a force of nature. Plato theorized that eros could be harnessed and leveraged as a way to strengthen the bonds between soldiers, giving them better motivation to fight and thus making them more effective. 

For example, the Sacred Band of Thebes. You probably know them as the 300, but historians know them as 150 pairs of lovers! The best part? It worked! (At least for a while...but that’s another story.)

And how about Alexander the Great, who conquered most of his neighboring countries and amassed an empire of over two million miles? He had Hephaestion, his constant companion, of whom Alexander said: ‘He is me. I am him.’ So make of that what you will. (I’m gonna go with: gays get shit done!)

That sounds pretty straight-forward (so to speak), so what’s the problem?

Miller actually puts her finger on it in Song. As Patroclus tells us, “Our men like conquest; they did not trust a man who was conquered himself.” Let’s rephrase: being gay is chill...if you’re the top. If you’re not, then you’re the lowest of the low: Feminine. Weak. Disgraced.

I repeat: Fucking. Yikes.

So there were people then and now who would be perfectly ready to handwave away the bond between Achilles and Patroclus. They cry: why it gotta be gay? Why can’t the love of friends be enough? Why do you have to shove it down our throats?!

(I invite you to picture my eyes rolling all the way back.)

Let’s put this argument to bed: there’s nothing wrong with a love that is neither sexual nor romantic. (I see all my sibs under the aro-ace umbrella, y’all are valid!) The problem is when the existence of said love is weaponized to erase or deny other forms of queer love and make them lesser or shameful.

Because that’s what it comes down to: Honor. Reputation was everything to the ancients, and queerness put your reputation on thin ice. So much so that in Song, Patroclus even offers to hide their relationship so as not to endanger Achilles’s legacy: “Your honor could be darkened by it.” But Achilles won’t have it: “Then it is darkened. They are fools if they let my glory rise or fall on this.”

Miller saw this quiet, ever-present bond between Achilles and Patroclus in the pages of ancient texts. And she saw the unsung eros between them, the kind that drove the Sacred Band of Thebes to fight and Alexander to forge an empire. She saw how historians scoffed and dismissed it in a couple of lines to focus on the violent, tragic triumph of Achilles.

Rather than try and recast the great hero, she decided to tackle this relationship from another angle...she gave voice to Patroclus.

It’s a powerful choice to draw him from the shadows. Patroclus figures very little in the myth, and the one time he really does is when he’s disguising himself as someone else: he dies donning Achilles’s armor to rally the Greeks and rout the Trojans with the illusion that Aristos Achaion has returned to the field. One brave deed for an otherwise unremarkable life.

But was it?

Miller’s Patroclus is in many ways an everyman. He’s a mediocre swordsman, but a better healer. He’s the kind of guy who will remember your name and ask about your family, and make sure you have a comfortable place by the fire.

He’s perfectly content with his lot in life. All he really wants to do is tell you how much he loves his boyfriend.

It sounds like the stuff of ‘homeric fanfiction,’ as one boyfriend apparently scoffed at Miller’s work. (I hope she dumped him for it!) But it’s a pretty brave take for a spin on the myths. While Patroclus has respect for honor and glory, and would convince us that Achilles is the better man...that’s not the impression we are left with.

This isn’t a story of heroism by war. This is a story of the heroism of love.

Whether in a palace or on the battlefield, Patroclus’s life is defined by love. Of Achilles, of Briseis, of Chiron, of his homes, of his work, of his world.

This Patroclus says: Plato got it right. Love is what makes all of this--no matter how we live and die--a worthy endeavor.

And I think that’s what makes The Song of Achilles the philatos of queer lit. It both honors its roots, reading with prose that fits the poetic sensibilities of the Iliad, and challenges them. 

Ancient people and modern historians have something in common: an ongoing struggle to genuinely accept queer people and queer love. The Song of Achilles is a necessary book. One that bridges past and present. One that speaks softly but clearly, uncompromising in its demand that we allow gay people to be seen and honored in cultural memory.

In the words of another spin on the myths: “It’s a love song / It’s an old song / We’re gonna sing it even so!”

[fheythfully]

FFXIV Write 2023 - Day 2: Bark

Satella is nearly out of the camp’s circle when she stumbles over someone’s legs and plants face first into the crystal-studded dirt of Mor Dhona.

She spits a chunk of it out and rolls over on to her back just as the owner of the legs scrambles up, voice panicked as they lean over her.

“Oh, gods, are you alright?”

The Allagan Scholar’s mismatched eyes–G’raha Tia, she reminds herself–shine in the dark, his distressed face both paling and turning a mortified red as he takes in the identity of his unintended victim.

“I’m peachy,” she replies. The sarcastic bite in her voice is a bit unfair, perhaps, when the miqo’te’s ears pin back even further in shame. His hands fumble over each other as he makes to offer to help her up, rethinks it, rethinks it again and finally extends his arm. She stares at it for a brief moment, seriously debating just staying on the ground in hopes of it swallowing her whole, before grasping it.

Tia’s lithe body belies his strength and Satella finds herself abruptly pulled upright. She stumbles at the unexpected change in orientation and winces when a cold brush of night air reveals at least one new cut to her face. Her companion’s eyes follow the movement, panicked eyes widening even further as he takes in whatever assuredly grievous wound has befallen her.

“You’re bleeding––” he gasps out. “You have my deepest apologies, Warrior––Mistress Grace––” he stumbles over his own words. All the signs of bravado he had exhibited before are gone in the wake of their latest meeting. “I’m sure I have a potion on hand back in my tent, if you would permit me to retrieve it––”

Satella holds up a hand to stop him before he runs off to retrieve said restorative. “I’m sure it’s fine,” she says. She pokes at where the sting on her cheek is and examines the minute traces of blood that comes away. “I can physick it away. No need to waste items before we even set out.”

Tia wilts before her. “If you’re sure,” he says uncertainly. His eyes skitter away, refusing to meet her gaze, while his tail whips this way and that. “It really would be no trouble, I can’t imagine we’d miss just the one.”

Satella sighs. “It’s just a scratch. More importantly,” she grumbles, “what exactly are you doing all the way out here? Are you in the business of tripping innocent maidens now?”

Her words are enough to make the young man’s gaze finally snap to hers. “Tripping innocent maidens––” he splutters. “That was not my intention! I just…” he trails off. A bark of booming laughter from the campfire drifts over. Their party is taking the chance to celebrate before they set off for the Crystal Tower to heart, with mugs of ale and other liquors passed freely around the circle. Satella herself had stuck around for several rounds before bowing out and making her way to the rocky outcrops outside the camp, intent on enjoying the clear starry sky before turning in for the night.

Tia had been around for only the one, she remembers, before disappearing the same way she had gone. She had assumed a scholarly type like him preferred to be in the solace of his books rather than the boisterous crowd of (no less scholarly) scholars back at the fire.

She casts her eyes about the ground and spots the tome he had undoubtedly dropped in his rush to assist her. “Oh,” she says. “Did I interrupt your reading?” Furrowing her brow, she glances around further for a lantern. “I swear I hadn’t seen your light, though. Were you reading in the dark?”

The judgemental tone of her voice––bolstered to freedom by the liquor she had indulged in––does not go unnoticed. Tia’s tail lashes out once in a barely contained motion before settling. His cheeks are still flushed red when he shakes his head. “It doesn’t have words,” he says. “Well, not in the way we’re used to. The language relies on the reader’s touch and innate understanding of the script, and thus does not need to even be able to see in order to read the writings.”

His words trail off into silence. It settles between them for several awkward moments as they stare at each other, Satella’s wound still dripping blood down her cheek. She brushes at it absent-mindedly. She’d heard of the kind of tomes he’s speaking about and her own scholarly interests perk up in curiosity, but–he had just tripped her, although unintentionally. And she is still smarting from their previous encounter at Urth’s Fount.

Her desire to speak more on the language he’s apparently proficient enough in does not win out over her bruised pride. “Well,” she says. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Enjoy your… touching.”

Tia’s bright eyes blink at her several times in quick succession, then widen as they both realize the unintended double entendre of her words. “I, uh,” he stumbles out. Satella refuses to break her focus from his face even as she feels her own face heat. “I will?”

She wants to bite back––you don’t sound so certain of that or sounds like you need some practice but both sound––well––and she’s not in her right mind enough to decide whether the intent would be of cruelty or something else.

Another bout of raucous laughter floats over on the night breeze and she flinches. “Right,” she says. “Good night then.”

She makes her escape before either one of them can say anything else.  

[gremlinshenanigans]

Aroace Hunter week day 4! A day late! Because life decided I should have 0 free time yesterday and I wanted to write this.

@sergeantsporks

Hunter stood in front of the Clawthrone estate door. He shifted from leg to leg, debating if he should knock.

On one hand, this was the easiest place to find help in his research. There weren't many books on grimwalkers, at least ones that weren't fables, and Luz had said Eda and Lilith had had an interest in myths and legends.

On the other hand, it involved Lilith, and he wasn't sure what he thought of that yet. This wasn't the Emperor's coven, but they hadn't talked since then either. It could get messy.

He sighed, deciding to trust Luz's judgment and knocked.

"Coming!"

Lilith opened the door, her expression souring when she saw him.

"Hunter. Dad isn't here, you should come by later."

Off to a great start. Hunter thought.

"Actually, I need your help with something. I'm researching grimwalkers, Luz said you could-you would help."

"I- well- if Luz said so," she huffed, "but grimwalkers? Why in Titan's name would you research those?"

"No reason-" She gasped, stopping him from finishing.

"Are you trying to bring Belos back?!" she summoned her staff, pointing it at Hunter's chest.

Hunter backed up. "No?! Why is that your first idea?! I hate him!"

Lilith squinted at him. They stood like that for a moment, ready for a fight. Lilith lowered her staff first, and let out a sigh.

"Maybe that was uncalled for."

"You think?"

Hunter glared at her. She glared right back, but didn't argue further.

"Grimwalkers, you said? I think I have some books that may help."

She stepped deeper into the house, holding the door open for Hunter. He hesitantly walked in.

"You can sit down while I get them." she pointed to the couch. Hunter walked over and took a seat, hardly relaxing.

A minute in and she's accusing me of wanting Belos back. Wonderful.

He heard rummaging upstairs, and ocassional cursing. Soon, she came back down, a small stack of books in her hands.

"Those are all about grimwalkers?" He sat up, momentarily forgetting their previous talk.

"Unfortunately, no, but I believe they could contain some information. Here, you can start from these ones." She divided the stack into two, and sat down across from him. Silence filled the room, broken only by the sound of turning pages and occasional muttering. There wasn't much information in the books on Hunter's end. Most were legends and fables, ocassionally a theory or two. Nothing he didn't know already.

"What are you looking for, exactly?" Lilith asked. Hunter snapped his eyes up. He had forgotten she was there.

"Anything, really. How they're made, I guess?"

She squinted at him again.

"I'm not bringing Belos back." he snapped.

"I doubt you could if you wanted to." she leaned forward, "Most of these are incredibly difficult to find, or impossible."

"You found it?"

Lilith nodded, and turned to book to Hunter.

She started listing the ingredients as he read.

"Palistorm wood,"

Guess that's how you saved me, Flap.

"Selkidomus scales,"

That's why I was sent to hunt them.

"Stonesleeper lungs,"

Hunter took a deep breath.

"A galderstone, for a heart,"

He touched his chest.

"And a bone of the orter species. Half of these are nigh impossible to get." 

Hunter nodded, keeping his breath even.

Most of the books he'd read mentioned an ingridient or two, usually to highlight how horrible making a grimwalker was. This one had a full list, and it aligned with what he had found in the few scholarly books there were.

The writer was more sure of it than the others, writing it down as if it were a fact. He reached out to take the book, and Lilith let him. She sat down by him, both focused on the reading. There was more, instructions on what to do with the ingredients, and the differences a grimwalker may have. It mentioned the magenta eyes. That's the one thing all the stories had in common.

"Where did you find this?" He asked.

"I believe it came from the castle, or what was left of it. I forgot I had it, I thought it was a lost history book."

Of course that's where it was found. Belos must have used it to make all the golden guards. Hunter too. He scrunched his nose at the thought.

Lilith closed the book and got up to put it back on the pile. There was more Hunter wanted to read, but he wasn't sure he was ready to go through it right away.

"Did you get what you wanted?" she asked.

"Yes."

The room went silent again. Hunter leaned into the couch, thinking about what he had learned, or more confirmed, really. With the same book Belos presumably used.

Lilith watched him as he was lost in thought, going through a realization of her own.

"Hunter?"

"Mm?"

"I'm sorry for accusing you of wanting to bring Belos back. I hadn't thought about...what he could have been like to you, I heard some of what happened in the human realm but," she sighed, "I was too stuck on how it was in the coven. He must have treated you as bad as the rest of us even then."

Hunter blinked at her. He had thought about how the visit may go, and this was nowhere near it. The fight when he first arrived was more what he expected.

"And I'm sorry how I treated you in the coven." she blurted out.

"Uh, I- thank you? It's the past now, anyway."

She nodded, looking away and they were silent once again. Hunter spoke up first.

"I'll head out now, thank you for the help."

"Oh, of course! Take the book with you."

"Are you sure?"

"Consider it part of the apology."

Hunter nodded and took the book, hugging it to his chest.

"Bye, Lilith"

"Bye, Hunter. Come again, if you need more help."

He gave her a small smile.

"I will, thank you."

I'll have to thank Luz too.

[earlyamerica]

Tuesday Morning, Very Early. 4.16.24

As the days on the campus calendar dwindle, a wave of melancholy washes over me, rendering the prospect of leaving college for the summer almost unbearable. The vibrant ecosystem of learning and self-exploration that has enveloped me here feels like a sanctuary I am not ready to step away from. The idea of returning to New York or even the serene shores of Newport holds little appeal at this juncture.

Throughout the academic year, I’ve been cocooned in an invigorating blend of intellectual pursuits and cultural immersion. The classroom discussions, the late-night study sessions, and the debates on literature and history have sparked a fire within me. I’ve delved into texts that challenged my worldview, participated in sports that pushed my physical limits, and engaged in conversations that stretched the boundaries of my intellect. Each day has been a riveting chapter in a novel I never want to end.

Leaving this behind feels akin to pausing a favorite song in the midst of its most captivating verse. The transition from this stimulating environment to the familiar, albeit stagnant, routines of home life seems jarring. The city’s relentless pace and Newport’s leisurely days are worlds apart from the dynamic and inspiring atmosphere of college life.

I find myself grappling with a sense of loss, preemptively mourning the absence of daily discoveries and the passionate energy of my peers and professors. There’s a part of me that fears the dulling of this academic high, the softening of the intellectual rigor that has become my daily routine.

As I pack up my dorm room, each book and notebook a testament to the knowledge gained and the experiences cherished, I am not just packing up for a summer away; I am storing away a version of myself that thrives best amidst the scholarly bustle of college life. The coming summer looms not as a break, but as a hiatus from a profound journey of growth and enlightenment.

Counting down the days until autumn becomes my solace. Until then, I must find ways to nurture the intellectual curiosity and fervor that this campus has instilled in me. But no matter where I am, part of my heart will remain here, tethered to the these walls.

[tristandelarkadien]

On Clive & Maurice, pt. 1

Let me try to write out my thoughts on one of my favourite novels, and explain why the casting changes the implications of the movie.

I watched Maurice a while back. The film, not the novel. I had looked forward to seeing Hugh Grant, as I thought him a good choice for the main character. Needless to say, I was surprised and confused to see him playing Clive. Even more surprised and confused to see a small blond actor playing Maurice, and not Clive.

The blond guy was not a bad choice. I am sure he was a good actor. But he came across as more emotional than expected. The fact that he seemed a bit smaller than Clive's actor gave them a different dynamic than the one I had come to expect from the book.

I will lay out my ideas here. If this has already been touched upon in some prior essay, I apologise, but the sadly now ephemeral nature of Tumblr's search function makes it hard to locate.

(I also do not wish to turn this into an 'X is better than Y' debate. Both the film and movie are lovely stories, and they both deserve attention from their respective/shared devotees.)

I would love to cite or review the books involved, but unfortunately, they are outside of my reach due to reasons of money & location. I have endeavoured to cite what I am able to, in hopes of one day being able to afford scholarly literature written on the subject.

Introduction to Romantic friendships

In the early-to-mid 19th century, muscular christianity crossed over with ideals of manliness to create ideas about intense friendship between same-sex people being a precursor to romantic love with individuals of the opposite sex.

This friendship was meant to be mutually enriching. After the embers of passion had given way to mutual companionship, the two were to have a strong, but ultimately ‘normal’ friendship, less passionate than that of youth, as that emotion was now to be directed towards women.

These friendships were depicted in didactic children’s novels, as well as bildungsromans / Coming-of-age tales. We can see this in Tom Brown’s Schooldays, where a school matron puts the unruly, boisterous Tom together with meek, religious Arthur who looks younger than his years.

"Oh, Master Brown," went on the little matron, when the rest had gone, "you're to have Gray's study, Mrs. Arnold says. And she wants you to take in this young gentleman. He's a new boy, and thirteen years old, though he don't look it. He's very delicate, and has never been from home before. And I told Mrs. Arnold I thought you'd be kind to him, and see that they don't bully him at first. He's put into your form, and I've given him the bed next to yours in Number 4; so East can't sleep there this half."

Tom was rather put about by this speech. He had got the double study which he coveted, but here were conditions attached which greatly moderated his joy. He looked across the room, and in the far corner of the sofa was aware of a slight, pale boy, with large, blue eyes and light, fair hair, who seemed ready to shrink through the floor. He saw at a glance that the little stranger was just the boy whose first half-year at a public school would be misery to himself if he were left alone, or constant anxiety to any one who meant to see him through his troubles. (Tom Brown, pt 2, c. 1)

It doesn’t take long for the two to get better acquainted, in a way that enriches both of them, according to the dominating ideology of the age. Tom instructs Arthur in how to ‘fit in’ and not get singled out for bullying, while Arthur makes Tom’s fighting instincts kick in to protect Arthur, rather than roughhouse.

"What a queer chum for Tom Brown," was the comment at the fire; and it must be confessed so thought Tom himself, as he lighted his candle, and surveyed the new green-baize curtains and the carpet and sofa with much satisfaction.

"I say, Arthur, what a brick your mother is to make us so cozy. But look here now, you must answer straight up when the fellows speak to you, and don't be afraid. If you're afraid, you'll get bullied. And don't you say you can sing; and don't you ever talk about home, or your mother and sisters."

Poor little Arthur looked ready to cry.

"But please," said he, "mayn't I talk about—about home to you?"

"Oh yes, I like it. But don't talk to boys you don't know, or they'll call you homesick, or mamma's darling, or some such stuff. What a jolly desk! Is that yours? And what stunning binding! Why, your school-books look like novels!"

And Tom was soon deep in Arthur's goods and chattels, all new and good enough for a fifth-form boy, and hardly thought of his friends outside, till the prayer-bell rang. (Tom Brown, pt 2, c. 1)

Seeing Arthur set a good example by praying leads Tom to remember his own religion, which he has forsaken by refusing to pray before bed.

Tom was sitting at the bottom of his bed unlacing his boots, so that his back was toward Arthur, and he didn't see what had happened, and looked up in wonder at the sudden silence. Then two or three boys laughed and sneered, and a big, brutal fellow, who was standing in the middle of the room, picked up a slipper, and shied it at the kneeling boy, calling him a snivelling young shaver. Then Tom saw the whole, and the next moment the boot he had just pulled off flew straight at the head of the bully, who had just time to throw up his arm and catch it on his elbow.

"Confound you, Brown, what's that for?" roared he, stamping with pain.

"Never mind what I mean," said Tom, stepping onto the floor, every drop of blood in his body tingling; "if any fellow wants the other boot, he knows how to get it."

What would have been the result is doubtful, for at this moment the sixth-form boy came in, and not another word could be said. Tom and the rest rushed into bed and finished their unrobing there, and the old verger, as punctual as the clock, had put out the candle in another minute, and toddled on to the next room, shutting their door with his usual "Good-night, gen'l'm'n."

There were many boys in the room by whom that little scene was taken to heart before they slept. But sleep seemed to have deserted the pillow of poor Tom. For some time his excitement, and the flood of memories which chased one another through his brain, kept him from thinking or resolving. His head throbbed, his heart leapt, and he could hardly keep himself from springing out of bed and rushing about the room. Then the thought of his own mother came across him, and the promise he had made at her knee, years ago, never to forget to kneel by his bedside, and give himself up to his Father, before he laid his head on the pillow, from which it might never rise; and he lay down gently and cried as if his heart would break. He was only fourteen years old. (Tom Brown, pt 2, c. 1)

It is also evident in David Copperfield, where David moons after a boy named ‘Steerforth’ who eventually forsakes him. (Notably, asking if the ‘vulnerable’ boy has a sister is done in Tom Brown as well.)

‘Good night, young Copperfield,’ said Steerforth. ‘I’ll take care of you.’ ‘You’re very kind,’ I gratefully returned. ‘I am very much obliged to you.’

‘You haven’t got a sister, have you?’ said Steerforth, yawning.

‘No,’ I answered.

‘That’s a pity,’ said Steerforth. ‘If you had had one, I should think she would have been a pretty, timid, little, bright-eyed sort of girl. I should have liked to know her. Good night, young Copperfield.’

‘Good night, sir,’ I replied.

I thought of him very much after I went to bed, and raised myself, I recollect, to look at him where he lay in the moonlight, with his handsome face turned up, and his head reclining easily on his arm. He was a person of great power in my eyes; that was, of course, the reason of my mind running on him. No veiled future dimly glanced upon him in the moonbeams. There was no shadowy picture of his footsteps, in the garden that I dreamed of walking in all night. (David Copperfield, Chapter 7)

They reunite as adults, the 90’s miniseries has Steerforth kiss David’s head at that point. David still looks up to Steerforth at this point, which eventually leads to Steerforth forsaking him. The point here is that these friendships were not supposed to go on for too long.

And yes, depending on children to raise children in a milieu without adult supervision can definitely go wrong. Even the writers of the age knew it, both Vachell (The Hill) and Hughes (Tom Brown) mention abuse in their novels. Talbot Baines Reed (The Fifth Form at St: Dominic) mentions a clear cut example of grooming. I mention this, because it will be relevant later on.

From the above passages, we can extract the following framework: An ‘inexperienced’, vulnerable boy, is shielded and educated by an ‘experienced’ boy. I can write multiple essays on the topic (And I just might), but at the end of the day, this is what we need in order to move on to part 2.