#the fact that people up-top think her tribe a myth

[natequarter]

maugin's tale is already sad enough but 'the stone pilot' makes it even worse

[notreallyimportant]

@whydideveryoneelsetakethegoodnam asked so ye shall receive.

Why do people compare things like the Holocaust and chattel slavery to abortions or other things that has little to do with each other? Because both liberals and conservatives both do this.

The simplest answer is systematic racism via propaganda. Propaganda in the US had its start with the earlier parts of the US becoming the US after the Revolutionary War with the Founding Fathers very public need via newspapers. Though there are some that will argue it goes back further, but I’m trying to keep this simple.

So, back in 2020, Secretary( former…probably) of Education, Betsy DeVos, said Lincoln essentially dealt with a "pro-choice" argument of his day around slavery. And while I’m not one for arguing with people, it makes little to no sense. Because while there were abolitionists, not many people were willing to change the status quo. You got people waving the Confederate flag saying “My family was too poor to afford slaves”, and what I’m gathering is your family fought for the rich white people who owned enslaved people, and didn’t really care ( and don’t bring up Black people fighting in the Confederate Army. What white man in his right mind will give a gun to someone they’ve literally tortured?).  Even with Suffragette Movement, white women stated they’d sooner disfigure themselves before a Black man could vote before them.Some stated they were treated so badly in prison, they were held with Black women. And that’s in the name of progression. 

Both left wing and right wing politics have used traumatic events to prove a point. Something people who were greatly effected by said events have asked them to stop. And this includes talks about something that will have a greater impact on them. And every time things like Slavery comes up it essentially seems like a downplay of what happened. I’ve actually shared a post or two about this specifically. B

But let’s move on to more recent fuckery.

And the level of tone deafness will range from “Let’s not say/do that again, please. That was very offensive” to “Can you just call me a slur? I’d rather you call me a slur.”

“I do wonder how these white supremacist lawmakers would if their little girls were raped and impregnated by black men” -Amanda Duerte but I think she deleted her account. 

And the really weird part about this is...it’s not just abortion or voting rights. Environmental issues, education, disabilities rights, the list goes on.  Many Indigenous people from many tribes spoke about the diets of their ancestors. Those in the arctic have a heavy meat diet vs those in the plains, relying on trade for vegetation ( and there were large trade route established here well before European colonization) on top of other practices that was done to preserve the environment, and white vegans would say “Yeah, but that was then. Back then I would own you and Africans as slaves.See how times have changed” or even compare farms to concentration camps.

The use of the “Model Minority” myth to be racist towards Black and Latine individuals. Despite the fact they use it against Asians ( and I do mean all Asians) when talking about the problems in their communities that needs to be address. 

I’ve seen people say “Put the baby up for adoption. There’s many couples who would kill for a baby” on both sides of the political spectrum, yet ignore the thousands of kids still in the system, at least 2,000 of which(just an estimate) they have no clue where they are, that are over the age of 5 . Because they want babies, not kids.   

The list goes on. And those are just some of the examples I remember off the top of my head. 

[the-badger-mole]

Hero to Zero

Sit down, kids. I want to have a rap sesh with y’all. 

There is no such thing as a perfect show. Even if you think there was a perfect show, it’s rare it holds up to multiple viewings. Still, Avatar: The Last Airbender probably got as close to perfect as any children’s show could hope to. All this to say that ATLA is a good show. A great show, even. But it is not a perfect show.  and they missed some pretty big opportunities.

Specifically where Aang was concerned. 

So, here are the Top 3 Opportunities ATLA Missed with Aang:

1. Having Aang actually work for his victory.

If you’ve followed me for literally any length of time, you know that I hate,hate, HATE the LionTurtle/Rock of Destiny Deus Ex Double-Team ( ™ ©  ®) in the last episode. Now, I know some of you think that I- and others like me- just wanted to see Aang kill Ozai. To you I say...

Look, some of my favorite superheros have a no kill policy. I have no problem with the idea of Aang capturing Ozai and having Ozai stand trial. What I have a problem with is the fact that Aang didn’t have to work at finding that solution at all. There were plenty of chances to set up the finale in a way that wouldn’t have made it a complete and utter cop out. It wouldn’t have even taken that much. Aang was confronted by the terrible realities of war all throughout the series. He knew everyone expected him to end the war. He was involved in the deaths a lot of Fire Nation soldiers at the battle in the Northern Water Tribe. At any point, there was room to have Aang face what was expected of him as Avatar and consider what it meant for him as the last Air Nomad. 

What I- and others like me- wanted was not for Aang to become a compunctionless killing machine. What I wanted was to see Aang realizing his duty and working to find a solution that would end the war and keep his values in tact. Instead, he waits until the last minute to consider what how he would end the war, snapped at his friends for pushing the obvious, and (until the magic Lion Turtle arrives) best solution to the problem that the world’s been facing for 100 years, and is rewarded for (let me be frank) his absolute laziness and refusal to accept responsibility.

Aang’s whole arc was supposed to show that he had to stop running away from his problems and accept his role as Avatar. The thing is...he didn’t. He had one moment where it looked like he was ready to stop running and do his job (DoBS), but that moment is robbed of any power by the finale. Why didn’t Aang have this moment then? Why wasn’t the rest of the series spent with Aang putting in work towards finding a solution? As the story stands, Aang looks inexcusably stupid, even for a 12 year old who didn’t grow up with a war. Not having Aang actively working towards a solution, freaking out over the solution presented, and then stumbling on the one being in the whole world that could help him undermines his entire journey. Aang was not the Real Hero of the series. Plot convenience was. 

2. Having Aang learn more about how the war affected his friends personally.

This kind of ties in to my first point, but Aang never really had a moment where he realized exactly what was at stake. Not just for the world in general, but for his friends. Heck, he never really reckoned with what happened to his own people (but we had time for a nonsense Footloose pastiche???). Had Aang made any effort to understand the war from his friends’ perspectives- particularly Katara, with whom he was allegedly in love- it might have occurred to him sooner what they expected of him. 

There’s no real moment of Aang understanding how much Sokka and Katara and even Toph have lost because of the war. He meets war refugees and is there when Katara rescues the earthbenders from the Fire Nation prison ship, but it never sinks in how much damage any of these people have survived. I don’t think I’m asking for that much here. I understand ATLA is a children’s show, but look how they were able to show us the devastation of war and abuse through literally every member of the Gaang except Aang. Even finding out that his mentor had been murdered washed over Aang like a summer squall.

It’s great that he had the perspective of someone who got to live in a world without war, and that he got to be a kid a bit longer than his friends, but at some point it would have been nice to see something stick to him. There were moments where I thought Aang was finally starting to understand the enormity of what the war had done and what it would take to end it (like in DoBS), but then the very next episode would have him goofing off (remember when Aang wanted to take off and play the day after a bunch of people- including the father of two of his “best friends”- sacrificed their lives and freedom for him? Pepperidge Farm remembers.) Nothing seemed to stick to him, which is why his refusal to kill Ozai and lack of preparation with another solution is both infuriating to me and honestly not that surprising at all. Aang is the most static character in ATLA (a show that included Mai, cardboard puppet brought to life by dark magic). He learns nothing. And honestly the fact that he stays the same from the beginning to the end of the series makes him look incredibly unempathetic. Who remains so unmoved by the tragedies of his friends?

3.Having Aang not get Katara and having the hero of a popular TV series handle unrequited love in a mature and realistic way.

Even less secret than my hatred of the Deus Ex Double-Team ( ™ © ®) are my feelings about Kataang. ( Shut up! You knew this was coming. Don’t act brand new). Now, normally, my focus is how bad Kataang was for Katara (the canon did my girl dirty, and I will NEVER forgive or forget), however this time, I want to focus on what the show lost by forcing this pair (Kataang was only developed if you only care about Aang’s feelings. Fight amongst yourselves. My mind is made up on this point).

Avatar: the Last Airbender was amazing in a lot of ways- groundbreaking, even- but it also perpetuates the idiotic myth of the Friend Zone, and those lucky fellas who break out of it. Throughout the whole series, we see that Aang is super into Katara, but the show also drives home pretty clearly that the feeling is not mutual up until that last scene (which makes it clear that the show runners didn’t give a crap about Katara). The showrunners had a golden opportunity here to show a young boy graciously accept that his crush isn’t into him, and remain good friends with her despite the fact that romance is off the table. Instead they chose to push the message that a guy can, through persistence, intimidation (lava fissure anyone?), and a healthy dose of arrogant entitlement, win the girl in the end. It’s not even that this was a terrible relationship for Katara and Aang; it’s that it’s such a boring and typical conclusion for this show to end on. Following through on Aang needing to let go of his unhealthy attachment to Katara would have been a much more powerful move. 

That’s not to say he had to stop being her friend. In fact, I think had he actually let Katara off of that pedestal he’d set her up on, they could have formed deeper bond based on mutual understanding and respect. Instead, we got “Hero Gets the Girl, Because...Hero?” Instead we got a pair that upholds the dangerous Fiend Zone myth, which arrested Aang’s development, turned Katara into a hollowed out trophy wife and produced three maladjusted adult children. It would have been a fascinating direction to take the story...if it had been done on purpose. 

Anyway, kiddos. I’m done here. If I pissed you off, call my lawyers. You can rebut me if you’d like (I’ll be honest,I probably won’t read it if it’s too long), but if you’re rude in my comments, I will delete and block you. Smooches!

[pxnk-velvet]

The Dancing Warrior: Water, Chapter 4

(Sokka x OC Reader)

The group had landed in a forest after their whole debacle with the Pierates. Navani jumping early so the others would have some what of an easier landing.

“Oh my gosh!” Katara yelled when Navani suddenly let go.

She had successfully landed, doing a roll and quickly popping up from her crouching position, “I’m fine!” She yelled back, waving.

After everyone else had landed, Sokka was quick to interrogate this new girl despite how fond of her he was already.

“So....you’re a fire bender?” Sokka questioned, looking this girl in the eyes. But she had a blue eye? How? Maybe something happened and that’s why her eye is blue?...

She blushed violently, kicking the ground with toe of her shoe, “Yeah...”

“But....” Sokka didn’t know how to say what was on his mind without seeming rude. Yet she easily spoke what he thought.

“I know what you’re thinking.” At that point Aang and Katara had joined Sokka, standing on either side of him.

She sighed, contemplating what she was about to do.

Her whole life her mother had always said to keep the fact that she could bend two elements, opposites for that matter, a secret. Typically she was always introduced to new people as a fire bender, despite her relation to Meena.

Her eyes were squeezed shut as she blurt out the question, “Can you guys keep a secret?”

The three other teenagers looked at each other suspiciously, but nodded. She took a couple of steps back, getting closer to the river bank.

What she did next completely shocked everyone.

She cartwheeled backwards, jumping into the air. Kicking her legs up, to do a mid-air split, manipulating the water to shoot from her left and fire from her right. Her eyes glowing immensely, like the sun and moon. When she landed, she stood tall with her right leg pressed against her upper body as she held it high. Spinning in a circle, moving the fire and water into an intertwined swirl. When she slowed she cartwheeled fowards. Shooting fire above with her feet and whipping water onto the ground with her hands as she landed, crouching on her knees. Her chest heaved gently as she stood tall, feeling pressure change on the bottom of her feet. She smiled softly, feeling content within.

It seemed as though the air around them stilled. They all stood in silence, stunned by all means.

The first one to speak up was Sokka, “Woah...” How could he possibly be even more attracted to her? At this point he was infatuated with her and he had to know all about her.

Next to speak was Aang. Completely thrown for a loop at the fact that she could bend two elements. Is there such thing as a second Avatar?

As for Katara, she felt somewhat envious. Envious of the fact this girl they just met could not only bend fire but water too! Not to mention her agility and flexibility. But she couldn’t let that get to her head.

“You’re a dual-bender.” Katara spoke softly as Navani settled into the timid posture she had before. Kicking the toe of her shoe into the dirt.

Katara had heard of the legends and myths about the dual-benders of the past. But there hadn’t been explanations as to how.

“Yeah. That’s why my eyes are like this...I know I’m a bit of a freak, so it’s alright if you don’t want to be friends with me anymore.” Navani presented, looking down with a shameful blush.

“Are you kidding?!” Aang exclaimed, running up to her, “That’s so cool! And I’m the Avatar!”

“Tell us about yourself!” Sokka suggested, plopping down onto the dirt. Hoping she would sit too.

She does, settling down gently with her knees tucked into her chest, next to him, “Well, what do you want to know?”

Sokka blurt out, “Who are you?” Maybe just a bit too quickly.

Navani looked at him, his blue eyes sending chills down her spin and warmth to her heart.

“Well, you guys know my name. I live on an island just a few miles away from here in the Fire Nation. I live with my mother, she’s from the Southern Water Tribe like you guys.” She told, untucking her knees and sitting with her legs crossed.

“Well how about that? A water tribe member living in the Fire Nation. You don’t see that everyday.” Sokka spoke sarcastically.

“What was her name? Maybe our Gran-Gran knew her.” Katara asked, genuine curiosity within her words.

“Meena. She was a water bending warrior. One of the few females warriors. Apparently she was very well known. Or at least that’s what she tells me.” Navani chuckled, thinking of her mother.

“Yeah! Dad and Gran-Gran would talk about her. Apparently she grew up with mom and dad.” Sokka said, eyes glowing, leaning in towards Navani in excitement. She giggled.

“Hakoda and Kya,” She spoke softly, remembering the stories her mother would tell her about growing up in the South.

~

Years and years ago, Hakoda, Kya, and Meena had all been friends. Growing up together and watching each other go from child to adults. Over time Meena had watch her two best friends fall in, despite her own feelings for Hakoda. She should’ve know, especially since she had the worst luck with lovers. But she didn’t let it get to her, letting her friends be in peace.

Her and Hakoda had started training to be warriors from a young age. Meena often getting teased for being a girl. Hakoda bravely standing up for her, even though he knew very well she could hold her own. This only led to her falling for the boy who had eyes for her best friend. Their fun conversations, sparring sessions, and deep connection but it didn’t matter.

Eventually she forced her focus on her training and water bending, becoming one of the best warriors to ever rise for the South. Her skills and agility weren’t like anything anyone had seen before and her bending was top tier. Having trained with some of the best masters around.

Her name became notorious with in the Water Tribes. Little girls and boys saying how they would like to grow up and be like her one day, something that filled her heart. But yet there would always be that emptiness, knowing she might of given up her future love.

~

“Who’s your dad then, if you’re a fire bender?” Aang asked, then feeling guilty seeing Navani’s expression sadden.

She looked at the ground with a slight frown, “I don’t know who my dad is. All I know is that he’s Fire bender and had a lot of money.”

At that the three others raised an eyebrow. Navani sighed, deciding to just tell them everything.

~

Throughout her childhood he would come and visit, bringing food, clothing, money, and other basic necessities for the two girls he had grown to love.

Yet up until she could remember him, he stopped his visits, resorting to sending things instead. Something that saddened the general deeply.

One day a young Navani had received a letter saying that she would be attending the Royal Fire Academy for girls.

Which could only mean one thing....he had power....or just a lot of money. Because only the family of Fire Nation nobility were allowed to attend such a school.

Within a couple of weeks she had begun her studies at the school, only to find herself in a tough spot.

She had been bullied constantly over how she looked. Being called names and being teased. Something that would take her years to finally let go.

But there were three girls in particular. Azula, Mai, and Ty Lee. Navani was always the subject of their torture. Azula especially, saying and doing horrible things to the poor girl.

Eventually once Navani had reached the prodigy level, her mother quickly took her out of school. Ceasing the bullying and torment from her fellow classmates.

After that Meena had begun teaching Navani water bending and furthered her combat training. She took note of how quickly her daughter learned and excelled.

~

[][][]

Taglist!

@harmlessoffering

@ilovespideyyy

@eat-a-brick714

@none-of-ur-frackin-business

@smolbitch2006

@the-natureofme

[iamnotoriginalphil]

Family Matters (Zelda Spellman x Reader) - Part 33

Synopsis: It’s the final showdown.

Words: 1670

Warnings: violence, gore

AN: I have really fallen down the rabbit hole of TikTok. Come follow me over there under the same name. We’ll be done with this story by the end of the week. Enjoy the final push. Lemme know if you wanna be tagged.

Zelda was standing, facing the door, shot gun in hand. Her body was tight, coiled like a spring. You had your back pressed against the wall, watching her eyes sweep over the outside vista.

You’d had Ambrose lock your family in the morgue, the safest place in the house. He was standing guard outside, a cross bow in hand. Zelda had tried to send Sabrina away to the mysterious Academy, but she’d refused to leave her family behind when danger was coming to their doorstep.

Zelda had wanted to lock you up too, keep you safe from Bella. You had slipped away before she could, hiding away in your room as you tried to remember anything that you’d heard from Bella about how to hurt a vampire. It was all muddled with the myths mortals told and you couldn’t sort the fact from the fiction. But there was something you needed, a single hope left.

You stood out of sight, knowing it wouldn’t help when Bella eventually showed her face. She’d be able to hear your heartbeat, smell your blood, see you in the dark. You were hoping she’d focus on the Spellmans, classing you as no threat. Being underestimated had been how you’d succeeded your entire life. Wide eyes and an open face made people think you were too innocent to be a threat.

You stood at the top of the staircase, looking down on the entrance hall. Zelda looked fierce, a lioness protecting her tribe. Hilda stood off to the side, her fingers twisting together in front of her, the picture of anxiety. Sabrina stood to the other side, her teeth gritted, her eyes focused on the door. You were all waiting for Bella to appear, but you assumed it wouldn’t be politely through the front door. Wind whispered through the house and you shivered.

“How sweet,” a low voice drawled, “the family that slays together stays together.”

You pressed back against the wall more insistently. You’d heard that voice in your dreams, in your nightmares. It haunted you.

“It is too bad that it shall all be for naught,” the voice continued.

Zelda tightened her grip on the shotgun, raising it. Sabrina took a deep breath. Hilda let out a small squeak.

“Tell me, Zelda Spellman, was all of this worth it?”

“It will be once you’re gone,” she responded.

Bella appeared in front of Zelda, teeth bared and hatred in her eyes. She brought up one hand, her nails long and sharp. Her long dark hair streamed down her back, her skin pale in the sunlight. Her eyes flickered up to your hiding place, a smile taking over her features.

“It’s too bad that shall not be happening.”

Zelda fired the gun, the sound deafening. You flinched, closing your eyes. When you opened them again Bella was gone, Zelda flushed with rage. You rushed to the bannister, looking down on the scene trying to find her.

“You look delicious, mi amour.”

A cold hand wrapped around your neck, jerking you back. Your body was thrown aside. Your back slammed into the wall, your breath rushing from your body. You fell to the ground, groaning. You got up on hands and knees, trying to crawl away. A booted foot landed on your back, forcing you back down.

“I’m surprised you let your pet out for this, Zelda Spellman,” she called down, “I know how you feel about other people touching your toys.”

Another shot rang out. Wood from the building rained down on your head but the booted foot was long gone. You sat up, coughing. You crawled to the edge of the landing, looking down on Zelda. Her eyes flashed as she saw you.

“I told you to hide,” she hissed.

“I couldn’t let you face her alone,” you replied.

“How touching,” Bella drawled, now on the stairs between you and the witches, “and how misguided.”

Wind began to whip around you. A large vine crashed through the stairs, wrapping around Bella’s body. She looked startled as the vine began to constrict around her. You heard something crack, loud, like a gun going off but Zelda hadn’t moved. Bella was lifted into the air, her feet kicking. You watched, surprised it had been so easy.

With a roar, Bella ripped the vine apart. She fell back to the stairs as the vine withered up and died. She pushed herself to her feet, levelling a glare at Sabrina. Her hands were raised and a shocked look was on her face. Zelda stepped forward, putting herself between the vampire and her niece. You climbed to your feet, clutching at the wooden bannister.

Bella took a sauntering step down the stairs. Her body looked wrong, one side of her rib cage crushed in. Her body was twisted, leaning to one side. She took another step down the stairs, a feral grin overtaking her face. Zelda snarled.

“I remember learning that spell,” she said, “child’s play.”

“You know spells?” Sabrina asked, taken aback.

“Did neither of them tell you?” She looked up at you, “before I was bitten, I was a witch. A fun little experiment. Or at least I was until I murdered my sire.”

“You were a witch?”

“You're not as bright as your aunt, are you?”

She reappeared behind Sabrina, her arms tight bands around her.

“Shall we see how fun those vines can be?”

Huge vines smashed through the floor, sending Zelda across the room. They caught her, pulling her up into the air. She was whipped backwards and forward, the gun clattering to the floor. You screamed.

You watched as flames flared to life around her, consuming the green plants. It withered, pulling away from her. She fell to the floor in a crumpled heap, not moving. Your breath caught in your throat.

“Leave my family alone.”

You looked down, finding Hilda standing in the no man's land with her hands raised.

“No can do.”

Bella’s fingernails scraped along Sabrina’s cheek, blood welling in their wake. It dripped down, black and toxic looking. You watched as veins appeared along her skin, dark and pulsing. Hilda readjusted her stance.

“Leave. Us. Alone!”

Flames erupted around Sabrina, her eyes rolling back in her head. Bella disappeared again. Sabrina fell back, the blackness in her veins moving faster and faster. She began to convulse on the floor, pink foam appearing at her corners of her mouth. The flames still flickered along her skin, beginning to catch on the destroyed carpet.

Bella grabbed Hilda, sinking her teeth into her neck. You gritted your teeth, watching her drink from the motherly witch. She fell, her skin going pale. Hilda scratched at Bella’s face, trying to get some kind of hold. Bella grabbed one arm, snapping it as easily as a twig. It hung limp at her side. Bella grabbed the other doing the same so violently you could see the bone poking from her flesh. You felt your stomach roil.

She let Hilda go, slamming one of her feet into the blonde witch’s leg, shattering it. She glanced down at it before turning back to Zelda. You watched her crouch over her body, pushing the hair from the witch’s face. It was such a tender gesture you felt off balance in the carnage. All you could hear was Hilda’s whimpers and Sabrina’s gurgling. Blood and rot was heavy in the air.

Bella lowered her head as if to kiss the unconscious witch. You knew this was the one chance you had. She was distracted enough to not bother paying attention to you. And why would she when you were nothing but a pathetic mortal?

You flung yourself from the balcony, raising the wooden stake you’d kept hidden in your room since arriving. You had assumed it would be your guarantee should Bella come to visit you at the mortuary. It was the ace up your sleeve, your only protection.

You slammed into her body, the stake burying deep in her back. Black viscous liquid pulsed out of her body, coating your hands in a sticky substance. She fell aside, leaving Zelda’s body. You fell with her, pain radiating up from your feet. The jump had been too much, even with the added padding of Bella’s body. You fell off her, watching the black blood stream from her heart. She turned her head to look at you.

“Oh mi amour, you should have realised I was a liar.”

She grabbed you around the neck, squeezing. You grabbed her wrist, trying to pull her off you. She laughed, throwing her head back as her hold tightened on you.

“A stake through the heart?” she mocked, “we are far stronger than those stories you mortals tell mi amour. Did you truly believe I would tell you how to kill a vampire?”

“You might not have told her, but you told me.”

Bella turned too late, meeting Zelda’s flame covered hands. She screamed as the flames licked over her skin, leaving nothing but ash in their wake. She let you go, sending you to the floor. You scrabbled back, trying to get air in your lungs again as you watched her body burn. Her skin was bubbling before disappearing in a cloud of ash.

Exposed bone showed through as her skin melted away. She was screaming, the sound horrible, grating in your ears. It ended in a pitiful gurgle, a pile of ash all that was left. You looked up into the fierce eyes of Zelda.

“You are to never do that again,” she said.

“I was trying to save your life,” you replied.

She grabbed your face, crushing her lips against yours. You clutched at her, never wanting to let her go.

“What the hell happened up here?”

You turned, finding Ambrose standing at the top of the stairs to the morgue. He was looking from you, to Sabrina, to Hilda.

“We have taken care of Bella,” Zelda said.

“You think you may want to help Hilda and Sabrina,” you said.

“You think?”

Tags: @theenglishwizard @eyesofanangeltongueofadevil @hallospaceboyy @alexusonfire @justkeepbreathingnow @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @r0sethehat @praisezeldaspellman @escapetodreamworld @panicnymph @anxiousgoldengirl @theprassebox @witchessticktogether @vintageolives @plooffairy @whostoknow @spicyrice20 @fallenangelmuse @step-intoyour-power @basicwitchtm @lovelyleafylesbian @saucy-sapphic @zeldasnackman

[princesstreaclefanfic]

Chapter Twenty Eight

Disclaimer - All recognisable characters belong to their original owners. I do not make a profit from writing this; I simply do it for my own amusement. No copyright infringement intended.

Chapter Twenty Eight

Bella

"What's a draugr?" Rose asked, voicing the question we were all thinking.

"Reanimated corpses with similar abilities as in life." I could feel the confusion in the room. "They're dead bodies that have basically come back to life - like vampires except they're not living at all. They don't think and they don't feel. They're the real-life version of zombies." I saw Emmett's large frame tense. "They possess superhuman strength, can increase their size at will and they have magical abilities like witches."

"So she's a witch that's come back to life."

"Not exactly," Carlisle chipped in. "Draugr are dead bodies that wander around. They are motivated by anger, revenge or greed. They can't be harmed and killing them is difficult."

Carmen looked pained.

"Why would she come back?" Nessie questioned and Emmett shrugged his shoulders.

"Draugr were a thing of myth when I was a boy. I've only ever heard stories of them - never encountered one before. I knew of a tribe that dealt with one before but that's it. What Tyler described he saw and what's been going on with the bar and Jake made me think she was one." Even though I couldn't read his mind I had a feeling it was whirring. "Draugr can cause illness and disease where they live and they can cause wild animals to go mad; both things have happened since Tyler first saw her." I thought that Maria was a problem as a witch, turns out she might be more of a problem as a draugr. "They invade the dreams of people and can send them mad." I felt a physical chill go up my spine. "They're dangerous - very dangerous."

"How do we destroy her?" Jasper asked in a dark voice.

"Behead her, burn the body and then dump the ashes into the sea."

"You can't!" Carmen cried. She stood up and her eyes were frantic. "It's disrespectful. Maria ended her own life and-"

"That thing that Tyler saw wasn't Maria," Emmett tried to reason. "It was a reanimated corpse-"

"Stop saying that! Maria isn't a corpse!" With a tearful cry, Carmen ran from the room.

"Carmen!" Esme shouted. She passed Ethan over to Carlisle and went after her.

"Corpse - really Emmett?" Rose asked.

"What?" He shrugged his shoulders.

"You could have used a better term."

"It is what she is!" He defended.

"Carmen had a lot of respect for Maria," Edward tried to explain to his brother. "It's always going to be difficult for her to see her as a bad person, especially after she killed herself."

"Mama gone?" Ethan's voice chimed breaking up the atmosphere as he looked around the room for Esme. His large brown eyes looking around the room before they landed back on Carlisle.

"She'll be back soon, little man," he soothed, one hand rubbing his back and the other lightly patting his diaper-clad butt. Ethan rested his head on Carlisle's shoulder and one of his hands grasped Carlisle's shirt tightly.

We all waited in silence for Esme to come back in. I didn't know if Carmen would be with her but I knew we needed all the help we could get. Draugr's seemed like serious business.

It didn't take long and to my surprise, she came back with Carmen. Carmen stayed near the door as Esme walked across the room back to Carlisle and Ethan. She stood behind Carlisle, one hand on his shoulder as the other stroked Ethan's cheek.

Carmen blew out a breath before she began to speak. "For the longest time, Maria and I were very close. She taught me everything I know about majick. It's hard for me to think of her this evil… corpse. I want to help because I don't want anyone to get hurt." She turned her attention to Tyler. "I can teach you some spells to block her out, stop her appearing to you. They're not easy spells but I think you can do it."

Tyler nodded. "Anything to stop me from seeing her." Austin placed a hand on his back and rubbed gentle circles.

"Quick question," Jake began from his spot on the recliner. "If Tyler can't see her - how do we know where she is?"

A silence fell over the room.

"If we're going to…" his eyes flickered to Carmen before he continued, "…destroy her, surely we need to see her?"

Tyler's mind jumped to conclusions and he literally leapt from his seat. "I don't want to keep seeing her!"

"You might not have to," Carlisle's diplomatic voice said.

All eyes turned to him as we waited for him to further explain himself.

"Maria is appearing to Tyler for whatever reason - we'll probably never know. Maybe when she realises that he can't see her, she'll reveal herself to others. The more of us that can see her, the better chance we stand."

Emmett nodded his head at his maker from across the room.

Tyler still wasn't happy. I could see it in his face and hear it in his mind.

He was starting to dislike the fact he was a wicca.

***

Edward

He grasped the shovel in his hands and dug at the dirt below.

"I can't believe we're doing this," Jasper grunted, flinging some dirt behind him. "Aren't you supposed to be King? Don't you have lackeys who can do this?"

"I do - but how strange do you think it would sound asking vampires to dig up a corpse because there is a chance that it has become a mythical Norse creature?"

Jasper swore and grumbled some more.

"Shut up, Jas," Emmett told him. "It's not like you had anything better to do."

Jasper stood to his full height. "Actually, I had three better things to do: Brandi, Louisa and Cindy."

"You should be thanking us," Emmett began and from the smirk on his face, Edward had a feeling that whatever he said would be a taunt. "If you're with us you don't get the chance to disappoint them."

"I'll have you know I do not disappoint in the bedroom - I've been compared to a God," Jasper boasted proudly. Edward just rolled his eyes.

The three of them lapsed into silence as they continued to dig.

If Maria really was a draugr and not something else, her grave would be empty. She would have dug herself out and then replaced the Earth - part of an attempt to make sure that she wasn't found out.

"How easy are these things to kill, Emmett?" Edward asked.

"Depends; the longer the corpse is active the stronger it gets. The sooner we can kill her the better." He met his brother's eyes across the grave. "Draugr's are dangerous. They can take out entire villages in a few nights."

Edward realised then he might have underestimated just how powerful she was.

Jasper dug his shovel into the dirt and was met with a dull thud.

"Let's see what we can find," he murmured, throwing his shovel to the side as Edward and Emmett did the same.

Together, they worked to expose the coffin.

Edward sniffed the air and he realised that he already knew the answer to whether Maria was a draugr or not. There was no smell of death or decay. There was no body in this coffin.

He shared a look with Emmett as the opened the wooden box. It was empty.

"Now what?" Jasper asked.

"We put it back and we work out how to destroy her," Edward said, his mind thinking of what they could do. How exactly did you destroy something you couldn't see? There was no guarantee she would show herself to others, it was just a guess. And he doubted Tyler would willingly look for her. He was already starting to look a bit freaked out by everything going on around him.

***

As Edward took his watch off, he looked at Bella already in bed as she absentmindedly picked at the pillowcase.

"What are you thinking?"

She gave him a small smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Nothing."

"Try again."

She looked down at the bed and then back at him. "I wonder when we're going to get a break. I wonder when things aren't going to want to hurt us or kill us. When we can just be."

Edward crawled onto the bed and pulled Bella into his chest. "I'm afraid that is part of being supernatural. There is always a danger." He fingered a curl and wrapped the strands around his finger. "But every time we stop something or someone from harming us; we're doing a good deed."

He felt her smile against his chest.

"I love you, Edward Masen."

"I love you more, Bella Swan."

He leaned down and kissed her, fully intent on pulling back and settling down for the night, but Bella had other ideas. She grasped the back of his head in her hands and pulled him down on top of her, deepening the kiss and wrapping her legs around his waist.

Their hips began to move together and Edward struggled to get the t-shirt and panties away from her body. In the end, he got so frustrated he ripped them, causing Bella to gasp and giggle as he nibbled down her body to her pussy.

Wasting no time, he used his tongue and fingers to bring her to her first climax, his fangs scraping the skin of her thigh when she screamed out in pleasure, her hands clenching the sheets.

Slowly, he made his way back up to her mouth, dragging his body up hers and stopping to lavish some love to the tight peaks that rested in the middle of her breasts. They seemed to strain and beg him mouth to take them - so he did. His tongue caressed the pebbled skin before he flicked it harshly, her hips bucking into his in response.

Edward kissed her once again and used one hand to support himself as the other grabbed his cock and placed it at her entrance.

When his tongue plundered into her mouth, his cock plundered into her pussy.

"Oh!" she cried. It was like music to her ears. He grinned against her lips and set a slow rhythm, holding her thigh against his hip to give him a deep angel that he knew would allow him to hit the perfect spot.

"It doesn't matter…" he panted out, "what is thrown our way… because we will always have this…" He emphasised his point with a particularly deep thrust.

"Yes!" Bella agreed, her fingernails digging into his back.

"I will always love you, Isabella Marie Swan." It was a promise.

Bella cried out in pleasure and arched her back high. Her nipples grazed Edward's chest and her pussy clenched around his cock.

"Uh!" Edward moaned. His cock felt like it was swelling and his balls felt tingly. He thrust deeply into her came hard, hips still pumping as he came down.

As they lay there, both of them coming down, Edward reflected back on what he said.

It really didn't matter what life threw at them; they would always have each other.

Bella not being part of life was no longer an option, he did a year without her and he might as well have been silvered and starved for all the pain it caused him. As Bella drifted to sleep, her eyes closing and a blissful smile on her face, Edward thought about what her left hand would look like with a band on her ring finger.

He too fell asleep that night with a smile on his face and different styles and types of rings dancing around his mind.

Thank you for reading.

[cerillosvillage]

<<Prev | List | Next>>

Eleven: What You Live By

Lay me down in the bed that I made/ Starved for sleep by the shrill serenade/ Singing over and over/ You will die by what you live by

Two hired hands slowly climbed down out of the back of the wagon, carrying a heavy slab of stone between them. The wagon looked out of place, sitting as it was on the floor of the box canyon. The canyon's walls were high and steep, and bent inwards towards the top, making the space feel like a natural cathedral. The rocks were striated with ancient layers of volcanic tuff and red sandstone, with black streaks like soot that ran perpendicular to the natural rock layers. The canyon floor was all rock and sand, the area devoid of any life.

The wagon was painted in a rich purple and lettered with gold paint, declaring in a fanciful script the name and occupation of its owner. The Spectacular Garmites, it read, Stage Magician, Psychic, Master of Illusions! But there was no magic show happening here; it just so happened that the show wagon was the only one Garmites owned.

"Are you sure you want to return this thing?" The magician asked as he watched the hired help struggle under the weight of the sheet of stone. "I dare say we could get more use out of it than this place could."

"Are you really suggesting we keep a piece of the place that killed me just because you want to have sex on it?" Picketwire asked. She had only blank white expanses for eyes, but Garmites was sure she was glaring at him out of the corner of them.

"Well, when you put it that way…"

"Men," she muttered, and he knew she had returned her gaze to the workers as they approached the canyon wall.

"Hey," he murmured, turning and reaching out to her with his stone arm. He cupped her face, running his thumb over her cheek. "I finally found out that I can touch you after six months of being in love with you. Can you really blame me?"

She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. Her hand came up and covered his, and he knew she felt the same. Both in that she felt the same longing need to touch him, and that she loved him. They had expressed the mutual feeling after the first time they made love - and immediately fell into each other's' arms to make love multiple times in the same day. Six months of an enforced distance because of their curses, and finally a chance for closeness… it was like a floodgate had opened.

But here she was, willingly getting rid of the one piece of furniture that she could sit or lay on.

Picketwire opened her eyes again, turning her face up to Garmites.

"We'll figure something else out. Better yet, we'll find a way to restore my body so that I can touch all of you."

A chill travelled up his spine at the thought. He had wanted to reverse his own curse for the sake of his life, of course, but now that he had a goal for what to do with his body after he was free from the stone that was replacing his skin, he wanted to find a fix more than ever. Of course Picketwire would only feel the same.

He leaned down to brush his lips against hers, to feel that gentle numbing tingle that he was coming to enjoy, when one of the hired hands called out to him.

Both he and Picketwire let go of one another, straightening and looking ahead.

The closed end of the canyon consisted of a great stone wall covered with paintings and pictographs displaying all sorts of symbols, from animals to people to celestial bodies. Some were so old that they were barely visible, while others were only a hundred or so years old. Chunks of the pictographs were missing, slabs of stone having fallen off or been broken off by archeologists and would-be tomb robbers.

And there, in the center of the wall, stood the thing that had attracted Picketwire to the canyon in the first place. A great stone door carved into the stone, covered with elaborate designs that were outside of the technological capabilities of the tribes native to the region. Unlike the pictographs, it was utterly untouched - except for an opening only a few inches wide.

Picketwire had come closer to opening the crypt than any other attempt - and she had paid dearly for it, the magic protecting the place immediately striking her dead and leaving her soul to wander the desert, alone and cursed.

At least, alone until she found Garmites.

She stepped forward, walking on nothing, floating just above the ground, to join the workers. She looked at the slab - she and Garmites had dismantled the table it was attached to - and studied the patterns painted on its surface. There was the back half of a huge lizard on one of its edges, the image almost a foot long. The slab had been cut into a rectangular shape, so there was no way she could find the exact spot it came from, but with luck, she might find the rest of the pattern.

She stepped back, gazing up at the wall, carefully studying each empty spot where a piece had been broken off.

It took her nearly ten minutes, but she finally spotted the front half of a large lizard. It was on the opposite side of the one on the slab and its legs angled down as opposed to the upward angle the back half. But by tilting her head and thinking, Picketwire figured that the slab simply needed to be turned one hundred and eighty degrees clockwise. She instructed the workers to turn the stone piece over, then guided them to the correct spot.

It took some effort to get the piece into place, as the empty spot was about four feet off the ground, and both Picketwire and Garmites pitched in to lift it up. They group managed to prop it up about where it was supposed to go, like a giant puzzle piece.

Picketwire stood back, looking up at the wall. Then, there was a feeling inside of her. Like something had clicked into place. Like a piece of herself that she didn't even know was missing at been restored.

"Are you alright?" Garmites asked, concerned at the strange look that had come over her face.

Was she alright? She felt somehow slightly more complete, but at the same time she felt a great pull. It was as if someone was trying to drag her towards the crypt's door.

"I have to go inside," she murmured, more to herself than to Garmites.

He looked at the door, furrowing his brow.

"Do you want me to come with you?"

"What?" She had only barely heard him. She felt suddenly like she was underwater. Everything was hard to hear.

"Do you want me to come with you, into that thing?" He repeated.

She thought for a moment. "No. I don't want both of us being killed."

"But you'll try again, despite what happened the first time?"

He had a point, she supposed. And yet…

"I feel like it'll be different this time. Because I'm already dead."

She had kept her eyes on the crack in the door throughout the entire conversation. Garmites caught her by the arm but still she didn't look at him.

"Just be careful," he said.

She nodded, but she hadn't been listening. She pulled her arm away and stepped towards the door. She'd been drifting closer to it without walking since the stone had been put in its place.

She reached the door and placed a hand on the smooth stone surface. When last she had tried to open the crypt, the door had felt like it weighed several tons, and had taken a great deal of force to open even a crack. This time, it yielded instantly to her hand, swinging open like a well-oiled gate.

Inside, the crypt was pitch black. But as she entered, she saw the walls as clear as day. A long, vaulted hallway stretched before her. Every few feet, there was a niche carved into the wall on either side, and in each niche sat matching skulls. The first she passed held small animal skulls; what looked like a bird, a lizard, a rabbit. The animals got bigger in size as she walked forward. A lynx, a coyote, a deer, an elk.

And finally, at the far end of the hallway, two human skulls sat, one on either side of the hall.

Here, the hallway dropped off into a sloping pathway with a much lower ceiling. The pathway was narrow, enough to make her feel claustrophobic, despite her work usually taking her into small burial chambers. Still, she headed down, down into the depths of the crypt. The pathway snaked along with many sharp turns, and then finally opened back up.

The burial chamber of the crypt was a gigantic room, no doubt a natural cave that had been shaped by workers into a smooth-walled chamber. In the center of the room sat a huge stone sarcophagus. Picketwire approached it, to find that it had been carved out of a rock formation native to the room itself, as it was attached to the floor with no sign of nails or adhesive.

The lid of the sarcophagus had been opened slightly. Picketwire grasped the heavy stone and pushed it aside without any hesitation.

The sarcophagus was empty, save for a fine coating of dust. Frustrated, Picketwire stepped back and looked at her surroundings. The walls, she saw, were decorated with paintings of a style far different from the pictographs outside. These images were more realistic and more delicate, depicting life scenes of some ancient civilization. She spotted what looked like pictures of people farming, of people writing, of people playing instruments.

But all of this was overshadowed by a massive painting in the center of one wall that stretched from floor to ceiling. It was an image of a feminine figure with six arms. Each one of her hands held a sword. On the top of her head were huge sickle-shaped horns.

A name came unbidden into Picketwire's mind.

Nelan.

* * *

"Her name is Nelan," Castlerock said over the discussion.

All eyes turned to him. RedRock stopped what he had been saying, which had been a rundown of the creatures of myth he knew about, none of which had matched the description of the thing that had attacked Glyph.

"What?" Magdalena asked, breaking the confused silence.

"The creature in the dust. Her name is Nelan."

"How do you know that?" RedRock asked. He did not hide the slight annoyance he felt at being talked over when he was, in fact, the most well-versed in the tribe's history.

"The spirits told me. They say she is also a spirit, but one far older than any of them. She is a patron of dust, and of battle."

"Your spirits -- do they know what she wants?" Magdalena asked. Her tone was urgent; unlike the rest of the tribe, she had been around to see Elyakim's angels. She had watched as the monsters had decimated the village on the plains, had seen her husband die at their hands. She had watched as they almost killed the Rockbreaker cult. She alone of the tribe knew the dangers that came from the magic that touched the region.

"They said she was put to sleep long, long ago -- before the history of any of the current tribes of the region began. She was trapped, because she was such a danger to the peoples living her. Something must have awoken her."

"But what does she want, Castlerock?"

The shaman paused, closing his eyes. He seemed to be listening to something that no one else in the room could hear - which he was.

"It's hard to say. They keep talking over each other -- I think they're afraid of her. But," he opened his eyes, "the one thing they've all said is that if we cannot defeat her in battle, we're all dead."

[snarkiara]

Moon Chosen by PC Cast: About the Book + Chapter 1

First Thing’s First: Why did I buy this book?

I really like PC Cast’s earlier work, The Goddess Summoning Series and Tales of Parthelon, they’re well written, witty, and fun. They’re also Romance Novels. (The one’s I have most issue with are the second in Parthelon (Divine by Choice) and the last in Goddess Summoning (Goddess of Legend)) I started disliking her work when she and her daughter wrote The House of Night Series which is . . . disgusting.

Here’s a short list of wrongs from Fandom Hates People of Color

The MC killed two black men for no reason

Another link

Something people always applaud it for is that it doesn’t slut-shame because the main character has a whole bunch of partners and that is just . . . wrong. It does slut-shame other characters via the MC’s misogyny. Also the main character having multiple partners isn’t a good thing because she’s CHEATING on all of them.

Case in point: her ex almost died and ended up in the hospital so she lost her virginity to her teacher (this is statutory rape btw, he was also manipulating her but somehow she still agreed to it while thinking the man she loved was dying???) who she’d been cheating on said ex with and then later when she gets back together with her ex and he’s paranoid the narrative treats it like he’s being paranoid and jealous for no reason despite the fact she cheated on him with three different guys

just. yikes.

So when that series ended and I saw PC Cast was going to do a book alone I wondered “Is everything bad in House of Night from her daughter? How much is from her?” I was also curious because Moon Chosen would be PC Cast’s first solo YA novel. 

Let me tell you right here and now that’s it was not all her daughter.

Moon Chosen is a YA novel published by St. Martin's Griffin in 2016 and it has one sequel entitled Sun Warrior (2017).

The Cover:

It’s not bad. One of the reasons I got it was because of the cover. I especially like the sun-like o (I think it’s supposed to be moon-like but . . .)

Goodreads Summary:

Chosen to embrace her true identity. Chosen to follow her destiny. Chosen to change her world.

Mari is an Earth Walker, heir to the unique healing powers of her Clan, but she has been forced to turn from her duties, until she is chosen by a special animal ally, altering her destiny forever. When a deadly attack tears her world apart, Mari reveals the strength of her powers and the forbidden secret of her dual nature as she embarks on a mission to save herself and her people. It is not until Nik, the son of the leader from a rival, dominating Tribe, strays across her path that Mari experiences something she has never felt before…

Now evil is coming, and with it, a force more terrible and destructive than the world has ever seen, leaving Mari to cast the shadows from the earth. By breaking Clan Law and forming an alliance with Nik, she must make herself ready. Ready to save her people. Ready to save herself and Nik. Ready to embrace her true destiny…and battle the forces that threaten to destroy them all.

Now, there’s a lot to unpack here. PC Cast always uses mythology in her books, focusing on European mythologies such as Greek, Celtic, and Roman. Since the MC in House of Night’s Native American heritage was NOT handled well I was already worried when I realized this story almost definitely took place in a fantasy North America (Hint: The series title is Tales of a New World).

I also want everyone to know that the top two reviews on Goodreads were both 1 stars. XD Here and here.

Now, reminder that when I first got this book like 2 years ago I couldn’t even get past PAGE 2

Without Further Ado: Chapter 1

There’s a lot to unpack here so I’m literally going to transcribe the entire first 2 pages to ya’ll because it is physically painful to read and I want all of you to share my pain.

The contagious sound of women’s laughter filled the warm, tidy burrow.

“Oh, Mari! That is not an illustration from the myth I just told you.”

Mari’s mother held the sheet of handmade paper in one hand and pressed the other hand against her mouth, unsuccessfully trying to hold back another bout of laughter.

“Mama, your job is to tell the stories. My job is to sketch them. That’s our game, right? Our favorite game.”

“Well, yes,” Leda said, still trying to fix her expression to a more sober one. “I do tell the stories, but you tend to sketch what you think you hear.”

“I don’t see the problem with that.” Mari moved to stand beside her mother and studied the newly finished sketch with her. “This is exactly what I saw as you were telling the story of Narcissus and Echo.”

If they’re in North America . . . why are they talking about Greek gods? This tells me that at least Mari’s mother Leda isn’t Native American. (As also evidenced from their names.)

“Mari, you made Narcissus look like a young man turning into a flower. Awkwardly.  He has one hand that is a leaf and the other that is still a hand. The same with his--” Leda stifled a giggle. “Well, with several other parts of his anatomy. And he has a mustache and a silly look on his face--though I do admit it is an amazing talent you have that can bring a silly-looking half flower, half man, to life.” Leda pointed to the sketch and the ghostly nymph who Mari had somehow made to look bored and annoyed as she watched the transformation of Narcissus. “You made Echo look--” Leda hesitated, obviously searching for the right words.

“Fed up with Narcissus and his ego?” Mari offered.

Leda gave up all pretense of admonishment and laughed out loud. “Yes, that is exactly how you made Echo look, though that is not the story I told.”

“Well, Leda.” Mari used her mother’s given name as she waggled her brows at her. “I was listening to your story and as I was drawing I decided that something was definitely left out of the ending.”

Even I know this is too much telling instead of showing.

“The ending? Really?” Leda bumped her daughter with her shoulder. “And stop calling me Leda.”

“But, Leda, that’s your name.”

“To the rest of the world. To you my name is Mother.”

“Mother? Really? It’s so--”

“Respectful and traditional?” This time Leda offered to finish her daughter’s thought.

“More like boring and old,” Mari said, eyes shining as she waited for her mother’s predictable response.

“Boring and old? Did you just call me boring and old?”

“What? Me? Call you boring and old? Never, Mama, never!” Mari giggled and held her hand up in surrender.

This is not how mothers and daughters talk to each other? Gods I miss when PC wrote Romance novels. She is obviously not in her element in YA novels and doesn’t understand that - considering I started reading her work back in middle school and never had any trouble understanding it - she doesn’t need to change her writing style to apply to teenagers. I’m pretty sure that’s what’s happening because it reads more like House of Night than anything else I’ve read of hers so I don’t think it’s devolving I think it’s a deliberate choice.

“All fixed,” She said, holding up the sketch for Leda to inspect.

“Mari, his eyes are crossed,” Leda said.

“The rest of the story made me think he wasn’t too smart. So I made him look not very smart.”

I’ve not even gone half a page and already there’s this ableist crap and Mari shaming her mother for having been a teen mother.

Okay so Mari just named 4 Clans: Clan Weaver, Clan Fisher, Clan Miller, and Clan Wood. How many clans are there and do they all have specializations which give them their names?

[Mari] “Blueberries! Really, Mama? That would be wonderful. I love the color of ink I make with them. It’s a nice change from the black stain I get from walnuts.”

What?

[Leda] “I do, and I’m looking forward to dyeing a new cloak for you this spring, but I admit freely that I would rather eat a blueberry pie!”

WHAT?

So Mari brings up that Leda’s name is from a story and then mentions that her grandmother Cassandra did not name things sensibly. Then . . .

“You know very well that Moon Women always name their daughters whatever is whispered to them on the wind by the Great Earth Mother. My mother, Cassandra, was named by her mother, Penelope. I heard your lovely name whispered by our Earth Mother the full moon night before you were born.”

“My name is boring.” Mari sighed. “Does that mean the Earth Mother thinks I’m boring?”

“No, that means the Earth Mother thinks we should make up a story to go with your name--a story all your own.”

This reads like Mari’s 10 years old. She’s 16-17. So their clan is the Moon Clan and so far they’ve only mentioned Moon Women, no Moon Men and Mari’s father is not from the Moon Clan.

Woah okay here we go.

“Mari, sweet girl, I cannot tell another story tonight, though I wish I could, sunset is not far off, and tonight the moon will be full and brilliant. The needs of the Clan will be great.”

Mari opened her mouth to plead with Leda to stay just for a few moments more, to put her needs before those of the Clan, but before she could speak her small, selfish desire her mother’s body twitched spasmodically, shoulders trembling, head jerking painfully and uncontrollably. Though she had already turned from her daughter, as always trying to shield her from the change night brought with it. Mari knew all too well what was happening.

. . . She took her mother’s hand, holding it in both of hers, hating how cold it had become--hating the pale silver-gray tinge that was beginning to spread across her skin. And wishing, always wishing, that she could soothe the pain that visited her mother with the setting of the sun every night of her life.

Or . . . not? I’m . . . very confused because Mari’s sad she took up her mother’s time till after sunset which causes her mother pain but then . . . continues taking up her time??? Like after her mother goes through this pain they start . . . exchanging gifts? Her mother made her a flower crown that’s called a Maiden . . . Moon . . . Crown. What? 

[I didn’t transcribe this part but I want you all to know that the words “glowmoss” and “glowshrooms” (“which suspended . . . like organic chandeliers”) were actually used.]

Men have finally been mentioned and it doesn’t look good.

“. . . I’m afraid this spring moon won’t be as festive as usual. Not after so many Earth Walkers have been recently captured by the Companions. The Earth Mother feels unusually restless to me, as if uncomfortable changes are coming. Our women have been filled with more sorrow than usual, and our men--well, we know the anger the Night Fever brews within our men.”

“They won’t just be angry, they’ll be dangerous. Damn Scratchers!

“Mari, don’t call your people that. It makes them sound like monsters.”

“They’re only half my people, Mother, and at night they are monsters. [wow wtf] Or at least the men are. What would happen if you didn’t wash them of the Night fever every three days? Wait, I know what would happen. It’s why a Moon Woman’s burrow has to always be hidden, even from her own Clan.” [WTF. btb they live in an actual burrow underground] Frustration and fear caused her words to be harsh, and as soon as she’d spoken them the sadness that filled her mother’s eyes made her regret such harshness.

“Mari, you must never forget that at night, even I have within me the capacity to be a monster.”

“Not you! I didn’t mean you. I’d never mean you!

“But the moon is all that keeps me from becoming more Scratcher than Earth Walker. Sadly, our people cannot call down the moon as I can, so I must do it for them as least once every three nights. Tonight is a Third Night, as well as the spring full moon. Our Clan will gather, and I will Wash [why is this capitalized?] them so that their lives may be open to accept love and joy instead of mired in melancholy and anger . . .”

I have no doubt this is going to be another Native American werewolves story. Seriously? SERIOUSLY? It goes into Mari being self-deprecating after this because she wants more than to be a part of her Clan and then talks about how Leda’s been hiding the truth about Mari her whole life. Presumably, that Mari is only half Moon Clan.

Okay so they talk about Mari’s power and how she keeps failing to do what her mother does but her mother assures her that nothing’s wrong because she “sane” with no sign of “madness or pain.” Leda needs to choose and apprentice but Mari’s wavering because she doesn’t think she’s good enough. Leda wants Mari to join her for the ceremony that night.

So apparently Mari has a choice to-be or not-to-be a Moon Woman?

Leda goes into pain again and Mari agrees to go with her.

Oh. oh no.

“Let me touch up your face. We’ll need to dye your hair again soon, but not tonight.”

Mari stifled a sigh and tilted her face up so that her mother could reapply the muddy mixture that kept their secret.

Leda worked in silence, thickening her daughter’s brow, flattening her cheekbones, and then, lastly, smearing the dirty, sticky clay substance down her neck and arms.

Brownface. Wow. I can’t even.

In other news Mari accidentally touched sunlight which caused a filigree pattern and a rush of power to spread over the skin on her hand even through the brownface.

So. Mari’s lighter skinned than the rest of her clan and she has an affinity for the sun instead of the moon. (btw that’s the opposite of how it should be genetically but whatever) Her mother and her have been hiding this for 17 years by keeping her locked up in the burrow during the day and hidden under clothing and brownface while she’s out at night. Wow.

This chapter was only 10 pages.

[thegamemasterlovesyou]

Myrgh’Or

So, after four years of world building, I’m publishing it, so you can use it, or suggest me anything. This is a constant work in progress, and reflects how I see it today. For my world, I have numerous sources of inspiration, including obvious ones like Terry Pratchett or John Ronald Reuel Tolkien, Homer, George Raymond Richard Martin’s work, or artworks like Skyrim, Tales of Symphonia, Dishonored, or other myths from Greek and Scandinavian mythology. It is not plagiarism, it is pastiche. Keep in mind English is not my mother tongue, and some grammatical mistake can and will appear. 

I The World

Myrgh’Or is a continent, on a back of a giant Tarasque, the Terrasque. It turns around it self, giving nights and days, and revolves around a star, giving the years. Each year is divided in 12 months of 4 weeks each. Each week is divided in 5 days:

Dyddwaz

Kraendydd

Nordydd

Visdydd

DyddMor

Each days is named after a major divinity, which we give more detail in the next section.

Most of Myrgh’Or has a temperate climate. It gets warmer at the very south near the Great Mor’s Beak, and dry in the south-west in the Gado Desert. Temperatures can go very low near the Black Massif on the est, and Mount Caer Estae north-west. Except for the Gado Desert (which is due to a singularity in the Terrasque), the continent has green plains and large forests.

II The Mythology and Folklore

Before the age of the mortals, were the Thamerians, powerful magical creatures. They built an entire empire across the back of the Terrasque, leaving ruins and foundations of the major actual cities. Resourceful as they were, they built machines to help them in they everyday life, more and more sophisticated. At first, those machines were made out of metal, powered by energy cores (brilliantly called thamercores) but they improved their techniques and began making creatures made out of flesh and blood. But they were fragile and imperfect, as they didn’t last long, so the Thamerians, and especially one, called Vissaus, kept improving her creatures. Thus were created the humans, elves, and other task-specific creatures such as the dwarfs and the haffling. His dear friend and rival Kraenn thought they were too complicated for their purpose, and took inspiration to make the fauna, from the smallest fish to the greatest dragon, in order to help keeping the flora that had emerged from the back of the Terrasque, viable, and the fauna in a delicate balance. When any creature was broken (or dead) one of them: Mor, would take it away, giving it to Vissaus or Kraenn again.

Some tensions were built between the Thamerians, that eventually lead to war. Many Thamerians perished, and the survivors gave freedom, wisdom and knowledge to their creatures before leaving the continent. They were lead by Waz’kry, his brother Mor and his lieutenants Nordyr, Vissaus and Kraenn. They were eventually raised to the status of gods by the remaining population.

However, not every Thamerians were approving this liberation, and took revenge on this humiliation by attacking and tormenting the mortals. Nordyr help them, by giving them weapons to defend themselves against Naard’s assaults. When a more stable peace was achieved, they eventually went to the head of the Terrasque, minding their own business, while sometimes sending avatars to meet with the mortals, often from the creation of Kraenn, or Vissaus.

Waz’kry became the god of the gods, patron of justice. His avatar is a phoenix.

Mor became the god of death, and took the nickname “the Great Mor”, taking away deceased creatures when their time has come. His avatar is a pale humanoid that morphs into a crow.

Vissaus became the goddess of knowledge, arts and science. Her patron is also a humanoid, helping mortals solving problems.

Kraenn became the god of nature. His patron is a deer, guiding lost persons.

Nordyr became the god of war, travelers and merchants. His patron is a grey wolf.

Other Thamerians were also elevated to gods, among them: Tralunac, god of chaos, Naard, god of destructions, and other.

III History of the Mortals

Before leaving, some of the Thamerians left behind creatures of their own as a legacy, becoming Celestial beings and Tieffling, perceived as half-gods. Some of them, such as Hippolyte Waznal, son of Waz’kry, and his cousin Mornal were called to rule over the other mortals, making Waznal the emperor of Myrgh’Or, and starting the first era. 

The calendar counts four eras so far. The first era starts at the foundation of the empire at its former capital city Vis Lyann ; and ends and year 317, during the revolt of the half-elves. As they were too human for elves and to elven for humans, they were segregated, until things went out of control. They founded the independent city of Skysod, on a low hill to the west of Vis Lyann, while the other mortals went south to the city of Val Magar, making it the new capital of Myrgh’Or.

The second era ends in year 553, by the end of the siege of Blüm, in the Gado Desert, that was independent city so far. In the same time, the half-elves of Skysod surrendered and accepted a peace trade with the empire. Those two cities would still have their own government, but be under the guardianship of Val Magar.

The third era ends in year 1072, when Theophrastus Mornal, son of the Great Mor, kills the last dragon, after almost 1500 years of crusade, to prove to his peers his valor and power. Some say that the dragon wrath first came from him, but it was this wrath again other mortals that lead Theophrastus on his killing spree.

The fourth and current era is now at 92 years of relative peace, even though about 50 years ago, the son of Theophrastus, Seth Mornal wanted to do as his father and began a cult to kill all lizardfolks (the Saurians) and Goblin. (He wanted to kill orcs as well, but they were to strong for him). He eventually got stopped quickly by the imperial armies, but many suffered from his insane crusade. This came from a long time racism from humanoids against other thinking creatures, especially from the Haffling toward the Saurians.

IV Geopolitics

IV-a Governments

The contient is divided in six regions, with their own capital. The first is the region of Val Magar, in the center of the continent, and heart of the empire. Up north, there is the region of Vis Lyann, city of the archmage and the paladins; west Vis Norgur, great harbor and gateway to Blüm; south-est Dallah Rom, important economic city, at the crossroad of the north and south; south Strâtos, city of the Grey Elves; and south-west Blüm, formerly independent. Skysod is in the region of Vis Lyann.

Each region has its own leader, its Thael, often chosen by the emperor, or first offspring of the last late Thael; except for Dallah Rom, were the Thael has been overthrown by the local bourgeoisie and installed an elected government. 

Each Thael (or equivalent, looking at you Dallah Rom) has its own army, but has to respond to the Empire. However, any military title from the empire is treated one rank under when dealing with local army. For instance, a sergeant of the imperial army will be considered as a corporal in any other army. This is to prevent abuse of power between the imperial armies and the local armies.

Every town has their color scheme and symbol. Val Magar is a silver tower, with two swords crossing in the background. The tower represents the emperor’s tower. Vis Lyann is a golden tower, with a green shield in front. The tower is the former emperor’s tower, now the paladin’s academy and archmage’s tower. Vis Norgur is three bronze manatees in top of each other, on a blue background. Blüm is a golden kopesh, with red gems on the side on a bronze background. Dallah Rom is an ox with dagger for horns, in front of a green background. Stätos is an eagle-owl with a scroll in its claws, over a marine-blue background. And the Empire is a flaming phoenix, over a red and silver background.

IV-b Villages and other cites

Each city has its own local government, of a mayor, chosen by the Thael, and several councilmen or councilwomen, chosen by the mayor. 

Folks of the same races tend to gather into communities, forming cites. Lymbôs, in the Vis Lyann region and in the Noras forest, is mainly populated by wood elves. Bald’huin, in the region of Dallah Rom, in the Black Massif, is mainly populated by dwarfs. Mortas, in the Mortas forest, in the region of Stâtos, is mainly populated by dark elves and night elves. They are lead by the Spider clan and the Raven clan. Hillfoot, on the south cost, in the region of Dallah Rom, is mainly populated by Hafflings. Illpit, on the west cost, in the Vis Norgur region, is mainly populated by Saurians.

Few smaller scalled cities are famously known for very specific things. For instance, Ompolinburgh produces the best horses of the continent. They have this knowledge from a nomad tribe of tattooed elves, that once had a settlement here, and leaved when other races came. The city of Hillfoot, where most of the Haffling live, are famous for their racist chocolate, the Saucolote, with a smiling saurian on the package, and their raciste pipe weed, the Sanabis. The village of Littleburgh is known for having only small sized dwellers, such as dwarfs, hafflings, or just small humans. And Thamerburgh is known for its ruins of thamerian civilization next to the border of the city.

V Miscellaneous facts

Raptor breeding is very prolific in the Elnias plains, on the west of the continent

Giants live in the south of the Black Massif, and it is bad luck to watch one in the eye. This doesn’t prevent people reproducing with them, making some curious hybrid.

The true half-elves (human-elf) are the only fertile hybrid of the Terrasque, all the other are sterile, but are still viable.

The closer you are from the elven race, the higher you are in the half-elf hierarchy. 

The other son of Theophrastus, Garius Mornal, has accidentally woken up sleeping dragons that his father didn’t kill. They are now trying to regain strength

Tralunac is one of the only gods to actually interact with mortals, instead of using an avatar.

The cult of the Great Mor has significantly lost interest when his grand son tried to make a genocide. It has gotten a bit better since

Even if it is technically a mortal, the emperor hasn’t aged since the first era, making him the longest (and only) ruler of Myrgh’Or.

His cousin Mornal, and brother of Theophrastus, hand of the emperor, has been killed during the thrid era, and being replaced by Crowback, as the hand of the emperor. His name comes from the people of Val Magar, since everyone knows he ordered the assassination of Mornal, but no one can prove it.

Many guilds and organisations emerged from the society. Among them, the Silver Skull, an adventurer’s guild in Val Magar, lead by Garius Mornal, or the Black Feather, an assassin guild, lead by... also Garius Mornal. In Blüm, there is the Sand Dagger, an illegal guild, lead by Âhz-Ra, and all across the continent strikes the Alleged, who take care of problems they value worth the time.

Even if magic does exist, there is always a risk of becoming mad by using it, slowly corrupting the mind.

Some people are specialists in the making of special orbs, that come from the soul of any living being. The greater the soul is, the more powerful the orb will be. For instance, using an ox will strengthen the wielder, while using a orb from a Hag will boost the intelligence but also slowly corrupt the mind of the user, like using magic.

Many races, like orcs, goblins, or ogres, are nomads, and can be found anywhere on the continent. Even if they come from the same origin, they are mistrustful toward each other.

The personal guards of the emperor is constituted of Drakes that agreed to help him. For that, they have been  banished from their clans.

[meta] The world is constantly evolving, as we are four DMs playing, using it as a canvas. Some cities appear, other are being destroyed. I have much more to say, but not all is relevant. Feel free to give me any feedback you seem useful, and I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

Keep playing,

Jules, the game master that loves you.

[lgenevievei]

Maiden Rock - A Novel of the Winona Myth

As it has been so long since I've kept an active blog of what I'm currently writing about, I decided to schedule some blog posts regarding my current projects, which include an undertaking that rests very close to home. Since I began writing, I've always wanted to write about where I come from, but, unfortunately, for the most part, where I come from is pretty . . . well, boring. It's nothing like the famous, ancient cities where most of my novels take place, full of old wars and kingdoms long past. Or at least, that's what I grew up thinking. I grew up in southeastern Minnesota, where nothing too impressive ever seems to happen. There's lots of farmers and doctors (looking at you, Mayo Clinic), but not a whole lot of action or adventure. Not in the history that we talk about, anyway. But I've begun to realize that it isn't because it isn't there. It's just because we don't like to talk about it. We don't like to broach subjects that might uncomfortable. So, instead, we all but erased the very real history of this land, which is rich and thrilling. At least, in my opinion as a writer of primarily fantasy based writing, it's much more interesting than the history of farming. Southeastern Minnesota has a strong Dakota Sioux history, which can be seen in the very name the state was given. (Hint: It comes from Mnisota in the Dakota language, meaning "cloudy water" -- according to the internet that is; I'm no expert). In fact, it's almost impossible to go anywhere around here that doesn't have the Dakotas to thank for its name. And yet, I know almost nothing about this history that happened in my own back yard. Even though I grew up speaking words from the Dakota language and going to places with great significance to their culture, I never knew very much about any of it. Of course, we all know why that is. I see Minnesota as a place that can't quite decide what it wants to do about its heritage. On the one hand, we have a history of atrocities enacted against the Dakota people (I'm looking at you Mankato Massacre), while on the other hand several hundred places around the state have kept their Dakota names in place and places like Winona (best known as the Winona Ryder's namesake) and Wabasha erect statues honoring the very people they once drove out.

(Photos Courteousy of the Diversity Foundation and Winona Daily News) Which is what lead me to my story idea. See that woman up there in the bottom photo? That's Winona. Or "Princess Winona" as she's commonly known to the white folk in the area. See I grew up hearing a version of her story told by my grandpa, and my uncles, and my mother, and my father, and pretty much anyone else with pale skin and European blood. And their version of the story went something like this: "Once upon a time, there was a little Indian princess named Nona who was forcibly married to a man she did not love. And, instead of going through with the marriage, she threw herself off of Sugarloaf bluff. And when her husband saw what she had done, he cried, 'Why, Nona?' And ever since that day, this place has been called Winona in her honor." Yeah, it's pretty . . . awful in that form. For many reasons. So many reasons. Not least of which is that that version teaches you to say the town name incorrectly. But it got me thinking. All stories come from somewhere, right? And I could guess that there really was some sort of Winona myth -- I mean, there really was a town called Winona and it really did have a statue of a Dakota woman whose name was supposedly Winona. So there had to be a story in there somewhere, right? Right. And so began my research. I had the whole of the internet at my disposal. I was bound to find and endless stream of information on this subject, right? Not so right. See, while Winona's arts and culture society might be doing their darnedest to make right the wrongs of the past today, they can't undo generations of steamrolling overtop of the Dakota culture. There are certain things that we will just never get back, histories of this area that are lost forever. And so, what you're able to find on the internet of Dakota legends and histories, is . . . scattered at best. What I did find out is this: The story of a Native American woman throwing herself off of a cliff to avoid an unwanted marriage is a common one, that shows up in almost every tribe's legends. And there really is a Dakota legend of that very kind that is said to take place near Winona, MN. Only, by near, I mean over 40 miles away and on the other side of the river in Pepin, WI. And her name wasn't Winona, because Winona wasn't a name. It was a title given to the first born daughter of any family. From what I can tell, it seems that the title Winona being associated with this myth is a case of historians getting it wrong. See in the 1800's a man who came to the area wrote down a bunch of stories told to him by the people of Chief Wapasha's tribe. (You might remember him as the other statue pictured above.) And somehow, he ended up thinking that the woman in the story was a member of Wapasha's ancestral family -- the first born daughter of a previous Chief Wapasha that would have been commonly known as Winona. That's what I've taken away from what I've been able to find anyway. And there are many different versions of the story floating around out there. In most versions of the story, she is indeed the daughter of the chief and she is promised in marriage to a warrior in a nearby tribe. Distraught, the woman decides on the night of her wedding, that she can't bear to live the life that's being forced upon her, and so in a fit of desperation, she throws herself from the top of a bluff rather than continue. In another version, it isn't a man from a nearby tribe that she's being forced to marry but a French fur trader. And in yet others, she may not have been the chief's daughter at all. Regardless of which of these versions could be considered the "correct" one, I felt like this "Winona" figure had really been short changed. I felt like there was more to tell with her story, that wasn't covered in the myth, and so I decided to explore it more myself. Moreso, I'm sick of seeing cliche of "woman kills herself over a man" and so decided that the Winona I was writing, my Winona, wouldn't have taken her own life unless she had more of a reason to do so. At the same time, I've always looked up at the bluffs surrounding Winona and thought that many of them looked like the craggy faces of old men, slumbering under layers of grass and trees, just waiting to be woken once again. (Think the guardians in Disney's Atlantis.) These two stories combined, I came up with what has become my novel Maiden Rock, and the story of two young woman, separated by time and culture but connected through one overarching purpose.

[fireinclined]

mutant apocalypse headcanons

paola winding up with raph and donnie

ok so i’m gonna do a slight au of my verse for cassandra where paola ends up with donnie and raph instead of ending up with cassandra.

paola likes to pretend she’s salty that robo-donnie’s so much taller than she is, but she’s really not. more than anything, she feels bad for donnie for being trapped in a robot body.

and paola does minimal repairs to herself- any spare parts are saved for donnie. this means paola’s arms are prone to falling off, and she might glitch in the middle of her sentences. raph knows that she’s not using any new parts, but paola has sworn him to secrecy. i can imagine donnie’s figured it out, but just…doesn’t say anything. 

loss of cassandra’s ship

cassandra’s ship is incredibly dear to her and was her home for over two decades, was the birthplace of her best friend, and connects her to her lost planet more than anything else. With losing her ship, even if she’s able to repurpose the pieces of it, is a devastating blow to a woman who has lost her husband, her sons, her other adopted children, and her best friend. and, with the loss of her ship, is now essentially stranded on earth.

turtle mutants

despite maximus having killed off most turtle mutants, cassandra was able to save three, and keeps them hidden from the rest of the world for fear that word would get back to maximus. their names are cosimo, jean, and paolo, and cassandra loves them very much.

how cassandra is able to care for the mutants she takes in

it took cassandra over six months to completely repurpose her ship into the mobile fortress. and when i say mobile fortress..i do mean mobile fortress. her ship was designed to comfortably fit crews of 50+ grown capellans, so the mobile fortress is h u g e.

now, the only town near paola’s cabin is an itty bitty town, and it wouldn’t be too far-fetched to say they all either died or became feral mutants. cassandra essentially looted the entire town and stocked up her fortress. she usually scavenged the shit out of wherever she goes- and that works, but she’s well aware that it’s not sustainable.

she starts a garden in the mobile fortress, and has the kids help her take care of it. i was wondering about what they’d do for meat considering most if not all animals were mutated and i’m going with : not everyone became sentient. some just got huge and that’s it.

it’s not like cassandra said “fuck you” to all the adults- she did take in confused and disorientated adults ( i mean everyone was confused and disoriented but You Know What I Mean). so long as they helped, they were welcome. but cassandra’s main priority is these kids.

ANYWAY. MY POINT BEING: at first, cassandra had the mutants that knew how to hunt, either from human life or from being a predator animal, hunt for meat for the rest of the group. and cassandra also has these adults help take care of the kids- the LAST thing cassandra wants is kids having to raise other kids. she wants to give them some semblance of a childhood.

in summary!

cassandra stocked up on food early on and continues to scavenge wherever possible

she started a rather large garden in the fortress

she has the adults that can hunt do so to get meat for the group

yeah basically it’s like a tribe of a mishmash of mutants

mutant kids growing up and cassandra’s role as ‘goddess’

as the kids grow up, they are given the option to leave, of course, but few want to, mostly because..you know, it’s the apocalypse. so over the years, the children that have grown up have built their own vehicles and basically created this…fleet that goes everywhere with the mobile fortress.

as for what they do when attacked…well, the fortress certainly isn’t defenseless, and neither are the, uh, mini-fortresses that travel with it. in fact, most people know to just fuck off and not bother cassandra’s tribe…which is in part also due to the myth and mystery surrounding her.

cassandra reveals to very, very few people that she’s an alien, and…doesn’t discourage people thinking she’s some sort of mother goddess.

the main belief is that cassandra was created as a result of the m-bomb, and ascended to become a fire wielding, clairvoyant mother goddess. only a select few are privy to cassandra’s actual life story.

some tribes do worship cassandra, which…is extremely uncomfortable for her. she can’t stand it. but it’s far safer and better for her children if she plays this part out. she ESPECIALLY plays up the goddess aspect in an au where there’s a fragment of atlas left inside her, since she will live for centuries and whatnot.

one unfortunate side effect is that parents will sometimes leave their children in the desert at night if they can’t take care of them, completely believing that the goddess will come take them into her care.

not long after this started, cassandra visited the tribes doing this and said that they could only do this on certain dates- that, powerful as she was, she could not be everywhere at once. now, on those dates, cassandra and a small number of her inner circle go out with her to find these children.

short list of the mutants cassandra’s taken in

patches, a mutated kitten and a former pet. the first mutant cassandra takes in. patches is mutated to be roughly 8 years old and grows up to be cassandra’s right hand woman.

peaches, a parakeet who joins her on the way out of new york city. she’s roughly 15 after mutation and wears an aviator’s cap she found

cosimo, paolo, and jean, a trio of turtle mutants who were left in the desert for cassandra to take into her care, because the tribe knew maximus was coming. cassandra does admittedly favor these three, and names them after renaissance artists. 

paolo is partially named after paola though.

jean is also partially named after joan of arc  (jeanne d’arc)

cassandra picked cosimo because it looks like cosmos

patches

patches, an orange tabby kitten, didn’t know what to do when her human family was mutated. but she did remember the parents of her owner, a little boy named francis, talking about what francis should do in an emergency. so, patches searched for days for a human adult when she finally stumbled on a tall, blonde haired woman who was frantically searching through the rubble.

patches stopped the human, and asked her, if she would, please come help her family. they were all strange looking now, and wouldn’t move no matter what she did. the human looked distraught- and for a moment, patches was certain that she was going to say no. but the human came with her anyway, all the way back to their tiny apartment.

when the woman, who eventually revealed that her name was cassandra, saw patches’s family, she immediately looked sad. patches didn’t understand it at first- didn’t understand what “dead” meant, didn’t understand why her family wouldn’t wake up.

cassandra was so patient with her, even when patches began to understand and started sobbing into her shirt. when patches had calmed down, cassandra offered to take care of patches from now on, if she wanted. the kitten had nowhere else to go, knew no one else…of course she said yes.

over days, then months, then years, patches grew to be a strong, competent young woman, who never forget her first human family, but swore to protect her mishmashed mutant one.

the night of the goddess’ children

the night where tribes will leave the children for cassandra to take into her care is formally called the night of the goddess’ children.

cassandra, having been abandoned and given the -ndra suffix on capella herself, wants these children to feel loved and accepted from the moment they board the mobile fortress. that’s why they have something akin to a birthday party awaiting the new children when they come back. no one outside cassandra’s tribe knows about it, so it’s a surprise party, and it’s always a lot of fun

the m bomb

cassandra honest to god thought that the m-bomb was gonna be no big deal. they’d been through so much, so many world ending threats and come out on top almost every time. she was blinded by her confidence in her boys, and when the bomb did drop? it was like the ground gave way underneath her. for a long time, she wondered when she was going to wake up from this nightmare. when splinter was going to shake her awake and reveal everything - splinter’s death, the m-bomb, her boys going missing- it was all a bad dream. a possible future, yes, but one she could work around.

sometimes she’ll still get that feeling of it all being a dream.

hellion

hellion only adopts like 7 kids but she has an army of like 70 extremely dangerous mutants who tried to kill her and joined her after she beat the shit out of them. they protect the wasteland as best they can, frequently going up against maximus kong’s underlings. her army loves how nuts she is, doing shit like taking on huge armies all at once and by herself, challenging maximus kong in front of his rig, with no escape plan, and in general throwing herself into ultra dangerous situations.

[batfam-headcanon-blog]

I still can't get over your mermaid hair 😍😍 and that made me think. What do you think what kind of mwrmaid would batfam members be? like ocean, color and stuff like that 😊😊

Bruce Wayne -

Ocean - Arctic Ocean

Tail Shape - Orca but instead of the solid there is webbing inbetween the two outer things

Colors - Dark Grays, blues, and whites. Maybe the scales would be outlined in black (?)

Job - He's the leader type thing where people follow what he says for the most part (except his children) and he is taken seriously. He's probably revered for his fighting skills as well as his adopting orphaned merbabies. There could even be like a myth in other parts of the world that if a baby's parents die there is said to be guy who takes the child in as one of his own

Alfred Pennyworth -

Ocean - North Sea

Tail Shape - Something simple and rounded. Nothing that is too flashy

Colors - Various grays, whites, and blacks

Job - Bruce's most trusted advistors and also helps raise all the children he adopts as well as orphaned animal babies. He releases the animals into the wild once they are strong enough but they usually end up coming back and working with the mermaid tribe/clan/kingdom thing

Kate Kane -

Ocean - Northwestern Passages

Tail Shape - A double sword tail but there is no webbing

Colors - Red, Oranges, and Yellows. It could maybe be ombre so it looks like it's fading or on fire or something cool like that

Job - The head general who advices Bruce on what plays they should make and thinks of that nature. On the front lines whenever they go to battle and probably has a cool nickname

Luke Fox -

Ocean - Atlantic Ocean

Tail Shape - Something pin tail-esque

Colors - Greens and blues with some lighter green high lights

Job - Head of technology and engineering and all that kind of stuff. Is constantly helping their little kingdom/tribe/clan whatever it is advanced scientifically

Barbara Gordon -

Ocean - Irish Sea

Tail Shape - Used to be something like a fan tail but she got into a bad accident so now it is torn and can’t swim for long distances

Colors - Purples, Blues, and Reds

Job - Luke’s go to person if he can’t get the job done or needs a second opinion. Doesn’t officially work for them because she is freelance but she is there enough that she has work space

Dick Grayson -

Ocean - Sea of Azov

Tail Shape - Something fancy like a spear tail

Colors - Blues, Whites, and Blacks

Job - Was originally visiting the clan/kingdom/tribe as an entertaining but because his parents were killed in a “freak” shark attack accident, Bruce took him in and trained him to be his protege. Gets into a lot of shenanigans and does a lot of work with the public to see what they want and what they can improve in the community

Jason Todd -

Ocean - Caribbean Sea

Tail Shape - Lyre tail with webbing

Colors - Red and Purple

Job - Was adopted by Bruce but didn’t want to work in the government so instead he made a group of people in the community that he works with that helps get the criminals off the streets and into jails and stuff. He does good by not being the worst bad guy out there

Cassandra Cain -

Ocean - Sea of Japan

Tail Shape - Maybe a bottom sword tail or top either or

Colors - Black, Grays, and Whites

Job - Mostly does undercover work for the government but in her free time also works with Jason. The fact that Bruce adopted her was never high profile so most people except those close to her know she was adopted and raised by him

Tim Drake -

Ocean - South China Sea

Tail Shape - Forked with webbing

Colors - Various forms of red

Job - Mother died in childbirth and his dad got killed in an accident so Tim found the Bruce guy who supposedly adopted orphans and asked to be adopted. Now he works as a P.I. and has an office in Bruce’s home/cave/castle place

Stephanie Brown -

Ocean - Ceram Sea

Tail Shape - The fourth one top or bottom

Colors - Purples with Pink highlights 

Job - As a kid she had a reputation for reporting criminals/villains that she saw and Bruce took her in because her home life wasn’t good and she had potential. Trained her himself and now she is one of his deadliest fighters who helps with homeless merfolks in her free time

Duke Thomas -

Ocean - Atlantic Ocean

Tail Shape - Lunate-esque

Colors - Yellow, Oranges, and Browns

Job - Was adopted because his parents were some of Bruce’s best fighters and they died fighting so Bruce took him in because he wanted Duke to have a chance at a good life. Works with merchildren in schools teaching them reading, writing, and stuff like that 

Damian Wayne -

Ocean - Black Sea

Tail Shape - Orca-esque 

Colors - Dark Grays and Navys 

Job - Was given to Bruce by his mom and she was never seen again. Bruce raised him and trained him and even though he is still young he has a lot of promise to be the next leader of their clan/tribe/kingdom

Harper Row -

Ocean - Pacific Ocean

Tail Shape - Rounded

Colors - Purple, Blue, and Pink

Job - Was never officially adopted by Bruce but hung around the castle/house/cave enough that she is considered an honorary family member. She now works with Jason and his team in the city being the most good  

I don’t know exactly how their society would work or anything but I was kinda picturing a society that functions like a kingdom I guess? And Bruce would be the leader and even though all his kids/family are from different parts of the Ocean they end up coming together and living as a merfamily

[punishandenslavesuckers]

She has no throne. Girls without thrones should not have knights, but hers won’t go. Princess Zelda – the girl who killed Calamity – would love to fade into legend, but Link’s bought a house, he’s fighting off monsters, and he’s selling giant horses to strangely familiar Gerudo men. She’ll never have any peace now. (ao3)  

(chapter one) (chapter two) (chapter three) (chapter four) (chapter five)

(chapter six) (chapter seven) (chapter eight)

“I can do that.”

Zelda – presently in a meditative state, fingers looping rhythmically through her hair, twin hair clips between her teeth – blinks up at Draga. The sun is high in the boughs of the trees, thin beams of yellow laying down mottled light on the grass by the road. They’d stopped briefly along the road east from Tabantha Stable to eat and re-organize their things a bit – Link having gotten distracted during the morning and made a haphazard job of a few saddle bags. Draga, who is responsible for most of the distracting, kneels beside her, slinging his rucksack to the ground. He nods to her hands halfway through the beginnings of a single golden braid.

“Oh, no I’ve got it,” she says, smiling. “It’s just a braid.”

“Is that what you call it?”

“Excuse me?”

“Hylian isn’t my first language, but I think you understood me.”

Link, tacking the horses by the road, snorts audibly. Zelda glares at him but try as she might – his smile lopsided and newly familiar – she can’t maintain her glare. So, she glares at Draga. He looks impatient, like she should just smack him or let do it already. So, she hands him her clips and hair band and turns so she’s facing away from him. He immediately draws a finger through the braid she’s managed thus far and unravels the lot.

“Not up to your standard?” she chimes.

“No.”

For that, she does smack him.

“If I had a mirror…” Zelda mutters.

“It would still look like a Hylian did the job,” Draga says calmly, around the clips between his teeth.

“You are trying to pick a fight? Or are you just missing having enough hair to do anything with?”

Draga, already parting her front-right region of hair into workable sections, says, “Rude.”

“You’re rude. Don’t make fun of my hair.”

Draga ignores her. Focused on the task at hand. He moves carefully along the side of her head, starting with three parts and twining them deftly down, adding consecutive segments of hair as he goes (very quickly she must admit) around the back of her head. She fiddles with a wrinkle in her pant leg.

“So you’re sure about this? You don’t mind? I mean, I know we discussed this at length over the last few days and… and I know we all agreed it’s the most logical course of action and I know you said that you don’t mind, but I feel like you should know that at any time you may change your mind and we can find some other method. I could refocus my efforts on lost Sheikah knowledge. There may be vast magi-tech archives yet untapped in the shrines. Or the Beasts even. You saw Medoh at the Rito Village. We could go back there if you –”

“Hold this,” he says, taking her hand and pinching her fingers around the middle of a finished braid. Then he starts on the other half of her hair and… Zelda’s isn’t quite sure what he’s doing exactly. She can feel that he’s leaving some sections loose, then gathering them up again later with a sequential foresight that she does not really apply to hair styles.

“So?”

“I said that I’m fine with it.”

“But it’s forbidden for you… right?”

“No, I said only elders were permitted on the mountain.” Draga removes a clip from between his teeth and applies it to a part of her hair. “For generations, my family has guarded the Statue of the Eighth Heroine and preserved it from everyone. Foreigners and Gerudo alike. This mandate was passed down to my tribe, supposedly, by Nabooru herself. It is the oldest undisturbed archive of written Gerudo history dating back to the Naboorian Age. It will pre-date the Twilit Calamity and the Bandit Age.” She can feel him shake his head. “I don’t believe we will find a better place to begin our search.”

“You’re sure you’re okay with it?”

“Zelda, there are no elders left in my tribe, so it would fall to me anyway.” He finishes off another braid. “Besides, you’re the maiden-form Goddess. Who else could be worthier to tread sacred ground?” A beat. “Also, Link already paraglided down the mountain and took pictures of the exterior. So, it’s hardly that unbroachable.”

From the road, Link calls, “I said I’m sorry!”

“You’re a godless heathen.”

“I’m the Goddess’s chosen Hero?”

“A regular sort of heathen then.”

“I didn’t know!”

Draga coils the finished ropes of Zelda’s hair in a neat whorl at the top right-hand side of head, giving the mirrored spiraled braids an asymmetric weight. Draga pins the coils in place with practiced engineering and Zelda touches the finished work, admiring the complicated craftsmanship, fingers picking out the soft track and curve of her braids like a road coiling inward. She turns.

“Thank you, Draga.”

He’s still kneeling there, one arm braced against his knee. Even though she’s seated on a stump, he’s taller than her while kneeling, looking down into her face with an expression just short of worried.

“It could have nothing about the Goddess Mark. It may be a waste of time.”

“That would be fine. I like history for the sake of it.”

“You’re certain Hyrule Castle is of no use?”

Zelda nods. “Yes. Even before the Calamity, most records were lost in the fall of the Magi-Technical Golden Age.” Zelda gestures helplessly. “Our oldest texts only barely describe the events of the Twilit Calamity and before that, there are anecdotal accounts of an ancient hero who moved through Time itself. No record of his actions exist because, it’s said, he existed in a non-linear state. Stopping Ganon before his rise and after.”

Link says nothing. Reacts not at all to the descriptions of his previous lives.

“Prior to that, there’s only… myth and fairytale. So there is nothing in those catacombs worth returning for. Not if our aim is to know more about why the Goddess Mark has appeared now. Why it’s expanded its touch to you.”

“What do you know of it?”

“Theology and historical theory. We know the Goddess Mark is tied to Hylia and the creation myth of Hyrule – the Golden Goddesses who left the world in the hands of Hylia. But that’s it. Scholars of the age have only said that the Mark symbolizes the godhead, three in one – Din, Farore, and Nayru. The heart of the world. The balance that maintains existence. It appears in most Hyrulian symbolism. Hardly compelling factual account. Not like Naboorian hieroglyphs.” She sighs, almost romantically. “Such a record would be so… unromantic in its chronicle of the past. Vital. I have to admit, I’m selfishly curious to know what’s on that mountain for my own sake.”

Draga gives her a crooked smile. “Well, thank the hero Nabooru. It was she who mandated a record of Gerudo history be made written.”

“Why did she do that?”

“Hard to say. Nabooru was an ancient figure to my people, I have a theory. When the Great Chieftains brought the Gerudo out from the Sea of Sand and laid us at the shores of Hyrule… that was the moment our oral traditions began to die. Such things do not survive when you must change to survive a new world. She knew it then and committed great efforts to laying down physical records of our history. This is how we know we were different before we found Hyrule.”

Zelda smiles. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad your people did find Hyrule. We would be poorer for it had they not come.”

“Yes, I guess history would look very different.”

Link catches the tail end of the conversation then, walking up to tap her shoulder.

He signs, ‘We should go. I want to be past the Scab Lands before nightfall.’

“Okay,” she says.

And she kisses him on the cheek. She does it carefully, catches his chin with two fingers so he doesn’t move and fits her lips against the warm plane oh his cheekbone. There. Proud of herself – and feeling very giddy – she stands up and heads toward the road. She isn’t aware that anything extraordinary has transpired until Draga says, “For fuck’s sake,” and kicks her knight escort in the ankle to break him out of the trance. She smiles all the way back to the road.

When they reach the Scab Lands, there are three Gerudo on the road

Two of them, carrying twin travel packs and matching jackets, are dressed for the road heading north into Tabantha, bundled prolifically in an excess of scarves. One of them is capped in an adorable wool-knit hat, a grandmotherly kind with a pom-pom stuck to the top. This would seem a bit much, if Zelda hadn’t seen Draga stuff himself into excessive layers back in the Rito Village and his subsequent almost primal hate for the snow. He is, in fact, still wearing a scarf presently.

The two girls are talking to a third Gerudo woman on horseback. Her violently red hair is pulled back in a heavy tail – from it, hundreds of sparkling beads catch the light when she turns her head. She’s wearing a veil. Blue fabric pinned at her temples by elaborate gold clasps. The scimitar at her hip is sheathed in a mother of pearl scabbard. Zelda notes that, upon seeing them, Draga sits up a little straighter and nudges Arbiter into a faster trot.

“Greetings!” says the girl in the cap as they draw near. Her accent is very strong. She waves while her companion – a little older, sharing enough of her bone structure and contempt to be a sister – rolls her eyes and gently pushes her arm down.

“Good evening,” says the older girl in carefully done Hylian. Then in Gerudo, to Draga, “That’s quite a horse. I’ve never seen one more beautiful.”

Draga also in Gerudo, says, “Now you’ve done it. It’ll all go to his head now.”

Arbiter, as if on cue, tosses his massive head and nickers, stomping a hoof in the dirt and blowing air at the nearest girl who startles, almost losing her cap. The older girl laughs loudly. Draga smiles a little – just a suggestion of it but so specifically gentle Zelda finds herself studying the shape of it. Cataloging it. Hoping to commit it to memory so she can identify it again in the future – like the flight patterns of birds or the phenotypes of a rare plant species.

“Are you two headed north?” he asks.

“Yeah. Meeting a family friend. He says he has work for us,” says pom-pom girl.

“That’s good,” Draga says. “Lots of young Gerudo leave town without a single part of a plan. You’re doing better than I did.”

“Didn’t plan well for the cold though,” says the older girl. “I’m not looking forward to freezing my tits off on some gods forsaken snowfield.”

“I am!” enthuses pom-pom. “There will be snow. I’ve never seen snow.”

“Say that again when you run into a snow rhino,” says Draga, amused.

The older girl stares in horror. “What the fuck is a snow rhino? Don’t say there are snow rhinos.”

“There are snow rhinos. They’re ornery. I’ve seen them.”

Zelda notes that Draga leans harder on the male-conjugation than he does when speaking Gerudo with her. The older girl gives no sign she notices – possibly because she is distracted by the snow rhino and the fact earmuffs will not protect her from getting gored by one. The younger Gerudo girl though… as the conversation goes on, visibly frowns and Zelda can tell she’s trying to figure out Draga’s understandable but slightly canted take on her own language. It occurs to Zelda that the occasion for personal male modifiers in Gerudo might be uncommon enough that not everyone might have bothered to learn them.

About sixty seconds into the conversation, the younger girl confirms Zelda’s suspicions by blurting, “Oh! You’re a voe!”

Delighted. Like she just figured out a difficult riddle. Draga and her sister, bent over a map and reviewing their likely path north for safety and friendly rest stops, stare blankly at her. Draga, still in his saddle, glances at the older girl who balls a hand over her face in humiliation. This signals to the younger girl that she’s made an error and she wilts.

“Oh, uh, I mean…” She switches to her mother tongue. “Sorry. That’s rude right?”

“Yes, Rima. That’s rude,” says her sister, exasperated. “Goddess, you’re embarrassing.”

“But both the blonde ones are women, right, Taz?”

“No, you idiot. The short one is a man.”

“Really?” She stares openly at Link who tilts his head. “Are you sure?”

“You need to get better at this, I can’t tell you who is man and woman every time.” She looks directly at Draga. “I am so sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Draga says, visibly trying not to laugh.

“Are you two on Pilgrimage?” Zelda says in Gerudo.

“Oh! Your accent is so pretty!” Rima exclaims, clutching her hands to her chin. “You know Gerudo? That’s so amazing. No one knows our language! I’m so bad in Hylian. I say the wrong things.”

“You say the wrong things in every language,” Taz snaps.

Zelda makes introductions and accepts compliments on her hair and, through the corner of her eye, watches Draga dismount and start going through his saddle bag. He pulls out a small wood box she’s never seen and what looks like a snowquill doublet and overcoat with a couple ridiculous hats. The hats are also snowquill, but twice as thick as normal with ear flaps that make her immediately regret not seeing him wear it. Draga inspects these items with a calm appraisal, then turns and holds them out to the older girl.

“You two should take these,” he says.

Rima bounces a little at her sister’s shoulder, peering as she takes the coats and opens the little wood box. “Oh. Pretty. What are they?”

“Are these warming stones?” says Taz, her eyes big.

Draga nods.

She looks up. “We can’t take these.”

“Sure, you can.”

“These are too valuable!”

“They aren’t worth a thing.”

“You’re lying!”

Draga looks mock hurt. “I’m sorry. We just met and you’re calling me a liar?”

Taz loses some of her cool worldliness to alarmed sputtering but Rima is already pulling on the snowquill doublet, and then the overcoat, patting it with warm brown hands and smoothing the thick material down. She admires its fit (a bit too large honestly, even with the doublet beneath) and spins around so the longer part flaps out around her. She can’t quite lower her arms to her sides on account of the layers.

“So warm!” she says, beaming from the gap in her scarf and hat.

“It’s standard gear, but high quality,” Draga says. “Don’t let anyone try to trade you for it. The doublet and warming stone should be enough to keep even Tabantha cold out. Don’t go without full gear once you hit the snowfield. The temperatures there are deadly if you’re not ready. Besides, I’ll hardly have use for it back in the desert.”

Link signs, onehanded to Zelda, ‘That gear is worth near its weight in gold.’

Zelda blinks, then signs, ‘What?’

‘Rito can only make so many snowquill pieces a year since they use molting feathers. And warming stones are usually ruby. That equipment is no joke.’

The girl with earmuffs is already pulling the warming stone from the box – an adjustable leather wrist-cuff into which a single small red stone is filigreed in with silver wire. The stone has to be flush to skin to transfer its effect, Zelda knows. Draga tells her so and shows her how to tie the bracer to ensure it can’t come off. Then he says earmuffs are inadequate against Tabantha cold and places the ridiculous hat on her head. Rima squeals in delight. Taz tolerates this new development like she knew it was coming.

Draga pulls the flaps of the hat down around her ears and frowns down at it with a kind of judicious pragmatism and vague fraternal concern that makes Zelda aware, suddenly, of herself and the fact she’s sitting on her horse watching her giant friend vaguely mother people on the road. Makes her aware of Link kind of grinning besides her and as Draga finishes tying the stupid hat on his fellow Gerudo, Zelda acknowledges her desire (familiar and strange simultaneously) to put her hand on one of them. Not in any way specifically, just to be in contact.

The woman on horseback, who up until now has said nothing, waits until the sisters have departed with elaborate promises of returning the favor one day that Draga clearly appreciates, but expects nothing of. The woman’s horse is shockingly beautiful, golden in color, perfectly groomed, and stands at disciplined attention until she, gently, taps her heels into the beast’s flanks. The sun catches on the painted kohl and red that lines her eyes. She smells faintly of jasmine and when she smiles, Zelda can see it in the way her eyes crinkle and she says…

“You can’t buy the love of the People, you know.”

Zelda, stunned, just stares.

Draga, however, seems unmoved, He sneers, actually, his lips curling back like a dog bares its teeth. “I wouldn’t pay shit for your affection.”

She smiles. Her voice is almost gentle, musical, even in Hylian. “Come now, isn’t it a difficult life to choose?”

“You don’t choose,” he says.

“Of course, you do,” she says, almost gently, almost affectionately. “I’ll show you if you like. It’s easy. Here tell me: What is your real name?”

Draga’s expression changes then – a scorching burn of rage like a flash-fire on clay, baking in a color. He gets darker, if possible, with the intensity, the totality, of his anger in that single moment but even through that heat, Zelda catches it – an undercurrent. A brief but violent glow of hurt. Then he speaks through his teeth.

“You should ride on.”

She’s still smiling behind the veil.

The woman kicks her horse forward a little, so the beautiful gold animal circles to his left. “But don’t you want wisdom from a sister?��� she asks, continuing to circle when Draga holds his ground. “I gave it to those girls, I’ll give it you. As if you were like them. The courtesy due your mothers at the least. Here’s my wisdom: Stay out here. Don’t go back. You’ll do much better where they don’t know shit about the People.” Here, she looks directly at Zelda. “Riju isn’t a little girl on the road with no jacket. She knows a shorthair heretic when she sees one.”

“Excuse me?” Zelda says in Hylian.

And the beautiful woman switches to Hylian just to clarify, “If you want to fuck a Gerudo, you should fuck a real one, girl.”

Link puts his fingers in his mouth and whistles.

He splits the air with that whistle, cracks it open with that sound. A piercing almost painful zipline of air, high and aggravating – cut with an impossible vibrato and quite without warning the beautiful woman’s horse throws its head, issues an equine scream, and bolts. The woman, clearly not expecting that, shrieks and flails forward, snatching the reins and hanging on as the mare gallops full speed, breakneck fast down the road. By the time she recovers she and her horse are a quarter mile away.

Link drops his hand. Zelda stares. Draga glares. Link just shrugs.

“How’d you do that?” Draga says, patting Arbiter on the nose. The massive stallion acts rather like it didn’t hear a thing.

Link nudges Epona off the road. “We’re behind schedule. We should go.”

Zelda looks at Draga. “Are you alright?”

He mounts up. “Of course.”

“Why would she say something like that?”

Draga looks at her. His expression so neutral it makes a momentary statue of him. “Link’s right. We should try to gain ground before it gets much darker. This area isn’t safe at night.”

Zelda thinks about the flight pattern of birds, the mating habits of poisonous frogs, the sexual dimorphism between the male and female of a certain species of lizard, and the precise balance of the smile that touched Draga’s mouth when he tied that stupid hat on Taz’s head. She nods and follows her companions off the beaten path and they head into the wilds at the foot of the mountain range beyond, toward the uneven ridges that mark Draga’s homeland.

“That’s too much salt.”

“You said add more salt.”

“Not that much.”

“I can’t un-salt something, Link.”

There’s a silence.

“No. I’m not taking cooking critique where you spell things for me in Sign.”

“Add a little more of everything.”

“How about you give better instructions and we won’t have this problem?”

“How about you don’t dump too much salt in my salmon risotto and we won’t have this problem?”

“Never mind. Go back to not speaking.”

Zelda looks up from the bow in her lap – recurve composite, Gerudo make, one of Link’s spares dug from the vast and confusing depths of his enchanted travel pack. It feels warm and familiar in her hands. The wood curved like the dip of a hipbone. She watches her compatriots. Link is hovering and peering over his shoulder with a kind of bland anxiety that’s specific to food. Draga is glaring at him for it. She goes back to what she was doing because she explicitly warned Draga not to try and help Link cook. He gets weird about it. So, this his bed to lie in.

She smooths her fingers up and down the shape of the bow, fitting her fingers to the leather grip at the center, feeling again and again a vague sensation of reflex. Of want. It’s one of the lightest in Link’s arsenal at a thirty-five-pound draw – just enough pull to down an opponent if she puts some intention to it. The bowstring lays coiled in her lap, tacky, wrapped in wax paper.

“Could you back up?” Draga says.

Link does not do that.

“I need you to back up.”

Link kind of makes a face and Draga picks up the entire plate of spare ingredients from the grass and shoves it into his arms. “That’s it. I’m done You are like…” He says something in Gerudo that Zelda thinks is slang, but translates like ‘a jackal in heat’ or something to that effect. “I hate fish anyway.”

Link looks offended.

Draga leaves him there looking offended and comes to join Zelda. “You going to string that?”

“I’m trying to remember how.”

“I can show you.”

“No. I’m trying to remember.”

He frowns, then realizes. “Oh.” He crouches down in front of her, inspecting the weapon in her hands with a thoughtful reconsideration. “What is that like? Trying to remember something that didn’t happen in this life?”

“Like I’m remembering something I did in a dream,” Zelda says, carefully unspooling the bowstring from the wax paper. “I can ignore it if I want. What I remember in a dream does not confuse me. I am never uncertain about what I have done and what has been done by my predecessors.” She hooks the top of the string into the notch at the bottom of the bow. “Often, it’s not memory at all. Just a feeling. Indistinct.” She stops here to stand up, bracing the bottom of the bow against the ground just outside her right boot with the curve hooked up hugging the back of her left thigh, set diagonally between her legs. “It’s nothing specific. Just…”

Draga waits. “Want a hint?”

“No… I know this. I…” She grips the top curve of the bow and pushes it down like a lever forward, the body of bow bending against her leg. This gives her just enough time to hook the string into the top notch. She releases the tension and the line goes taut. “Ha!” She steps her leg out of the freshly strung bow and presents it to Draga. “It’s like muscle memory!”

Draga tilts his head. “Well, if it’s muscle memory, Princess, maybe we should try some target practice.”

She falters a moment. “Oh… well I could try.”

Draga fetches his own quiver from their equipment, taking long enough that she begins to regret her decision. She fully regrets it by the time he hands her the first arrow. He waits. Clearly not intending to help her figure it out whatsoever.

Nervous now, Zelda readjusts her grip on the bow in her left hand, awkwardly sliding her hand down the arrow from the middle of its length to the feather-fletched end. The feel of it sends a vague blush of familiarity through her. She closes her eyes. She imagines… fitting the bolt to the string, drawing it back. A compound movement, pushing the bow away and drawing the line back, high at first, then lining up. Mathematical. Precise. Her line of sight focuses and – she opens her eyes.

Draga is peering down at her, waiting and curious.

She shoves the arrow back at him, a sick well suddenly in the back of her throat.

“Never mind. I don’t want to practice this.”

Draga blinks a little owlishly. “Why not?”

“I just don’t want to. The draw weight is too heavy for me anyway.”

“How would you know unless you tried?” Draga says, his brow rising slightly.

“I… I just would rather not.”

He takes the arrow.

“Is this because you said you thought about killing me?” And when Zelda goes ramrod stiff, petrified, he scratches his chin and says, “Your dream-mind notwithstanding, if you think you can kill me, it’s going to take more than an arrow, Princess.”

She sputters, horrified. “I would never –!”

“Then there’s no reason not to learn this,” Draga interrupts.

He offers her the arrow again. When she does not immediately take it back and, instead, stands there frozen, he says, quietly, “It would be useful if you learned this.” A beat. “Relearn it.” Another beat. “Whichever it is. I barely follow you two when you talk about these things.”

“Draga…”

He steps forward and with an old archer’s ease, he fits three fingers beneath her left elbow and lifts her bow arm to a proper height. He nocks the arrow to the string for her, his fingers momentarily fitting hers to the line.

“Just draw,” he says.

Eventually, after a long moment, she draws.

It’s like taking a breath.

“Hm,” he says.

“What’s ‘hm’?”

“You have a long pull.” He moves out of her line of sight, behind her. “You draw all the way past your ear.”

“This feels right. Is that bad?” she asks, maintaining her stance, aiming indistinctly at the trees.

“Not necessarily,” he says. She can feel the shrug. “Your footwork is good. How does it feel?”

“Familiar.”

“It should.” His mouth is suddenly very close to her ear. “I saw you shoot at that dragon.”

A shiver runs down her spine and coils in Zelda’s stomach. A murmur enters her heart, but before she can react, he loops his quiver belt around her hips, drawing it tight. He’s kneeling behind her to do this, his hands occasionally bracing against her hip as he fits it. He’s not gentle exactly, tugging at the strap with a utilitarian strength she might expect if he were tacking Arbiter for the road. It forces her to brace. She looks over her shoulder to glare at him, but when she turns her head, he looks calmly up at her from where he’s kneeling. The fire light illuminates one side of his face, painting a gold heat into the high plane of his cheekbone and –

She immediately faces forward again, suddenly very aware of his hands against her hip.

He finishes adjusting the quiver and stands up.

“There’s a knot in that oak. Think you can hit it?”

She squints down the shaft, the bowstring digging into her fingers as she holds the tension and… she relaxes. She lowers the bow with the arrow still nocked to the string and turns at the hips to look up at Draga.

“Why did that woman speak to you like that on the road today?”

Draga blinks. “This is an obvious delaying tactic.”

“It’s an honest question.”

Draga thinks about it. “When you were learning Gerudo, you were taught the importance of gendered conjugation in our language, yes? That our pronouns delineate Gerudo as its own gender category. Then non-Gerudo women and men.” When he gets a small nod from her, he goes on. “Naboorian dialects are the only Gerudo dialects that allow for Gerudo-specific male modifiers at all and that dialect is not widely spoken. So, in effect, my own language does not properly allow for my existence.”

Zelda’s brows lift in surprise. “The dialect you speak… it’s an offshoot?”

“A slight variant. But yes. My family spoke it, but not many outside the Highlands do.”

She hesitates, then admits, “I honestly thought that Gerudo-specific conjugation was gender indifferent until I met you.”

He shrugs. “Our most common conjugation structures evolved without distinction. Hardly unnatural, but it’s also why that woman said what she said. If I have used any modifiers other than Naboorian – then she wouldn’t, perhaps, have spoken up.” He pauses a moment, thinking. “I have had more fights with Gerudo over my dialect than any other moral disagreement.”

“Why?”

“It’s very hard for the narrow-minded to ignore me when I speak Naboorian Gerudo.” He smiles a little, but it’s a brittle baring of teeth. “It’s subtle. Outside of my own dialect, if I wanted to specifically delineate myself as a man… I would have to linguistically separate myself from being a Gerudo.”

Zelda shakes her head. “Why don’t I know this?”

“You’re Hylian,” he says, shrugging. “Also, you were fighting Calamity Ganon so I hardly fault you for not being finely aware of the societal riffs among my people. Now, are you going to shoot that bow or do you want a grammar lesson?”

“Well…”

Draga waits.

“Oh, very well. I will try.”

Draga smiles.

Zelda turns back to her target. After a moment’s consideration, she draws a second arrow, hooking the feathered end into the loop of her pinkie finger while she sets the first arrow to the line – both shots held ready now in her right hand. She breathes. She thinks – not of the desert. No. Not the desert. Something else. Like… like standing in a long yard. She imagines her hair shorn short for battle, her fingers callused and scarred. Zelda draws. Aims. Releases the shot. Flips the next bolt over her knuckles and sets it to the line. Pulls. Fires.

When she lowers the bow, two arrows stand quivering from the mouth of the hollow, clustered at the head.

“Huh,” says Draga.

“That’s a Sheikah’s draw,” says Link.

Zelda blinks, her heart-pounding elation -- alien and effervescent, like she’s stealing it from another world entirely – subverted by the frank certainty the statement. Link is no longer cooking by the fire. He’s standing with Draga, watching, arms folded. The campsite smells of salmon risotto. Link’s hair catches bits of gold in the fire light, Draga beside him lit in copper. She blinks again at the peculiar mirror they make of one another, both peering at her with identical looks of intrigue.

Link points. “The way you bring it up, pull past your ear, and sight. The reload method. It’s Sheikah.” He shrugs, then signs, ‘I don’t know how to shoot like that. It’s one of the most challenging styles I know of.’

“Oh…” Zelda looks uncertainly to Draga, who just shrugs, then back to Link. “Really?”

He nods and she feels a strange dissociation, staring at her own fingers.

She shakes it off. “Okay, so I use a Sheikah draw? Is that bad? What style do you use, Link?”

Draga interrupts immediately, at volume, “Link shoots with his wrist out and some bizarre pinch and draw I’ve never seen and it’s appalling. Do not do what he does or ask for his advice.”

Link shrugs. “It a Zora draw.”

“It’s what?”

“I trained with Zora when I was younger,” he says blandly. “They shoot that way to keep their fins out of the line. I didn’t know that when I was a child.”

Draga stares. “So you shoot weird because you’re too lazy to retrain yourself?”

Link shrugs again.

“You’re unbelievable.”

Link says, “Dinner’s ready,” and walks back to the fire. Rather like nothing of great surprise occurred, leaving Zelda and Draga to stare after him.

Zelda shoulders the bow for a moment. “Draga… thank you for telling me all that.”

“You both deserve to know before I take you into it.”

“Can I ask one more thing?”

“Of course.”

“Why did she ask for your ‘real name’?”

He looks at her, a little surprised, then says, “Only demons have many names.”

Zelda blinks. “What?”

“Do you not say that in Hylian?”

She shakes her head.

“Oh.” He ponders this, rubbing his neck like there’s a knot there, his other arm folded across his stomach. “I’m not sure how to say it in Hylian, Names have power in the desert. Saying I have the wrong name...”

Zelda lays a hand on his arm, drawing his hand down. He looks at her.

“You know that we prefer you as you are, right?”

He stares at her. A strange expression. Like he hadn’t seen her properly or the dark made odd shadows in her face. “Thank you, Zelda.”

“Always.”

Zelda wakes to Link’s hand on her arm.

It’s still dark. She can hear crickets in the forest. Even the embers of their fire are dark.

Link’s face is just barely discernable in the moonlight, the blanket having fallen off his shoulder when he rolled over to wake her. He says nothing, but she knows what’s wrong. She crawls carefully over her knight, bare feet sinking into gap between their sleeping pads, fingers bracing against the mess of bedding. She can feel dew on the fur Link pulls over the top, strictly to keep the dampness off the wool.

Draga, lying next to Link, is breathing too fast. Keeps jerking involuntarily. Half-formed words escaping him in quiet suppressed bursts, like someone has a hand on his throat. He’s on his side, spine curled slightly forward, arms drawn close to his chest, like he’s cold… or like he’s trying to clutch his throat in his sleep and can’t. Zelda lays a hand over his brow and a faint gold light wells gently in her fingers. Link’s eyes – suddenly visible, blue, holding the glow in a way that defies what she knows about illumination – meet hers.

Eventually, the tension leaves Draga’s limbs. His hands unclench and the faint, pained tension in his features smooths away to unconscious neutrality. For another minute she sits there, her hand against his head and Link’s chin against her shoulder. She listens to them breathing until, vaguely, she realizes they’re breathing together and Link’s fallen asleep against her. They won’t mention it in the morning.

A reminder: Link doesn’t look dangerous until he is.

Lake Alumeni lies shining at the foot of the Gerudo Highlands. An icy wellspring of water wreathed by a copse of apple and evergreen trees, knotted with heather and long grass. The grass gives way to a sandy slope of shore before the lake’s edge and it’s there, under the dying sunlight, Link does as Draga asked of him. Namely: be very dangerous for a while.

He’s crouched, waiting, sword in hand.

He says, calmly, ““You won’t beat me without magic.”

Draga, knotting anther bandage around his forearm, snarls, “I know, you tiny bastard.”

Link doesn’t smile.

The lackadaisical courtesy of previous sparring sessions has gone, replaced with mercenary indifference – the blank, blue-eyed battle stare that is precursor, Zelda knows, to terrible violence. That’s the face he wears now. Apathetic as physics when he puts an impossible bend in the universe and uses it to smash his friend to the ground. Repeatedly. Viciously. Trying to draw out an response. Even the blunt edge of the sparring sword does the job – laying a ragged road of bruises and shallow cuts down Draga’s arms. Leaving him panting, laved in sweat and sticky with blood. IT’s been hours.

The air stinks with like live current. Link’s breath like the air before a lightning strike. There’s a storm in his eyes when he’s like this. Zelda almost forgot.

“Ready?” he says.

Draga thinks about it. Then nods.

Link hits him instantly. The blade sings with the blow and Draga lunges back. He swings a massive blow at Link’s flank, but he just pivots, ducks the side slash, and smashes his elbow into Draga’s back as he goes past. Draga hits the ground rolling and comes up instantly. Draga attacks. Fast. He’s still so fast, even now, but Link is always that much faster. He deflects the blow, pivots, and comes up slashing, sword ringing when it slams into Draga’s. It puts a terrible vibrato into the metal, driving the bigger man back but Link does not stop. Doesn’t slow an iota.

He presses the exchange with a merciless speed, the entire time saying, “No,” and “C’mon!” and “I’m going to kill you, if you don’t get this!”

(Zelda tells herself he doesn’t mean that. It’s a tactic. It’s just talk.) But he doesn’t stop.

Draga’s breathing hard. He tries to catch his balance. Link keeps coming. Link gets past his guard, strikes a glancing blow to his head. Draga keeps his feet, but only just and Link lays open another bleeding line against wrist, his thigh, his hip – Draga flinches and that’s when the lake shore shivers. Draga is already swinging when it happens. He brings the blade down and the impact is Lynel-like, buckling Links arm and spinning him around.

This time, the metal does not howl. It eats the impact and the air around him becomes heat-smeared, mirage-like. When he steps forward, small pebbles on the ground begin to shiver and jump as if caught in the gravity of a localized star. The surfaces of the lake ripples, a barometric shiver in the air displacing the mirror shine.

But Draga’s thrown his sword down.

He stands there, stock still, his hands clenched in front of him. Eyes closed. Breathing too fast.

Link, seeing this, steps back and lowers his blade.

“Control it,” Link says loudly. “Focus!”

“What the hell… do you think… I’m doing?”

His eyes take on a shine – glowing internally, red – usually a controlled burn, steady as the embers in a blacksmith’s forge. Now, she can see the erratic pulse of it, like someone is inexpertly pumping bellows into the forge, throwing sparks and heating the interior too fast, too much. He shakes his head. He breathes too fast.

Zelda steps in.

She’s got her hands around Draga’s wrists, then around the back of his neck. It’s like grabbing a burning skillet from a flame. She can feel the heat hissing against the thin golden shell that paints her skin, like heat crackling in water. She pulls his forehead down to hers and pushes that golden light through her palms into the muscles in the back of his neck where it travels like water down a wall, dousing his skin where it touches.

He's gasping. “I can’t breathe…”

“You can breathe. Breathe when I breathe.”

Draga’s breath is hot against her face, but it’s cooling. She feels the resistance start to give, like trying to dam water with your hands then letting it go. He lets her pour out light, running over his skin, into his skin and evaporating on contact. And in the same breath she can feel the… depth he was talking about, like a house that’s bigger on the inside, the vast space into which she is pouring herself with no hope of filling. The void that dragons opened inside him. But even so, Draga’s skin feels human again. When he breathes, there’s gold in it.

She pushes, carefully, another dose of sunlight against his skin and he twitches, shivering.

“It’s like a ocean moving around you,” she murmurs. “Like a river. You can direct part of the flow, but you can’t control it. Do you feel it?” She breathes slowly, speaks calmly. “You have to let go or you’ll drown. Every time.”

“It’s like you have your hand in my chest,” he says, surprising her.

“I won’t hurt you.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“It’s okay. You’re not losing control.”

“That’s not what I meant, either.”

She blinks. “Oh.”

Zelda doesn’t recognize the way he’s looking at her. But at the same time, she knows it exactly. There’s gold on her tongue when she kisses him. There it is again – that dirty copper taste, like swallowing a coin. Like warming a spoon with her mouth. Her fingers close in his hair, her nails dragging on his scalp and when she finally pulls away, the air is calm around them. No longer boiling where they touch. Nevertheless, she feels hot. Her fingers against his neck pulsing, her heartbeat in her hands and in her stomach and she feels dizzy, like her head is filled with vapor.

She pulls away.

Draga shivers. “Thank you.” He looks at Link. “Both of you.”

Link joins them. The alien battle blank edge resolved into a kind of wry concern. He wipes sweat from his face with his sleeve, managing a small smile and a shrug that says, without sign or sound, ‘Whatever it takes.’

“Honestly,” Draga says again. “This would be much harder on my own. I’m glad I’m not this time.”

“Of course,” Zelda says emphatically. “I said you could rely on us and I mean it. I do. We’re going to figure this out together. We’re going to figure out the nature of this new magic. We’re going to go with you back to the Gerudo. We’re going to move forward.” She smiles. She doesn’t’ know why – overwhelmed suddenly by an excess of happiness. Or hope. She hadn’t been aware she lacked that before. “I have every confidence. I really do.”

Link taps her shoulder.

“Hmm?”

He cups her jaw and draws her into a kiss, tilting her head and his tongue is salt and milk in her mouth. Her heart races. A dizzy delight rising in her throat and she giggles a little. For some reason, Link seems to like that, and the way he’s kissing her becomes a little feral, his fingers knotting in her hair, his teeth just barely catching against her lip and rather without meaning too, a small moan rises in her throat. High and broken and Link immediately pulls back. Red in the face.

“Sorry,” he says, stepping back.

“What for?” says Draga, arms folded, looking a little disappointed.

Link blushes harder. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

“Why not?” Zelda says, a little punch drunk.

Draga laughs. “You’re allowed, you know.”

Link hesitates. Then, rather like he’s repeating a question, he moves toward them again. He looks between them. She can tell he’s trying to figure out the best tactical execution here. Draga just rolls his eyes, bends down, and lays a hand against Link’s jaw.

“For someone who clearly knows what they’re doing,” he says, “you embarrass easy.”

Link gets redder. “Got to hell,” he says, but in the wrong tone of voice.

Draga smiles.

Zelda notices the back of his left hand is brushing her bare wrist.

“Maybe later,” he says.

.

.

.

go to chapter 10...

[mst3kproject]

1108: The Loves of Hercules

I kinda miss the shorts and the black and white films in the new series, but I was happy to see a Hercules movie in the lineup! It feels like MST3K getting back to its roots.  This is a particularly awful Hercules movie, too, short on feats of strength and long on romantic melodrama – and never once does Herc bend prison bars or pretend to drink a love potion!  Get with the program, movie.  Along with napping, those are his defining acts!

An encampment of some sort is attacked by the Ecalian army, who proceed to slaughter everybody there including Hercules' wife Megara.  Hercules naturally goes looking to have a few words with the King of Ecalia about this, but when he arrives at the city he learns that the man is already dead.  If he wants vengeance, it will have to be against the king's daughter, Deianira.  Obviously Herc's not gonna take revenge against a girl for something she didn't even do – instead, he immediately falls in love with her, only to learn a few days later that she's already promised to a man named Achillo.

Herc leaves Ecalia in a huff, and after slaying a hydra even cheaper than the dragon in The Magic Sword, he arrives in the land of the Amazons.  Their queen, Hippolyta, drinks a potion that makes her look like Deianira in order to win Hercules' heart.  He is surprisingly okay with this, and fully prepared to stay with her until she gets sick of him and turns him into a tree... but then he learns that the real Deianira is about to be forced to marry her father's killer.

Meanwhile, I'm sitting here going, “Megara?  The redhead who died in the opening scene?  Remember her?  Anybody?”  Apparently not.

When a female character is killed off so that her death can spur a male character to action, this is colloquially known as 'fridging', after the time Alexandra DeWitt was killed and stuffed into a fridge just to piss off her boyfriend, Green Lantern Kyle Rayner.  Among non-hack writers it is generally frowned upon as both sexist (implying that women's lives are important only insofar as they matter to men) and lazy (there are better, less cliché ways to motivate your character).  This movie's treatment of Megara is one of the purest examples I've ever seen.  She is introduced only so that she can be killed, and killed only to make Hercules go to Ecalia, where he promptly forgets all about her when he meets Deianira.  Megara has served her entire purpose in the first couple of minutes, and is never mentioned again.  One wonders why they bothered paying an actress to play the part.  If she's gonna be that irrelevant, why even show her on screen?

This movie claims be be about The Loves of Hercules, but the fact that it forgets about Megara the moment Hercules meets Deianira makes it seem doubtful that he actually loves either of them. If Megara were so dear to him, surely he would grieve for her a while, rather than immediately wanting to run off with her killer's daughter.  And if he didn't love Megara, to whom he had apparently been married for some time, why should we believe he loves Deianira? He barely knows Deianira... it seems like there's a lot more lust going on there than love, especially when he's so willing to accept Deianira's double in Hippolyta.  We get a Hercules who seems to blunder from woman to woman without a lasting attachment to any of them.

This is the biggest problem with The Loves of Hercules, but it's a long way from the only one.  There's also Mickey Hargitay. I've seen Mickey Hargitay in a couple of films before – besides this one, he was the detective in Lady Frankenstein and Anderson in Bloody Pit of Horror (god, I've seen a lot of terrible movies).  I kind of want to say he was better in those, but now that I think about it I'm pretty sure he was dubbed in both so it's actually quite hard to gague his performance. It's better than in the non-MST3K Loves of Hercules I watched, which was a re-dub in which all the characters were stoic and British.  He does a lot of Dull Surprise™ and postures like he's in a silent film.  His 'feats of strength' do not communicate impressive power – he just looks like a guy struggling to balance a prop tree.

Nor does it help that in comparison with Steve Reeves and Alan Steele, he makes for a relatively skinny and baby-faced Hercules.  Hargitay was 1955's Mr. Universe, and he's certainly in admirable shape, but he's just not up to 'demigod' levels.  He looks like the Hercules Ryan Gosling would have grown up into.  Apparently Hargitay got the role because the studio wanted Jayne Mansfield, and she would only agree to be in the movie if Hargitay, her husband, played Hercules.

Then there's the monsters.  Amusingly crummy monsters are stock-in-trade for a Hercules movie, usually realized by people in ridiculous costumes.  The Loves of Hercules is rather ambitious here.  Rather than giving us a distinctly un-threatening lion or a guy in a lizard-man suit who clearly can't see anything, we get a full-scale three-headed dragon standing in for the Lernaean Hydra!  It is significantly uglier and less mobile than its Russian cousin in The Sword and the Dragon, and looks kind of like one of the animatronics from Disney's Jungle Cruise ride.  It's laugh-out-loud obvious how careful the actors are being not to damage it.

These movies are never very faithful to the source material, so it shouldn't bother me that their 'hydra' bears only the faintest resemblance to its mythological inspiration... but it does.  The hydra is my favourite of Hercules' twelve labors – it's some kind of reptilian monster that Hercules tried to defeat by cutting off its head, only to find that multiple (usually three) heads grew back from each stump.  This makes it an excellent metaphor for a problem that needs to be addressed at its source rather than just having its symptoms brushed under the rug, but it also serves to make a point that most of these movies ignore: Hercules isn't stupid.

The hydra was a monster Hercules could not defeat by brute strength alone – he had to use his strength in a smart way.  In the myth, he burned the neck stumps so that they couldn't heal, then dipped his arrows in the hydra's venom to make them extra-deadly to all the monsters he'd have to fight later.  The Disney version actually kept the spirit of this idea even as they changed the ending.  Without a torch on hand, Hercules instead brings down a cliff on top of the hydra, trapping it under tons of rock that he can escape from, but it can't.  This is sort of the inverse of my point from a few reviews back about brains and hands: brains aren't much good without strength to do the work, but strength also isn't much good without a brain to direct it.  By making the hydra a creature Hercules can just stab to death, the episode loses all its meaning.

A lot is also lost from our impression of Hercules' intelligence, which wasn't exactly riding high anyway after he seems unable to remember more than one woman at a time.

Finally, of course, there's The Loves of Hercules' other monster and supreme What The Fuck moment, the Totally Random Sasquatch.  It was only on the second viewing that I realized this was supposed to be the 'monster Alcyone' the peasants mentioned rustling their cattle.  When describing him to Hercules and Deianira before the stampede, they call Alcyone a thief before they call him a monster, and use the word 'monster' in such a way that it seems like a metaphorical description of a human thug, rather than a literal one of Bigfoot.  With the cattle stampede and everything that follows to distract me, I'd forgotten all about Alcyone by the time we actually met him, and the sudden arrival of an ape-man seemed to come completely out of the blue.

In fact, even after realizing the connection, this is a weird, weird moment.  What is Alcyone even supposed to be?  The closest thing I can come up with to Bigfoot in standard Greek mythology is a satyr, but Alcyone is even less satyr-like than Torgo.  The writer Hanno the Navigator referred to a tribe of savage ape-men who supposedly lived around Sierra Leone, which he says the natives called gorillai (yes, this is where we get the word), but that's a long way from Greece and the story is fairly obscure.  As far as I can tell, Alcyone is exactly what Jonah and the bots first took him for: a totally random Sasquatch.  Between him, Cry Wilderness, Om the Caveman, and Gulfax the Poodle-Wookiee, I think we can officially dub Season 11 the Bigfoot Season.

As long as I'm here, 'Alcyone' is a girl's name in Greek.  It refers to a type of bird.

The Loves of Hercules is pretty competently made in most respects.  Even with some of the shortcomings in the casting, acting, and effects, it could have fallen into the 'hokey but charming' category, if only it hadn't forgotten about Megara.  The way she simply ceases to exist, as if women are like shirts and you can just pick a new one when you lose the old (or something similar if the one you originally wanted is no longer available), gives a very poor impression of both Hercules and the writers and makes it difficult to really get into the romances that follow.  In a film about the loves of Hercules, that's a fatal mistake.

[sheilacwall]

Jesus Walks… in Adidas

Jesus Walks… in Adidas

Jesus is King has finally dropped. This is Kanye West’s first Christian rap-gospel album since turning into a born-again Christian in April after the hedonistic indulgence of Coachella.

The Lucifer, Mercy and New God Flow producer has given up secular music and has now turned his career toward the servitude of God.

However, his return from hospital and new found faith will flow nicely into his plans to expand his fashion, music & entertainment empire as well as possibly delivering him the top spot in the White House. This is a man not to be underestimated.

Saint Pablo

‘Ye recently turned around a personal debt of $53 million into a nearly $50m profit. Back in 2016, ‘Ye went out cap in hand to Mark Zuckerberg for $1bn for his ideas, but was promptly ignored. Zuckerberg was raised in a Jewish household, although his wife is a Buddhist and he hasn’t publicly stated his faith. But, this wouldn’t have gone unnoticed by ‘Ye and may have pushed Kanye toward his born-again Christian position.

Soon after, the “Can’t Tell Me Nothing” star seemingly finally started listening to his wife.

“My wife said, I can’t say no to nobody, and at this rate we gon’ both die broke,” West raps on Saint Pablo. “Got friends that ask me for money knowin’ I’m in debt, and like my wife said, I still didn’t say no.”

Stronger

Whilst facing the cold shoulder from Zuckerberg, Jack Dorsey – the Square & Paypal founder who was raised a Catholic, offered to invest in Kanye early on.

Jay-Z also kicked in a loan of $20m triggering tensions between the two ending in a public feud.

Here’s Jay-Z on “Kill Jay-Z”:

“You dropped outta school, you lost your principles / You gave him 20 million without thinkin’,” Jay-Z raps, seemingly confirming the rumor that he lent West money. “He gave you 20 minutes on stage, f–k was he thinkin’?”

Recently, Kanye has tried to dead the beef with the recent track “Brothers” with Charlie Wilson.

Power

‘Ye never got that billion from Zuckerberg, although they apparently became friends and even performed karaoke together, but it appears West has now healed his own financial woes: His apparel brand Yeezy is a billion-dollar empire, according to Forbes and over the past 12 months, Forbes estimates West has earned over $150 million before taxes. His wealth is due largely to Yeezy’s Adidas deal, a line that is expected to top $1.5 billion in sales in 2019.

The Jordan line does approximately $3 billion in annual sales, so the Yeezy line is catching up fast. If he can latch onto the Christian vote, sales could explode even more rapidly.

Touch the Sky

Christianity is the most adhered to religion in the United States, with 65% of polled American adults identifying themselves as Christian in 2019. This is down from 85% in 1990, 81.6% in 2001, and 12% lower than the 78% reported for 2012. About 62% of those polled claim to be members of a church congregation.

Kenneth Copeland is the number one pastor in the USA and his net worth is $300m. After the backlash for supporting Trump, the natural progression seems to be for Kanye to target the Trump supporters and Christians who make up the large majority of America with around another 20% of the population perhaps open to conversion back to Christianity. It is a huge target market… and that is just America.

Christianity is by far the world’s largest religion, with an estimated 2.2 billion adherents, nearly a third (31%) of all 6.9 billion people on Earth in 2010.

Jesus is King

The new sound track has been carefully crafted to be sung by large audiences to worship god. With tracks such as “Follow God” and “Use This Gospel”, Kanye is on a mission to convert. He has brought the Church to the streets and into the hills… No Church in the Wild.

His carefully chosen purple hair and purple cloths are to portray himself as an Emperor, clergy-like figure, if not Jesus himself, I don’t think it will be long before Kanye professes himself as a Prophet of some sort.

Kanye pronounced himself “I am a God” back on Yeezus.

I just talked to Jesus He said, “What up, Yeezus?” I said, “Shit—I’m chillin’ Tryna stack these millions” I know he the most high But I am a close high Mi casa, su casa That’s our cosa nostra I am a god I am a god I am a god

Rappers as Jesus

This isn’t new in rap. Check out the images below from Kanye, Nas, Tupac, DMX and The Game.

Jeru the Damaja, who follows the Nation of Islam, like Wu-Tang, Rakim & Brand Nubian, famously wrote a song “Can’t Stop the Prophet”.

Rappers have always seen themselves as street prophets, telling war stories, from Rakim, Nas & KRS-One right back to Grandmaster Flash & The Furious Five in The Message.

Purple Robes

Throughout history, purple robes were worn by royalty and people of authority or high rank. Many believe this to be true because the rare occurrence of purple in nature made it one of the most expensive color dyes to create.

Purple and violet represent the future, the imagination and dreams, while spiritually calming the emotions. They inspire and enhance psychic ability and spiritual enlightenment, while, at the same time, keeping us grounded.

At the time of Jesus, the dye used for making the colour purple, extracted from shell-fish and was one of the most expensive dyes. The colour-fast (non-fading) dye was an item of luxury trade, prized by Romans, who used it to colour ceremonial robes, usually worn by Emperors. The very fact that purple was an expensive color made it affordable only to the royals. That Jesus was made to put it on before his crucifixion, implies that the Romans were sending a strong signal to the Jews against any coup.

A.D.I.D.A.S.

ADIDAS was founded by German, Adi Dassler (Adolf Dassler). In fact, one of the founders, his brother Rudolf Dassler later went on to found Puma and started a bitter rivalry between the brothers. There is a popular myth among fans (not true) that Adidas stands for All Day I Dream About Sports, whilst in 2003, Killer Mike dropped a hip hop track called A.D.I.D.A.S. (All Day I Dream About Sex).

Like many of their fellow citizens, the brothers joined the Nazi party after Adolph Hitler came to power in 1933. Their shoe business remained modest until 1936. In that year, Germany hosted the Olympics.

In an ironic twist, the two party members got legendary African-American runner Jesse Owens to wear their running shoes while competing. Owens went on to win four gold medals during the games. The exposure of their product gave Dassler Shoes a huge boost in sales. You can read more in Sportsweek History.

It does seem ironic, given Kanye’s sex addiction that he would align himself with this particular shoe and his plans are to get the shoes made in America and give “second chances” to inmates.

But, he is going to run into problems with the media as the average wage of a prison inmate ranged between $0.23 and $1.15 an hour  – According to the International Labor Organization, in 2000–2011 wages in American prisons 

In Texas, Georgia, and Arkansas, inmates aren’t paid at all for their labor.

The “New Slave” indeed. I initially thought another way to make money would be to make inexpensive Jesus style sandals and sure enough, I found that is exactly what ‘Ye is planning. They are called “slides” in America and Adidas will be making these from injection moulding and it hasn’t gone unnoticed from Twitter that they are basically prison shoes, but now they are being remarketed as a high fashion item for children of rich kids. That is marketing genius.

Why do the yeezy slides look like the slides worn in prison.. pic.twitter.com/LsR8dbFyqE

— Cyn ☕️ (@Kingxxcyn) October 17, 2019

ADIDAS YECHEIL

The first shoe in Ye’s collection is the Yecheil, which is a Hebrew masculine given name meaning “May God live” or “God shall live”. Several people in the Bible also have this name.

ADIDAS YEEZREEL

For the second shoe of ‘Ye’s collection, there is the“Yeezreel”. It has no exact translation but it seems he might’ve been inspired by the word “Jezreel” which was an ancient Israelite city and fortress originally within the boundaries of the Tribe of Issachar, and later within the northern Kingdom of Israel.

ADIDAS YESHAYA

The third shoe is called the “Yeshaya” which directly translates to “God Is Salvation”. The name Yeshaya (Yesha’yahu) translates from Hebrew to English as the name Isaiah, who was one of the four major prophets of the Old Testament, and the author of the Book of Isaiah. He was from Jerusalem and probably lived in the 8th century BC.

Many of these shoes use Adidas “Cloud” foam, so ‘Ye and his fans are figuratively walking on clouds.

Click the pic to get the best prices on Adidas below

Through the Wire – Prison Reform

Kim Kardashian announced her decision to study law back in April. Since then, she’s met with President Trump to discuss prison reform, teamed up with the 90 Days of Freedom campaign, and is producing a documentary on the subject.

CNN reported that Kim Kardashian West helped free 17 inmates in 90 days.

Kanye West has donated $1m to prison reform, but is now getting US prison workers to make his shoes at 25% of the cost of having his shoes made in China, unless somehow, he is quadrupling the prison wage.

There will be Church factions and sections of the media who will most likely attack Mr. West for essentially using slave labour in prisons to increase profit. Chinese factory workers are now getting paid more than ever: Average hourly wages hit $3.60 in 2017 compared to around $1 for an American prison worker.

Kanye West’s Interview with Zane Lowe

If you don’t want to watch the lengthy interview below, scroll down for a quick summary.

In the interview Kanye talks about the following:

How billboards are guilty of sex trafficking

How he became a born-again Christian in April after Coachella

Why he wants to create jobs and bring jobs back to the USA

How he experimented with Domes & living in them then “the man” tore them down as a metaphor for tearing down his ego

How his farm will be growing cotton & wheat

He will employ prisoners to make his shoes as a “second chance”

His respect for founders, especially Warren Buffett, Amancio Ortego (Zara), Elon Musk, James Turell (artist concerned with light & space) and Jack Dorsey (Paypal)

He calls himself a Christian innovator

How his daughter North drives his passion for church

How Sunday Service may become a church and how he may become a Pastor

He is asking people to fast & not have premarital sex

How he had a porn addiction due to seeing Playboy at 5 years old & his sex addiction

People should pray together, fast together, stay together to increase power

Getting stumped by Zane Lowes question on whether he had to work for his 4th house

How white owners controls hip hop

How God is using Kanye to show off

Compares himself to Nebuchadnezzar, the King of Babylon, diagnosed of Bipolar disorder. This was also the ship in the film The Matrix which “woke” people up

According to the Bible, Nebuchadnezzar II was king of the Neo-Babylonian Empire, who reigned c. 605 BC – 562 BC and conquered Judah and Jerusalem and sent the Jews into exile.

How he will become the President of the United States, perhaps as early as 2024

How Facebook & social media is a disease

How porn is ruining marriages and brainwashing children

How to keep the eternal, imaginative 3 year old at all costs

How he’s undeniably the greatest artist of all time, no question!

How wearing the red cap was a joke on all the liberals as well as Drake living four blocks down from him was also a joke from God.

I guess him wearing blue fur whilst talking and making a blue record is also a joke on the liberals

How he will now rewrite and censor all his old songs for performances

How some of the merchandise money will go to the church

How the Louis Vuitton boss reneging on a handshake to make him the LV don and his wife getting robbed helped put him in a mental hospital

Jokes about being the pastor at Drake’s wedding

How he objects to the censorship of speech of the left

Jesus is King is out now on Spotify, mp3, vinyl & CD

Jesus is Born, another new album, is arriving on Christmas Day this year.

Kanye West’s Journey

There is a bigger story here. How hip hop can be cathartic. Hip hop is bashed left, right and centre in the mainstream media daily, mainly times rightly so, for enforcing stereotypes. But, real hip hop can be a spiritual journey.

Some artists have found solace and teachings much earlier on in their lives such as Rakim, Wu-Tang Clan, KRS-One & Jeru the Damaja. Other artists take longer to mature. It seems to me to be better rapping about street crime then taking part in it. This is something most non-hip hop heads seem to not understand.  Hip hop is way out the streets, just like a sports contract.

Everyone has their own journey and Kanye’s has taken him into Christianity. If record sales pick up, it will turn into a bigger movement. Time will tell what happens if it “All Falls Down”,  streams sour and Adidas sales start to Fade. In such a scenario, it may be very hard for Kanye to stay on the straight and narrow, but I wish him luck. Time will tell.

I’m looking forward to see how he reacts surrounded with Angels in future fashion shows singing his new songs.

I’ll leave you with the last verse from Grandmaster Flash & the Furious Five’s “The Message”, possibly still the greatest hip hop song ever written. The message is as relevant today as it was back in 1982.

A child is born, with no state of mind Blind to the ways of mankind God is smiling on you, but he’s frowning too Cause only God knows, what you go through You grow in the ghetto, living second rate And your eyes will sing a song of deep hate The place, that you play and where you stay Looks like one great big alley way You’ll admire all the number book takers Thugs, pimps and pushers and the big money makers Driving big cars, spending twenties and tens And you wanna grow up to be just like them Smugglers, scramblers, burglars, gamblers Pickpockets, peddlers and even pan-handlers You say I’m cool, I’m no fool But then you wind up dropping out of high school Now you’re unemployed, all null ‘n void Walking ’round like you’re pretty boy floyd Turned stickup kid, look what you done did Got send up for a eight year bid Now your manhood is took and you’re a may tag Spend the next two years as an undercover fag Being used and abused and served like hell Till one day you was found hung dead in a cell It was plain to see that your life was lost You was cold and your body swung back and forth But now your eyes sing the sad sad song Of how you lived so fast and died so young So, don’t push me cause I’m close to the edge I’m trying not to lose my head It’s like a jungle sometimes, it makes me wonder How I keep from going under It’s like a jungle sometimes, it makes me wonder How I keep from going under

Watch Grandmaster Flash & the Furious Five – The Message

The post Jesus Walks… in Adidas appeared first on Hip Hop World Music.

from Hip Hop World Music https://hiphopworldmusic.com/jesus-walks-in-adidas/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=jesus-walks-in-adidas from Hip Hop World Music https://hiphopworldmusic.tumblr.com/post/188656152948

[ruffoverthinksthings]

The Xiongnu and You: A Headcanon Guide to Mulan’s “Huns” in the Descendants Verse

What do you think happened to the Huns after they were sent to the Isle? Personally, I think that Auradon sent most of the Xiongnu (Shan Yu's people) to the isle to avoid future problems.

In my opinion, I think Mulan would have been a better movie if we had mention on why the Huns attacked China. I think it would have shown more than the ‘Good’ vs. ‘Evil’ mentality. I mean, wars happen for a reason, either a legitimate or stupid reason, but a reason regardless.

Like what if the war was because Shan Yu wanted to expand his empire for goods and the economy.

For my fic that I’m writing, I’ve been doing research on Shan Yu’s people, the Xiongnu and the Chinese relations and it’s a lot more complicated than ‘Oh, he’s attacking because he’s evil.’

Wouldn’t been interesting if Shan Yu was a little more complex? Like yeah, he invaded a country and burned down a town, but who's to say that the Chinese army didn’t burn down a Xiongnu village. We only see from Mulan’s POV, so we didn’t see everything at happened during the war throughout all of China.

War is complex and tricky and when written down, it is in the POV of the winners.

My oc, who’s the daughter of Shan Yu is not evil, although she is not the friendliest of people, she takes pride in her people and heritage. I can see her being pissed off in history class at Auradon Prep when they are going through Chinese history and they are portraying her people as barbarians. She states that it’s more complex than that.

@mazuru7

Yes, Auradon did in fact send some or most of the Xiongnu people (or “Huns,” as Mulan misnames them) because of the War with China, and their history before that. Little bit of background context, a mix of historical accounts and my own headcanons because Mulan is an anachronistic mess as is:

The war depicted in the movie happens after the Warring States Period, where the six states of Han, Zhao, Yan, Wei, Chu, and Qi, were conquered and unified by the seventh Qin state, and became the first unified “China.” In my research, there was mention of them expanding into the territories occupied by nomadic people like the Xiongnu, and even the Xiongnu being conquered and enslaved by the various Chinese states during, and before this period.

During the Han Dynasty, the period where the “Great Wall” was built, they have been mentioned to have repeatedly attacked and invaded China, the progress of their societies relying entirely China’s because they constantly sought and demanded “tribute” from them, had marriages between the Xiongnu and China (that didn’t last long or were successful, politically speaking, and weren’t popular decisions--“humiliating” is a word used), and some Chinese leaders that hired Xiongnu generals, only to have them turn against their masters and start their own independent states.

Whether this is necessity after having lost their lands and being forced to rely on China for their daily needs, or the same greed and lust for power that leads other states to go on military conquest and dominate others, is up to you.

What I can say definitively, though, is that yes, the War and Shan Yu’s behaviour was much more than just “Oh, he’s evil.” In Mulan, China is painted as this noble, civilized society that is fighting a war of self-defense, but History is Written by the Winners indeed, and it’s not like many pinnacles of society and progress didn’t bloody their hands and have some ugly, ugly pasts indeed.

Examples and the rest of this long piece below.

Rome was a big fan of the coliseum and going to war to expand their territory, and much of their infrastructure ran on slavery,

Western Europe, which most of Auradon belongs to, invaded, robbed, and conquered numerous countries and indigenous peoples for their own selfish needs, and

America had many sordid business in becoming the “Shining City on the Hill,” like the extermination of Native American tribes, African-American Slavery, and of course, their less than glorious wars, such as the Iraq war.

That the Chinese may have also burned a Xiongnu village is just one “evil” action among many: as mentioned above, the Chinese were the ones that invaded, conquered, and enslaved the nomadic Xiongnu people, and I don’t doubt that what accounts we do have were heavily biased.

Who’s to say that all of the behaviours we’ve seen from them—the raids, the faltering marriages, the betrayal of their Chinese masters—wasn’t done from desperation, necessity, and a desire to turn away from the tyrants that had “corralled them like farm animals,” as I assume Shan Yu might say?

There was also the possibility that before China fused with Auradon, emboldened by their victory against the Huns and the marriage alliance in Mulan’s sequel, they were already well on their way to pushing back against the Xiongnu, exterminating or scattering them to the point where historians don’t even bother to mention them anymore.

Maybe all of the Xiongnu were thrown onto the Isle, maybe some of them were spared, but I can guarantee you that the ones that did end up there alongside Shan Yu are very bitter about their situation, to say the least.

They harbour an inherent distrust and disgust towards Auradon and especially that of China, seeing them as tyrants masquerading as “the Good Guys,” and would rather die before they subscribe to Maleficent’s rule. I imagine that they actually separated from the Isle society at large, ruling either a mountainous, hostile region of the wilds, or being a third party vying for territory and control over the Badlands alongside Queen La and Scar.

Like with China, I’d imagine they frequently get into military and violent conflict with the “inland” Islanders, fighting with them for scraps and disrupting Maleficent’s operations to secure necessary supplies and luxuries, much like the “tributes” from China from before, only much more desperate.

In line with this, the Xiongnu VKs aren’t really part of the culture, seen as outsiders, troublemakers, and enemies that you should never consider working with—if Shan Yu’s Descendant is portrayed as also going to Dragon Hall rather than coming over to raise hell every once in a while, I’m assuming it’s a “know your enemy” sort of deal rather than them “willingly being indoctrinated by your petty immortal empress.”

Both the adults and the kids culture likely relies on these key tenements.

Unbreakable In-Group Loyalty, “the Horde above all else,” with them refusing to be abusive or cruel to each other unless someone truly gets out of line

Militaristic Society, based on a strict hierarchy that decides who controls how many soldiers, who organizes the raids, and who gets to parcel out the spoils of war and who gets to enjoy the “tributes” they extract from Maleficent or the other residents

Shan Yu and his descendants being at the top of this hierarchy, by virtue of infamy and “still having it” when it comes to fending off challengers

“Taker” Mentality, in that they don’t even bother to set up any form of agriculture or permanent living like their ancestors, living true to their nomadic past by shuffling around the Isle and raiding what they need from Maleficent

Strong Emphasis On Military Training And Martial Prowess, though instead of horseback archery, it’s now guerilla tactics, using stealth, shock, and the element of surprise to catch their enemies unaware, or pilfer all of the enemies goods without them ever noticing you’re there

Deity-like Worship To Horses And The “Great Lands Of Old,” a myth they propagate about a bountiful land of pastures where they were free to ride and live, until the “Conquerors” (the Chinese) came, greedily took everything from themselves, forced the Xiongnu to attack them out of desperation, and had the gall to call them the cruel, heartless barbarians and separate them from their ancestral lands forever, trapping them in a hellhole where they would be trapped behind a barrier, forever forced to longingly look at it, but never able to return

Please note that the above is just the Xiongnu belief, and could be actual history from the perspective of the “losing” side, propaganda, or a mix of both, as serves their needs to spur and combine their people towards one common enemy.

Should you, or anyone else wish to play a VK that is either Shan Yu’s descendant (male, female, or non-binary, it doesn’t matter as they’re still of Shan Yu’s blood and sexist ideals falter in the face of need and the lack of infrastructure to support it), or a member of their “Horde,” here’s some behaviours, scenarios, and beliefs you may find useful and a springboard for your ideas:

Anti-Establishment Beliefs, thinking the current state of Auradon like one “giant, gold-plated and gem-encrusted toilet your ‘glorious leader’ sits on like it’s actually a throne,” being disgusted with the laws, rules of civility, and systemic means of oppressing the people and “keeping them in place,” along with a strong desire to rebel, establish their own “free” society, possibly coordinating with the Sidekick League and other outcasts like the Merry Men and Maidens

Strong Anti-Consumer Culture Bent, mostly because I headcanon China as a giant producer and consumer of goods, and they see that the rampant “buy, buy, buy” for more convenience, comfort, and speed has made the Auradonian people “fat, useless, and lazy”

Frequent Run-Ins With the Royal Guard, for raising trouble, stealing without remorse, or intentionally provoking them into combat to test their skills. Because the Guard has spent 20 years without any real fights or combat, and the veterans of actual war are retired or in desk jobs for ageing, the Guard fails, and fails BADLY in the face of the Xiongnu VKs—oftentimes, it takes one hit to down them and they’re disgusted that they don’t even try to get back up

Tourney and Other Sports Emphasis, their way of legally engaging with “war” with the AKs without getting into trouble, treating the trophies like conquests, and abusing the system to gain privilege, legitimacy, and numbers with their new “horde.” I wouldn’t be surprised if they make up a new Xiongnu people united by love of sports, and get in bloody conflict with the Tourney fans from Greece, Sparta especially.

Love Of Horses And The Outdoors, being the ones able to tame and ride the “can’t tame ‘em, can’t ride ‘em” steeds in the stables of Auradon, fond of exploring the forests of Sherwood, the hills of Dunbroch, and the mountains of Arendelle, and generally finding careers as either environmental preservationists, forest rangers, shepherds, or a new breed of highwaymen and raiders making hell for Auradon at large

Alienation And Constant Conflict With The Regular VKs, such as the Rotten Four, the Second Wavers (Freddie, CJ, Zevon, Uma, Gil, Harry, and the rest of the Pirate Crew), and any Third-Onwards Wavers you can think of. These kids were not friends nor even frenemies on the Isle, have probably gotten into some very unfriendly disagreements, and still see each other as competition, what stands between them and getting to eat today or starve, bruised and battered physically and emotionally.

If you have more questions, or you feel this was unsatisfactory, please feel free to ask.