#the land i live on was violently taken from my friends ancestors

[sneefsnorf]

i think i would like to make every genocidal imperialist state explode into one million dust particles

[dirt-cup-draco]

Thorin x Reader- Stranger (2/2)

Part 1----> Ta Da Previously:

“Goodbye Thorin,” You gave your farewell. You couldn’t run after his bait anymore. But more than that, you couldn’t handle the conviction of his words. I do not need you.

“There is no use in wishing a stranger goodbye,” And with that, you knew you had lost Thorin to a fate worse than death, your memory of him shattered and reflecting a far crueler image than the one you had loved.

You packed your bags that night despite the begging of your friends. After all, there was no use in staying for someone you didn’t know anymore. 

You growled in frustration, rubbing at a stain that had become a part of the splintered bar top in front of you. The ale had stained the wood a dreary color that stood out against the rest of the polished tables that you had already gotten to. Doors had closed an hour ago and the sun was creeping up in the sky steadily. You had been handling the night shift, travelers coming from far to stay at any inn they came upon, and now it was your duty to clean before dinner began that night. You were busiest when the moon was at it’s highest point in the sky. 

“You’re going to rub the poor counter into dust if you keep going at it like that,” Came the charming voice of your employer. He was a handsome human, one that hadn’t asked questions when you had arrived at the inn one late night, eyes puffy and red from tears, and asked if he had an opening. Within a week, you had lodging in one of his free rooms and you were working every night. After being removed from the life you had known you felt like you had been drowning and he had tossed you a line, pulling you back to steady land. 

“Njal, I suspected you to be with one of the working women,” You said in surprise, usually the man’s large build and easy charm had him sharing someone’s bed for the night. Oftentimes you didn’t see him until the crowds piled in, demanding a warm hearth to rest their feet in front of and barrels of ale. 

“Why lay with a woman I do not know when I can be in the company of a beautiful woman I do know?” He flirted easily, flashing his teeth and sending you a wink. You rolled your eyes, a small smile playing on your lips as your stomach did little flips. Njal was attractive, and kind. You found yourself wishing that you could share the affection he had for you but every time you entertained it, a deep guilt ate at your stomach until you felt sick.

Njal had blue eyes, as clear and beautiful as the sky on a cloudless summer day. His sandy blonde curls sat atop his head, cropped short around his ears. He was handsome, but you couldn’t help but nitpick. His eyes weren’t like the color of the sky during a storm, deep and dark and so gorgeous you felt rocked to your core. His hair wasn’t unruly and long with braids that told of history and triumph and ancestors. He was handsome but the main factor simply happened to be that he wasn’t Thorin. 

You pretended to look around the inn, a sly smile on your lips that you hoped was closer to that of a mother scolding her child. Njal was near your age but he appeared to be incredibly weightless, no burdens and loss had weighed him down yet. He was a good looking man with a successful inn and nothing could bring him down. You on the other hand felt the weight of the world bearing down on you more and more with each rise and fall of the sun. “I don’t see anyone else here, have you been drinking on the job again?” 

“Forever a tease,” Njal groaned dramatically as you polished the glasses. He took a seat across from you, the bar acting as the physical barrier that aloud you to converse easily. You didn’t do well when Njal touched you. It was always warm and welcome, something you could get used to but something you could never get used to. You wouldn’t allow yourself to. You loved Thorin and he may be a stranger now but one day he would wake up and remember himself and he’d come for you, you wouldn’t move on. 

“Who is he?” Njal’s voice softened, his form hunched over to appear smaller. You knew he did it to help put you at ease. His size could be intimidating even if you knew him to be a teddy bear. 

“Pardon?” You paled, forcing iron support into your voice as your knees shook behind the counter. 

“Who is the man that damaged your heart so badly that I can’t see anything other than pain in your eyes when I look at you?” 

“He is no man,” You laughed mirthlessly, flashing Njal a sad smile as you set another glass down. Rounding the bar top you sat beside him, a pitying smile curling the edge of his mouth up. “How did you know?” 

“I’m no stranger to heartbreak,” 

“You seem to fall in love with a new stranger every day,” You teased, hardly believing that the cheerful man before you could know of the constant ache your heart possessed. 

“Which means that I lose someone I love every day,” He shot back but he was smiling gently and it warmed you from head to toe. Njal was a good man and you would be glad for the day that someone made an honest man of him. “But what was he if he was no man?”

“A dwarf,” You mused. “A stubborn, infuriating, courageous fool that I will love until the sun burns out,” 

“He does not feel the same?” Njal pondered, trying to piece together your painful history. 

You took a steadying breath, tears prickling at the corner of your eyes. “I lost him to illness, but my feelings have not changed once,” You knew Njal would presume your dear Thorin dead, and some days you did as well, but it was a sickness of the mind and not of the body. Lost in thought, Njal let you remain there as he finished cleaning the glasses. 

--

The battle had been won. Thorin Oakenshield and his company, give or take five-hundred dwarves, two-hundred Lake men, and a thousand elves, had held steadfast against the orcs, wargs and goblins. Many had been lost and when Thorin looked out over the battlefield, corpses speckling the earth in a wide range of wreckage and slaughter. Suddenly, his empire didn’t seem so grand. It was a victory in many ways, he had back the home of his ancestors and the glory that came with it, but how could you compare that to the lives of the soldiers who had fought beside him,the ones who had fought for him? 

Balin had rounded up the company, and Thorin’s knees grew weak at the sight of his nephews. Blood stained and eyes closed tight, they leaned against each other for support. “Fili, Kili,” His voice came out gruff but it came from the surge of emotion that rippled through his chest. 

The boys opened their eyes, the usual brightness dimmed by what had taken place. They seemed to understand the violent emotion surging up in their uncle because they stood on protesting limbs, rushing forward to embrace the man they had followed without question. They had turn into strong and able dwarves right before his eyes and he couldn’t be more proud. 

“Let us tend to our wounded and rest, we will celebrate in the days to come,” Thorin instructed. Dwalin was being kept upright by Balin and looked as if he would collapse with one more step, ever the valiant warrior he was the first one to step towards the lonely mountain. Oin, Gloin, Bofur and Bombur all trailed after, bowing their heads in regards to their King. Ori, Nori, Dori and Bifur talked amongst themselves, eyeing those they recognized as they sent up silent prayers. Bofur remained beside the young princes as they took everything in. 

Thorin wandered on his own, mind slowing down. Now that the threats were gone it seemed that another danger had made itself present. His own thoughts were peaking up from where they had taken refuge as his battle instincts had taken over hours before. The memories of battle faded as he walked past the wounded and the resting, the stone pillars bore down on him as he made his way to his bedroom. 

No candles were lit, the hearth empty. The cold of night began to creep in and he sighed. He could very well light the candles and start a fire but without you there, he knew he wouldn’t feel any of the warmth. Nothing could ease his aching bones and wild mind quite like you could, What was he to do when you were absent and the cause behind his crazed thoughts? 

“You could go to her,” Came Fili’s voice and Thorin realized too late that he had failed to close the door after entering his room. His heir was leaning against the frame, appraising him with a wisdom that Thorin hadn’t seen before. 

“It would be no use, she left without telling me her whereabouts,” Thorin sighed, sitting on the edge of his bed as his legs gave out from underneath him. The thought of never seeing you again, not knowing if you were okay, was steadily killing him and he was far too exhausted to linger on such things. 

A yellowed envelope appeared, pinched between Fili’s fingers as he waved it tauntingly at his uncle. Your inky scrawl spelled out his nephew’s name and Thorin’s heart panged with a deep jealousy. “It arrived two days ago. Read it,” Commanded Fili with a stern tone that Thorin realized the young man had gotten from him. He would make a king of him yet. 

“I-I... It is not my business-” Thorin dropped his heavy coat from his shoulders, dropping his head in his hands. News of you, words of your safety straight from your hand written on a letter that was less than three steps away from him. And yet, he remained seated. He went into battle fearlessly but he was a coward when it came to you. 

“She is your one,” Fili pointed out, “Will you leave her on her own when you could offer her the world?” 

“You know as well as I that Y/N can take the world for herself...” 

“I am not saying she is weak uncle, I am simply saying that you two are stronger together,” 

“Yet I turned her away when I was at my weakest,” Thorin muttered, a bitter taste in his mouth. “After all that has been said and done, what makes you think that she could come back to me?” 

“She speaks of you,” Fili shrugged, strolling into the room and placing the letter he had received on his uncles desk. “And they are not the words of a woman scorned, they are the words of a woman in love. Don’t let your pride get in the way this time Uncle,” 

Thorin rested his chin on the peaks of his fingertips, eyes burning a hole into the opened letter. Torn between opening it and leaving it there, Thorin couldn’t fall back onto his bed and sleep. It would be a long night. 

--

“Njal!” You hollered, hand on your hip as you balanced a tray full of ale above your head as people moved about you and chatter buzzed about the room. “Get that poor girl out here or you’ll have a trampled employee!” 

You watched as your employer pulled away from the young waitress he had hired the day before, she had already fallen victim to his charms and he had her pressed against the wall near the staircase, his lips glued to hers and her hands threaded in his curls. You rolled your eyes but fought off a smile, something told you that Njal had finally found someone special. Weeks had passed since your conversation and you were glad to see him with someone you hoped would care for his heart. 

The girl, Sigrid, joined you with an apologetic smile and cheeks burning red. “Sorry, miss,” 

“It’s quite alright-” You began but the doors to the inn opened and your eyes naturally followed the creak of the door that meant more patrons. You were about to groan in thinly veiled frustration but the breath was stolen from your lungs as a familiar form stood in the entrance, cloak drawn up over his head but eyes burning within the shadows. 

You could feel Sigrid’s eyes following you but the volume of the room vanished, your heart bursting and blood pounding in your ears. The tray grew unstable in your hand, limbs weak as it tumbled, glasses tumbling to the floor. Njal weaved through the crowd, confusion knitting his eyebrows to the wrinkled space between his eyes. “Y/N?” He asked, a concerned lilt to his voice as you stood unmoving, the figure in the entrance not having budged. Njal shook your shoulder, trying to draw your attention to him. 

“Lets get you out of the heat, love” Sigrid cooed, having abandoned her job for the moment as both she and Njal tried to lead you away. You shook free from their grasp and you shoved through the throngs of people. 

“You son of a bitch!” You cried out, stalking towards Thorin who stood with a stony expression. For a moment, he feared you would strike him. Yet you stumbled on your last step, the weight of all you had been put through crushing you as you fell into his waiting arms. 

Thorin used your momentum to pull his cloak around your quaking shoulders. Your body was limp in his hands but you wrapped your arms tight around his neck, pulling him tighter against you when he had believed you would shove him away, spit at him, scream, anything other than hug him back. “I know darling, I know,” He cooed and he felt your tears hot against his tunic. 

“I’ve been waiting for so long,” You choked out, fingers tugging at his hair. If it hurt, Thorin didn’t say anything. 

“I’m here now,” Was all he could think to say. 

“This is him then?” Came a disruptive voice and Thorin nearly drew his sword. 

You were steadily pulling away, untangling yourself from Thorin’s longing embrace. This had been the moment you had been waiting for and yet you were ending it too soon because of another man’s voice. Had you found someone else? He had left the day after his conversation with Fili but it had taken him weeks to arrive to the inn you had mentioned in your letter. 

“Yes,” You laughed gently, the back of your head bobbing up and down in agreement. 

“He came as you said he would,” The large human man smiled, pressing a too familiar kiss to your cheek and Thorin scowled, stepping forward in a show of possessiveness. He had lost you, pushed you away, and now he never wanted to let go or lose sight of you. 

“Easy boy,” You sniffled, looking over your shoulder to give Thorin a smile. It was the first one that had reached your eyes since arriving in Erebor. “This is Njal,” 

“I read of him,” Thorin nodded, finding your hand and interlacing his fingers with yours. “Thank you,” Thorin finally addressed Njal, somewhat hesitantly, hand stretched forward in gratitude. 

“No need for thanks,” Njal chuckled good-naturedly. “I’d be in all sorts of trouble with Y/N here, best waitress I’ve ever had,” 

You flushed a deep red. 

“Can I convince you to stay?” Njal teased but you could tell by the saddened smile he gave you that he was preparing to say goodbye. You were now tucked neatly against Thorin’s side and you were automatically relaxing, he felt like home and you were so very homesick. It took some effort to reach out and squeeze Njal’s hand as you looked to Thorin for confirmation. 

“I think it’s time for me to go home,” You teared up and Njal fought his own emotions as Sigrid rubbed his bicep comfortingly while the rest of the inn buzzed around you. 

You went to the room in which you had been staying, Thorin following a couple minutes later. “What did he say?” You asked over your shoulder as you tossed dresses and shawls into the singular bag you had taken when you had left your dwarf. 

“That I am a dead dwarf if you ever show up at his inn again with tears in your eyes,” Thorin mused, grabbing a knickknack you had received from a happy go lucky patron some odd days ago. A clear stone, maybe a jem of some sort but nothing rare, that reflected the sun’s rays across your bedroom in fanficul patterns. 

“I hope to visit, but I doubt that it will every be under the same circumstances from whence I arrived,” There was a question that settled between you and Thorin and he wasn’t foolish enough to miss it. Will this ever happen again? Can I trust that you are the dwarf I promised myself to?

Thorin settled his hands on you hips, stealing your attention away as he brushed his lips feather-light against your temple. “I too doubt that. Now let us go home , kidhuzurâl,” My mind and heart are clear and never again will I abandon you, my golden one. 

You two would have the weeks long trip to fall in love again, to fight and to cry, to ask all the questions that had plagued you since parting, and to remember why you never wanted to part again. Despite what was bound to come, you looked into Thorin’s familiar and loving eyes. 

The ill stranger that had taken root in his mind was gone. Finally, you were home. 

Tag List: @angelinathebook @thehumanistsdiary

[space-dragons-go-brr]

Hello, I am @space-fish-go-brr on Tumblr and @/eaticx on instagram, and this is my alternate page I will use for my original characters! I will begin the page by introducing my main characters, with art and a bit of lore.

This is Eaticx (they/them) ^

Eaticx is a young dragon hybrid who is currently living with their human parental figure and bestie Zane, their dragon bestie, Wintergel (@flyravenchild 's original character), and also with Zane's father, in a little forest on the Continent. They're sweet and kind, curious, playful, very peaceful. After being banished from their first home because the new leader of that land didn't accept hybrids, and after a few troubled years of being forcefully taken as an Apprentice by a gang of violent rogues (from which Zane had rescued them eventually), Eaticx is finally having a happy and peaceful life! But that's just the beginning of the story. Will their recent discovery of a new island far away from the Continent change their course of life?

This is Swift Wing (they/he) ^

Or at least that's how he likes calling himself. His imposed name is Swift Claw. He is a young Night Killer, an Apprentice of the Night Killers Tribe. Or at least was. They're strong and skilled, but rebellious, and with different values than the influential part of the tribe. And they're damn right. The leadership, it's supporters and a few other individuals are bullying and mistreating him, while also constantly trying to profit off his efforts, all because of some prophecy that his father Blood Stream has seen when he was born. A message from the starry ancestors themselves, saying that Swift Wing will bring salvation to the tribe. Even tho Blood Stream had the best intentions, as he and his partner Thunder were Swift's supporters, who were secretly trying to take down the leadership in order to change the tribe in better, this prophecy is exactly what started the whole chaos. Anyway, Swift Claw gets tired of all this abuse he's facing, so they starts defying the tribe several times. Neither they or their fathers are successful, and at some point the leader, Death Scar, kicks him out of the tribe. Swift gladly accepts, but has no idea what the hell to do next. Where to go? What to do? Where will his story lead?

This is Purple Leaf (she/they) ^

You can call her Leafy, too. She's a young Sharp Leaf, a Healer apprentice in the Sharp Leaf Tribe. We could say she has a somewhat good life: she's pursuing her passion, she's in a good relationship with her moms, Russet and Alder, and growing her friendship with her bestie Jane, the Storm Spike. However, the tribe she's in is facing serious problems, such as war with the Night Killers, and later with The Army (Night Killers' alliance with the Silver Dragons). Sadly, some day these problems get to Leafy's life as well, when the Army captures her mothers, but she is advised by the tribe to stay behind while they go rescue them. Leafy is so concerned about them and gets impatient, so she leaves her Island to find them. Unfortunately she gets lost due to a storm. Where will she wake up? Will she be able to go back and save her family?

And this is Zane (she/her) ^

Zane is a young woman living in a small forest on The Continent, with her father Aaron and her dragon best friends and "children" (kinda?), Eaticx and Wintergel (@flyravenchild 's original character). She's an explorer, fascinated by nature, but especially by dragons. Dragons are kinda rare where she lives, but somehow she befriended two of them and can't live without them. She ventures through the Continent with the two, and is having the time of her life. At some point, she also plans to start exploring places outside the Continent. And she does. The three discover an island far away, with a surreal nature. Will her life change with the discover of this island?

An addition to each character's lore is that, before they all meet in person, they are still connected by dreams. A strange phenomenon, difficult to understand, but from time to time, when they dream, they an access some kind of surreal peaceful world, where they meet and can do literally whatever they want. Eaticx and Zane see this world less often than Swift and Leafy, unknown why, but in the same time, Eaticx has one of the stronger connections with this world, together with Swift and Leafy. Zane accesses the world too, despite being a human, in a dream world inhabited by dragons, but is kinda limited in actions for some reason. Will we ever understand why these dreams exist? And why do they connect people from different corners of the world?

My OCs have a lot more lore, and I'm planning to show it, or at least a part of it, through my big comic project, War on Two Fronts, but I'm only at the beginning and currently in a different pov than my mains, I'm moving very slow sadly but I hope I'll get there one day.

Hope anyone enjoys my silly dragon stories lmao 😌💕

[vexvamp]

'Cause every night I lie in bed The brightest colors fill my head A million dreams are keeping me awake I think of what the world could be A vision of the one I see A million dreams is all it's gonna take A million dreams for the world we're gonna make

-----

This art was made to go with my Lion Guard fan theory, which you can read below. Kion was drawn by me, but the background is made up of screenshots from the show.

The following is my fan theory/AU/headcanon, which I came up with to fit the Lion Guard show into the universe of the films. Extra info can be found in the description here . ----- Kiara and Kion were born to King Simba and Queen Nala, shortly after the death of their elder brother, Kopa, and the subsequent exile of Zira and her Outlanders. Though born from the same litter, the two of them couldn't have been more different. While feisty Kiara grew strong and healthy, little Kion struggled just to stay alive. He was weak, grew slowly, and was quick to fall ill. Kion was suffering from something the Pride Lander's called the Fading Sickness, which we know instead as an immunodeficiency disorder. No amount of Rafiki's healing mixtures could cure it, and Simba and Nala prayed to the Great Kings that their son would not go to join his grandfather among the stars. Kion's illness persisted from infancy to cubhood. He was smaller than his sister, underdeveloped, and spent most his time confined to Pride Rock. While Kiara began to explore the Pride Lands, Kion was rarely allowed outside for fear that he would catch sickness or overexert himself. Tensions grew between him and his sister, as Kiara secretly wished that she had a sibling who she could actually play with, while Kion resented the fact that she had all the freedoms he didn't. This would eventually culminate in Kiara wondering into the Outlands and meeting Kovu, and this was enough to shock Simba into action. He asked Nala's brother, Mheetu and his mate to move closer to Pride Rock with their two daughters, so that Kiara would have other cubs her age to play with. Kiara found her cousins, Tiifu and Zuri, a bit hard to relate to, but it was still a better alternative to playing by herself. Kion, on the other hand, usually found himself alone. His parents tried their best to spend time with him, but fear of causing him stress combined with the previous loss of Kopa meant that they often treated him as though he was made of glass. This would create a rift in their relationship and make Kion feel as though he couldn't really connect with them. The isolation, and the fact that he was often too tired to even walk the length of the cave, were wearing away at Kion's mind. The young cub was slowly slipping into a deep depression. It was Rafiki, the healer who was often called to help Kion when he fell ill, that began to tell Kion stories. Legends of the Pride Lands, stories of Kion's ancient ancestors, and tales of all the creatures he never got to see in the outside world. Among those stories were those of the Lion Guard, the band of lions which patrolled the Pride Lands and helped protect the Circle of Life. It was hoped that Kion himself might one day lead them, but his illness was making this seem less and less likely. Still, it gave Kion cause to dream. He fantasized about it as he stared at the paintings Rafiki drew for him on the walls of the cave, and through these fantasies he found an escape. He made friends from the characters on the walls, and envisioned himself as their leader. The birthmark on his shoulder became the Mark of the Guard, and his weak, fragile body was forgotten as he fantasized about his imagined power, the Roar of the Elders. The Roar was part of the legend of the first Guard and their leader, who was said to have a roar so powerful that it was as if all the lions of days past roared with him. Kion turned this legend into something fantastical and grand, imagining himself possessing a power so great it wouldn't matter that he was smaller and weaker than other cubs. These daydreams occupied him, his imaginary friends filling the blank spaces in his life, and he spent his days lost in fantasy as the powerful lion he could never be in the real world. Kion's health had its ups and downs over the years, but as he approached adolescence, he suddenly contracted an illness that he couldn't seem to recover from. His body raged with fever, and the young lion slipped into a near comatose state, lost somewhere between sleep and waking, with the illness pulling him ever closer towards oblivion. In this state his fantasies grew violent, with visions of fiery demons in volcanoes and a scar which corrupted his soul. As Kion's condition worsened, it was decided that he would be taken to Rafiki's tree, closer to the store of healing herbs and away from other lions that might transmit further infection. In his brief moments of consciousness, Kion pulled bits of the real world into his tumultuous fever dreams. Rafiki's tree became the Tree of Life, and paintings on the walls became part of his adventure to reach it. Through Rafiki's treatments, Kion would eventually be saved, but he was still confined to the tree when Kiara first reunited with Kovu, and during the final battle with Zira. He wasn't there to see his sister's wedding, but Kiara and Kovu came to visit him afterwards. Kion tried to be gracious, but couldn't help but feel envious of the happy life his sister was living. He was small, sick, and weak. With only a scrap of mane, he looked much younger than he really was. What lioness would have him? So once again he retreated into his fantasies, crafting a love interest for himself and imagining a happy ending to his story. Kion would return to Pride Rock shortly afterwards, unsure of where his place was in this new, blended pride. Worst of all was what came next, when Kovu's sister, Vitani approached Simba and Nala about the Lion Guard. The current Guard had no formal leader, and was made up of lions who were growing older and getting ready to retire. It was a Guard only in name, without the deep-seated traditions of those led by the relatives of the royal family. As the sister of the new Prince Consort, Vitani put forward that she could lead a new Lion Guard. After the death of her mother, she had found herself feeling a bit hopeless and lost, and thought perhaps this could be her new purpose in life. After all, Kion was far too sickly and weak to have any hope of forming his own Guard, so why not her? Simba said he would think about it, and Nala said that they should talk it over with their son. The king and queen saw sense in what Vitani was saying, thinking it might be a chance to really cement the Outlander's loyalty, but Kion was horrified by the suggestion. Although he knew his health made it unlikely, Kion had always dreamed of leading the Guard someday, and now Vitani wanted to take that away from him. Simba pled for him to see sense, and Nala assured him that he would always have a place in the pride, as a prince and as their son. After some persuading, Kion reluctantly agreed to think it over. In his fantasies he imagined Vitani's 'Guard' trying to challenge him and the imaginary partners he had fought alongside for so long. He drew further back into his dreams, fantasizing about a reality where he was loved and wanted and had a place as the ruler and protector of his own world. In the real world, Vitani seethed with frustration, knowing full well that Kion had no chance of leading the Guard, and angry at having her progress hindered by him. Why did he have to take this away from her? Her mother was gone. Nuka was gone. Her pride was scattered. This was all she had. It was only when Kiara came to her and explained all that Kion had gone through, admitting to her own undesirable feelings of resentment towards her brother, that Vitani began to think differently. Kion had spent his entire life locked away in that cave, with his fantasies about the Lion Guard as his only means of escape. Without the hope that he might one day recover and truly lead the Guard, what was left? What purpose did he have? Perhaps he and Vitani had more in common than she had first thought. Vitani went to Kion and confessed how lost she had felt since her mother died, how everything she thought she knew had crumbled, and she was just trying to find a place for herself in this new world. She said that she knew she couldn't replace Kion as the rightful leader of the Guard, but she would feel honored if he could help her become a leader the Guard could be proud of. Kion was struck by this. So often he had been coddled and treated as though he was too fragile to upset, with his family often reluctant to truly acknowledge his condition and what it meant for him. Something about Vitani's honesty struck a cord with him. He was forced to come to terms with the painful truth, but in so doing he found a sense of clarity. In his heart he knew what he needed to do. Kion agreed to help Vitani put together the new Lion Guard, with her as their leader. But even as leader Vitani came to Kion for advice and for guidance, and through this Kion finally found a sense of purpose. As time passed, Kion began to grow stronger. His maturing immune system gave him greater resistance to sickness and more energy to actually leave the cave which had been his prison for so long. Although he would still have occasional bouts of sickness, he was far more resilient than he had been in cubhood, and could use preventative measures to keep his health in check. He even found he now had the strength to accompany the Guard on the occasional mission, though he was primarily restricted to observation and instruction rather than any sort of physically demanding work. He would never be entirely rid of his condition, but he found a place in his family, in the Pride Lands, and in the Lion Guard. 

[laryna6]

Lord of the Rings AU where the elven reaction to the orcs was ‘you poor babies who have suffered so much’ and they went AHEM KILLING A GOD IS A THING THAT HAS HAPPENED IF YOU DO NOT HELP OUR RELATIVES at the gods and the Maiar until they intervened and undid anything making the orcs less intelligent/the attempt to make them Always Chaotic Evil. 

Human: Orcs are kind of fugly

Elf: I WILL SHOOT YOU. *ahem* Ignore that human, let us teach you to murder anyone who looks at you funny so you don’t get captured the way your ancestors did.

So the orcs got like adopted by elves and such, but like they don’t have anything in common with them, and even though the elves have been like renovating to accommodate short people they feel very out of place and while they’ve decided to own being fugly like all the very pretty people babying you is... not great. 

So an orc was talking to some dwarves about like, maybe moving out, and the dwarves were like ‘there are all these ancient cities of my people that we just don’t have the manpower to reclaim’ and like. Orcs were intended to be violent, so they still like fighting, and they really do want to stick it to the Enemy that tried to enslave them, and it was that side that had those mountains taken, so how much would it piss Sauron off to have them taken back? 

So the dwarves get a horde of enthusiastic help reclaiming their ancient cultural centers, and the dwarves are like ‘sure, of course you can live there! It’d be lovely to see them humming with people again!’ So the orcs get them-sized living spaces, and since reviving those cities is a Fuck You to Sauron, they’re like ‘we should learn about the cultures of those cities and revive them too.’ 

Elves: Orcs are perfect pure babies! Dwarves: They’re brave warriors, always willing to help a friend and with great respect for tradition! Humans: :/ They’re still fugly though. 

Elf fashion... did not work for orcs, but they take to BLING with great happiness, bringing out golden and other tones to their skin. And the dwarves are like ‘such appreciation for craftsmanship! It’s good to know that when our people finally wither and fade away, all our hard work will pass into such good hands.’

Orcs: ‘...Did we say you’re allowed to die out?’ 

Also the whole thing about ‘the free peoples of Middle Earth’ implying that the ones that fight for Sauron are NOT doing it of their own free will, so the orcs deciding that someone - like, someone who likes fighting, and doesn’t have the declining numbers problem of the elves and dwarves, and also really wants an opportunity to give Sauron the middle finger should Do Something about that.

Everyone else: The orcs are brave, selfless heroes who liberated us! 

The orcs end up very anti-authoritarian because. They’re descended from people who were tortured by a bastard trying to produce a slave race. And then the gods wouldn’t have done anything to help them if the elves hadn’t collectively gone AHEM (which they may have all gotten kicked out of the blessed lands over, nbd).

Orcs: No gods no kings only stabbing slaveowners! Dwarves: Help we are under attack by a dragon. Orcs: YES we are also 100% down to fight dragons. 

tl;dr Nac Mac Feegle orcs only jewelery instead of kilts

[jaa1682-27]

Violent Delights

Summary: Mando and Kia manage to reach the compound to find the Asset, but she gets sidetracked. 

Chapter 3

Turns out riding a blurrg is a LOT harder than it looked. The man awoke us at dawn, Mando sitting up by the door on lookout, while I slept in the booth. My arms and legs ached and popped when I stretched and I groaned when the man motioned for us to follow him outside.

Since I wasn’t wearing armor like Mando, the man gave me special padding to wear around my chest and midsection and a hat reinforced with a metal top for my head. I knew I looked ridiculous, like a young child learning how to ride a hoverbike for the first time, but I just sucked my teeth and went along with it.

The Mandalorian said nothing as I was prepped. If we were going to get to our bounty, we needed to learn how to ride the blurrgs, and wearing the pads was better than a concussion.

A blurrg was waiting for me inside of a fenced enclosure. The man closed the gate behind me and he and Mando stood off to the side to observe. As soon as I climbed atop of the blurrg, it threw me off instantly. I groaned once I landed on the ground.

“Don’t climb atop of her so quickly. It startles her,” the man instructed.

I groaned, “Noted.”

“Go again,” Mando added. I looked at him for a moment before nodding and slowly standing up.

I climbed atop of the blurrg slower the next time, and she didn’t throw me off.

Just like he said.

Then, the man instructed me on how to guide the blurrg and get it to follow my commands. It threw me off a few more times, but after some trial and error, I got the hang of it.

Once the man felt I had mastered enough, it was Mando’s turn. I was surprised that someone who seemed to do so many things with relative ease and calm, could get their butts thrown off of a blurrg as many times as Mando had.

It was about midday now, and I had lost count at how many times Mando had hit the ground.

“See? It’s not so easy, is it?” I teased with a smile, slightly enjoying the sight.

“You’re not helping,” Mando said annoyed.

I held my hands up in mock surrender. I knew Mando was only irritated because he was in pain; as well as having some difficulty with the blurrg.

“Try climbing up slower,” I suggested.

“I did.”

“Maybe a bit slower next time, then?”

“Perhaps if you removed your helmet?” the man suggested next to me behind the fence.

“Perhaps he remembers that I tried to roast him,” Mando replied, now sitting up on the ground.

The blurrg made a sound, almost like a laugh, and circled him. I held my hand up to my mouth, trying to stifle my laughter. I bet Mando was glaring at me under his helmet. I just knew he was.

“This is a female. The males are all eaten during mating,” the man corrected.

I squinted in disgust. “Well, that more than I needed to know about blurrg reproduction.”

“Are you from Mandalore as well?” the man asked suddenly after a beat.

The man had been nothing but kind and helpful; I didn’t see any harm in making conversation.

“Uh, no…I grew up on various planets on the Outer Rim. After my…,” I swallowed, an unsettling feeling rising in my chest, “…mother was killed by Imperials, my father and our family friend, Rhonona, traveled to various planets over the years, never really settling anywhere for a while. Then, when I was 16, we ended up on Navarro; been there ever since.”

I decided to omit the part about being the Bounty Guild leader’s daughter; gotta keep some cards close to the vest.

“I, too, have seen tragedy by the Empire; even though they are no longer, the galaxy is still not at peace.”

I nodded. Even though the head of the Empire had been cut off so to speak; parts of the body still lived and breathed throughout the galaxy.

“How did you come into the employment of the Mandalorian?”

“I’m still starting out and I don’t have enough credits to buy my own ship just yet. I grew up tinkering with things here and there, and now work as a mechanic part-time. Mando hired me on as a mechanic at first, but after a while, I proved that I could be just as handy with a blaster than with a carbon wrench so he asked me to accompany him on this job,” I replied, once again omitting a few details.

“I, too, was a mechanic…for the Empire,” the man said aloud and I quickly turned to look at him, my nostrils flaring.

The man noticed and added, “It’s not what you think. I was sold into the Empire and they used my skillset to create and build weapons for them. I lost many friends to their tyranny.”

My face softened and the sudden anger in chest evaporated. “I’m sorry.”

The man waved his hand, dismissively.

Mando tried to climb atop of her again, and she threw him off once more.  I let out another laugh, and Mando’s helmet turned to my direction. I instantly shut my mouth.

Mando stood up with a grunt and said, “I don’t have time for this. Do you have a Land speeder or Speeder bike that I could borrow?”

“You are a Mandalorian! Your ancestors rode the great Mythosaur. Surely, you can ride this young foal. After all, your partner here managed to ride one, and she is not of your culture.”

Mando sighed and looked at me. “Any suggestions?”

I blinked. It wasn’t too often that Mando asked for my advice, other than on repairs for the ship.

“You’re not listening to us. You’re being too aggressive. I know aggressive is kinda in your nature, but be gentler; move slower. You approach her as if you’re trying to fight her half of the time; show her that you’re not her enemy,” I replied.

Mando nodded and surprisingly, took my advice. I smiled when he climbed the blurrg and rode it for a short while without being thrown off. The man and I nodded at each other with a smile.

Later, we rode our blurrgs to the outpost where the tracking beacon led us. We stopped at a hill nearby, staying a good distance away and out of sight.

“That is where you’ll find your quarry,” the man motioned.

Mando pulled out a pouch with credits inside, and handed it to the man. It made sense to me as well to give something to him for taking the time to lead us here. However, the man held up his hand, rejecting Mando’s offer.

“Please. You deserve this,” Mando insisted.

“Since these ones arrived, this territory has been an endless stream of mercenaries seeking reward and bringing destruction,” the man explained.

“Then why did you guide us?” Mando asked. I looked at the man, curiously.

“They do not belong here. Those that live here come to seek peace. There will be no peace until they’re gone.”

“Then why do you help?”

“I have never met a Mandalorian. I’ve only read the stories. If they are true, you will make quick work of it. Plus, you have the added advantage of your partner. Afterwards, then there will again be peace. Good luck on your quest, young one. I have spoken,” the man motioned before departing.

I nodded. When he was a good distance away, I said, “ I like him.”

“Why?”

“He was nice,” I shrugged as we unmounted our blurrgs.

Mando sighed, “You can’t always trust someone because they are nice to you. It can be dangerous.”

I quickly realized that he was right; if I was ever on a job by myself, I couldn’t be naïve. Niceness doesn’t always equal trustworthiness, I thought, making a mental note in my brain.

I followed him towards the edge of the cliff, and he took out a scope to monitor the outpost below. I could make out movement in the clearing, but we were still too far away to get any details.

“What do you see?” I asked.

“Mercenaries. Armed, looks to be a convoy of some type. They’re guarding a door near a building in the back,” Mando answered.

“So what’s the plan?” From what I could see, there had to be at least 30, maybe more.

Mando was quiet, thinking. “Well, we should- Oh no.”

“Oh no…what?”

“Bounty droid. IG-11.”

IG-11 were some of the deadliest droids in the galaxy. Their reflexes were quick, and the fact that they could turn and shoot from several angles in a matter of seconds made them tough to take down. Possible, but tough. I quickly wondered if my father had sent it, but then again many others had tried to find the asset so maybe not. Plus, why send Mando and I for it if he could just send an IG?

I turned at the sight of blaster fire, noticing that the IG unit had taken down four men within barely 2 minutes.

Mando mumbled, “Droids,” and motioned for me to follow him. I discarded the helmet and pads so I get rid of any extra weight on my body.

Mando was going to sneak in the front, while I tried to find a way in the back, Mando slipping me a private comns unit in case of an emergency.

I could the IG unit announce, “Subparagraph 16 of the Bondsman Guild protocol waiver compels you to immediately produce said asset.”

I found a mercenary standing near a building that was half blown off. It was separated from the others and it looked as if he was guarding it. I quickly pulled out a tube, a small gun with tiny tasing probs, and shot one into his neck. He withered a bit before hitting the ground unconscious.

I pulled out my blaster from the holder and snuck inside. Surprisingly, the door was unlocked. When I entered, I ducked behind a crate before a blaster shot connected with my head.

My opponent was hiding behind a pillar and I heard someone coughing in a room behind him.

What is he protecting?

I peaked around the crate, and another blaster shot flew in my direction, but he missed. I shot at him, just as he shot at me, and ducked. He missed, but I managed to shoot him in the shoulder, causing him to fall over. He cried out in pain as he landed on his side, and then I took my shot at his head. I felt a twinge in my chest at having killed another being, but I quickly swallowed the feeling down.

Him or me, I reminded myself.

Then, I faintly heard blaster fire from the clearing nearby. Over the comns, “Kia! Kia, are you there? We found the asset and we’re taking fire!”

We? I assumed he was talking about the IG unit…or someone else. “I’m on my way!” I replied into the comns.

I walked into the room and blinked in surprise. The room was bare, except for a bowl of half eaten broth, a flask, and… a woman dressed in a white armor with green and red stripes across the chest. In the middle, there was a symbol, a bird painted gold with two stars by its head.

The woman, a pale woman with bright red hair and hollow brown eyes, looked up at me. She looked haggard as if she had been here for weeks and seemed to be starving. Both of her hands and waist were chained to the wall and it seemed as if she had all of her weapons removed.

She looked up at me and coughed. “Who are you?” she asked in a soft hoarse voice.

“I’m Kia, who are you?” I was hesitant to release her because even though she had been their prisoner, she could still be dangerous.

I approached her slowly, taking my time even though Mando was calling me in and out on the comns, begging me for help. I was torn; I needed to help Mando but I was intrigued by this woman.

The woman swallowed and asked, “If you release me, I will give you all of the information that I know.”

“Or, you could tell me what you know now, and then let me decide to release you or not.”

The woman sighed, and then replied, “I am not after the asset, if that’s what concerns you.”

I knelt down in front of her, a few feet away. “Then why are you here, if not for the asset?”

“I am Nerva, from the planet Monvra. I was ordered to deliver a message.”

Monvra was an agricultural planet, home of spripears, a fruit was a cross between an orange and a pear. The planet was also home to a special mineral that was used for the fuel for ships. Unfortunately, the Empire stripped it until there was none left and left the planet as a near desolate wasteland.

I eyed her, “Monvra. No one lives there.” Nerva smiled slyly, but didn’t respond.

I cocked my head to the side. Mando tried to call me over the comns again and I replied, “I’m coming!” Then I put it on mute. I could still hear blaster fire in the background, so it was safe to say that Mando was still alive, but I knew that he was not happy with me right now.

“Are you an Imperial?” I asked. She didn’t look like one, but I couldn’t assume anything off of her appearance alone. She could be an Imperial spy for all I knew.

Her brown eyes hardened and she spat at the ground. “I am no Imperial scum, that I can assure you.”

“So, who was the message for?”

Nerva turned her head. I sighed, “Look, I don’t have time for this. My boss is getting shot at, and I have an asset to collect. I…would like to help you, but I don’t help Imperial scum or those who help them. I’m sorry, miss.”

Then, as I began to walk out, she yelled out, “Stop! Please! I…”

I turned around and she said, “The message was for Greef Karga.”

My stomach dropped. She was set to deliver a message…to my father? From whom? Why?

[undignifiend]

Trollhunters Fanfic AU idea: Heartstone Sun

A stupidly long ramble about themes I’m obsessed with. Warnings: mentions of people getting eaten, other horror elements, redemption speculation, and pontificating about hatred, dehumanizing propaganda, and the cycle of abuse (and an idea of how to break those three things). I’d love to write this if I can figure out how to do it justice, but that may take a while. Criticism is welcome; I can’t hone an idea to proper sharpness if I don’t see its dull spots.

What if the sun is actually a Heartstone - like The Great Gramma of all Heartstones (in this solar system, at least)? And was placed under an enchantment/curse by a prehistoric human coven that Had Enough because trolls outclassed humans in pretty much every arena, and people were getting eaten with impunity by extremely durable apex predators that laughed at their sticks and slings and fire? It's not like trolls really needed to eat humans - these mofos were powered by the sun (and could probably do crazy magic with all that excess power, to boot) - they just like how we taste.

Though perhaps humans also have a knack for passively absorbing Hearstone energies, and that's what they used to essentially poison the Heartstone against Trollkind? And that same passive absorption is why humans make good supplements for trolls who don't have a Heartstone to rely on, as shown in the comics? Since trolls couldn't gain Heartstone energy directly from the sun during the night, if they were injured and/or had a hankering, they'd have to eat creatures that still could. So maybe trolls tended to mostly eat people at night back then when they needed a quick boost because they couldn't get sunlight? And perhaps this contributed toward a more intense, visceral fear of the dark in humanity's evolution - like our common fear of the dark, but on steroids?

Gunmar's comment about "They try to make the night brighter. They fear the darkness," not only speaks to real human fears of the dark, but a mentality that was essentially beaten into Pleistocene-Era humans by impossibly strong and scary opponents (though I love the idea of some troll groups teaming up with humans and having various mutually-beneficial symbiotic shenanigans).

You could see all manner of behavioral, instinctive differences in these humans based on that. From a death-like, numbing paralysis intended to spare them the agony of their last moments, to an overwhelming itch to hide when it grows dark, to a need to sleep in groups for protection, etc... I imagine most beds in most cultures would be in hidden places within a house. Some cultures might even develop "false bedrooms" as traditional parts of their home to trick trolls or evil spirits that are more inclined to hunt with stealth.

This is partly inspired from a weird experience I had one night where I got this sudden, intense fear, and I've never experienced it since, and I still can't figure out what caused it. But some part of me felt a hostile presence in the woods by the house, and I knew it was far too powerful to fight, and I had the overwhelming urge to shut off all the lights, quiet everything that was making noise, and huddle in a closet until whatever it was passed. "Don't let it know you're here," kept playing in my head. I imagine being a human in this AU, especially in the Bad Old Days, would feel a lot like that.

After the Sun Curse (but before humanity regards trolls as myth), I imagine a common survival rule would be: Travel by day (when trolls can't, or at least have a harder time of it), and hide by night (so you don't run into them; if they find you, make them work for it, don't give yourself away).

Humans in this AU love to fancy themselves apex predators not simply as a power trip, but a denial of their true position in the food chain as prey. They can lie to themselves all they like, but their instincts remember and know better.

So to give humanity a fighting chance, this prehistoric coven developed a powerful spell to make the sun toxic to trolls, which would allow humans safety under the sun, which until then, had been a main source of power and sustenance for trollkind.

As an unforeseen catastrophe of apocalyptic proportions, much of trollkind's lore at the time was lost as they scrambled to deal with this development. Their cultures had to adapt, and new lore and methods of dealing with this catastrophe overtook lost histories (mostly verbal at the time). There was very little evidence left of how the sun was cursed, or that humans were behind it - the coven responsible did their utmost to destroy any sign or record of what they did, knowing that such information would rally trollkind against humankind. And even if trolls were weakened without their most sacred life source, they were still a dangerous enough threat that, if they could cooperate with each other, they'd surely wipe humanity out.

They almost succeeded in destroying all knowledge of it, but a certain tribe connected to a certain Heartstone found out, and their resulting fury at this act of desecration gave rise to Gunmar the Black.

This curse would be a deep source of anger and resentment at humanity for having stolen not only trollkind's ability to roam freely on their own world (which they were the dominant species on), but for poisoning a vital and sacred life-source. This is what Gunmar would be talking about when he talks about 'taking back the surface lands'. It's not just propaganda to him, it's his peoples' birthright, and it was stolen from them, and he emerged to set it right. This coven may have acted out of self-defense, but what they did was an unforgivable act of desecration. Gunmar and his Gumm-Gumms would still see it that way, but over time, as humanity loses their knowledge of trolls and turns their attentions toward each other, the rest of trollkind moves on and adapts and forgets their hatred, or their history of having once owned the world. The Gumm-Gumms are still angry about an ancient injustice, and the rest of trollkind, now believing themselves to have always lived underground, sees this 'take back the surface lands' talk as warmongering propaganda against a group that is seen as relatively ridiculous and tasty, but now off-limits depending on who follows the Pact.

While on that note, I imagine Gunmar would find the Pact outrageous and absurd. Humanity has no end to hold up in return, it's basically a heavy restriction on trolls who have already had so much taken from them. It's adding insult to injury, and that any troll would agree to it galls him to no end.

Before the curse, trolls ate fleshlings because we taste good and are satisfying sources of indirect Heartstone energy. Now, Gumm-Gumms also eat humans as an act of rebellion and punishment for what their ancestors did.

CHARACTER PROFILES:

JIM

I love Jim. But I think I'm going to handle him a bit differently in this AU than how he is in canon because I see an opportunity to say something important and relevant to a possible theme of this AU, and I'm not sure canon Jim would really be up for that.

I love the warm, nurturing, gentle side of Jim, and how he likes taking care of his friends. I love how he loves cooking for them, which is the quintessential nurturing act. I love how protective he is of his friends and his mom, and how even though he has made mistakes, he makes those mistakes with protective intentions. His heart's in the right place. This is the side of Jim who looks at Rule #2: Always Finish the Fight, and says "No," and spares Draal's life, and takes care of Chompsky instead of 'taking care of him', and risks precious time to go back for Nomura. This is the Jim I love, and the side of him I want to focus on in this AU.

And that side of him (it seems to me) clashes rather loudly with the other side of him that refuses to apply Rule #1 to Strickler in favor of rebellious mouthing-off, and treats the deaths of his enemies with sassy quips.

With regards to my attitude about that last part, I blame Faramir from Lord of the Rings. His brief monologue about 'the enemy' was formative for me. He fought to protect his people, and in doing so, he had to kill other people. And he didn’t hide from that fact. He had the strength and honesty to both do what he had to do, and to acknowledge that tragedy. He didn't try to diminish their deaths, and I cannot stress enough how important that is to me to see in a protagonist. So in this idea, Jim can be sassy in some cases, and he will kill if he believes he has to, but #2 is a last resort, and when it comes to that, he won't lie to himself or diminish what has happened.

Seeing someone as an obstacle or problem is a crucial step in making it easy to hurt or kill them, and it's one of the goals of particularly dangerous forms of propaganda: dehumanize the enemy. It's a perspective shift that makes fighting easier, but I believe it's one of the very worst lies we can ever tell ourselves or each other.

Acknowledging someone as a person, and not an obstacle or a problem, is (potentially) a powerful way to break the perception that you yourself are an obstacle or problem. If you want a chance to see someone’s relatability/"humanity", you first have to show yours. And they won’t always see it, and even if they do, they won’t always care – you might be hurt or killed anyway. But I think this re-framing is a crucial step in non-violent conflict resolution (in particularly intense cases). It’s risky as hell, so it’s not very popular, but when successful, it broadens perspectives and opens new paths in their minds. And I think that's a powerful and worthy theme; one that Jim could champion. A better way to Finish The Fight.

GUNMAR

In this AU, Gunmar has plans that stretch far beyond the Eternal Night (which, in this AU, would instead be a cure for the curse). From his perspective, he's trying to piece the world back together after several Apocalyptic-Grade Disasters. He's bitter and stressed, but he has stayed tenacious and ambitious despite millennia of warfare, failure, and being forgotten by the vast majority of the world while trapped in the Darklands. He's trying to lead his people out of a bad situation and restore their birthright, and he's annoyed and angry with the significant number of trolls who accept the current status quo when they could have so much more.

Because Gunmar emerged from a corrupted Heartstone and doesn't seem to have parents (perhaps no tribe/clan/colony? I love the extra-spooky supernatural vibe it grants him) I like the idea of him wanting his own tribe. He had a son whom he seemed to care for, and their regard for each other was the one and only thing in canon (in my mind) that elevated Gunmar. I'd like to capitalize on that in this AU. Gunmar was born tribeless, as a symbol of trollkind's general animosity toward humanity, but he obviously doesn't want to stay tribeless. He wants to establish his own line; he wants to create a future for his descendants to thrive in. His ultimate goal isn't so much about putting humans in their place as it is about giving his own people the prosperous future he thinks they deserve. To those who follow him, he's not their tyrant; he's their hero. His aggression is largely directed at humanity, but his goals are NOT human-centric after all.

Gunmar’s backstory (in canon) fascinates me. He was born from a Heartstone that had been transformed by the trollish population’s animosity toward humankind. I think this was supposed to reflect the classic Evil Corruption you see in a lot of fantasy, and leans on a kind of Victorian notion of "bad breeding" and the idea that because he emerged from evil conditions, he is evil by nature. But I think it’s more interesting to look at it as a wound, because that gives his anger a sharper sense of purpose that I think it otherwise lacks. Gunmar manifested from a rift between two populations, and has used the hatred that formed that wound to try and heal it – by taking the surface world and devouring the impudent humans who stole it. The method of devouring them didn’t simply develop because we taste good – it’s also a punishment, born of that same hatred, that says: “You thought you were better, but you are lesser. You wanted a vaunted place for yourself at great cost to us, but your true place is as nothing more than our food. This is what you deserve for trying to shut me and my kind out of our own world, and poisoning something sacred against us.” (referencing the curse on the Heartstone Sun, not the Killahead Banishment, which would come much later).

That may seem to him like a perfectly reasonable way to fix what he sees himself as (both literally and symbolically) born to fix. But even if all his dreams were to come true, that hatred would persist throughout the myriad abuses he would inflict upon humanity (if he’d bother to keep us around as livestock and/or slaves), and long outlast the last of the human population. It would linger, it would continue to fester, and it would be poised to be unleashed upon whatever other sufficiently threatening group crosses trollkind next. After all, that method ‘worked’ on humanity.

But you don’t quench hatred or fix abuse by indulging it. You fix it by learning (and accepting) the truth: no one is a mere obstacle, object, problem, or hated symbol. You did not deserve the abuses you suffered, but re-creating them and re-living them will not put you in control of them or absolve you in any way. (Though the temporary illusion of control may become addictive, it will remain fleeting and false). Abuse, if you let it define you, begets abuse. If Gunmar had achieved all his goals, sooner or later, he’d see his own reflection in a human born of the horrors he inflicted, and of the hatred humanity would have for him and his kind. This human would not see trollkind as anything other than a problem that they were born to solve, just as Gunmar sees humankind. But this would not surprise him at all, because that’s how Gunmar already thinks humans see trollkind. It’s easy to hate someone if you think they hate you. And it would not matter who would win that conflict, because the hatred and abuse would survive to be re-created and re-lived and inflicted on whoever the winner meets next. Nothing would be learned, and no one would heal.

I don’t know what would show Gunmar the truth, much less in a way that would matter to him. But in keeping with Jim's best tendencies in avoiding Rule #2, I think it's necessary for Jim to make the attempt in this AU. Whether or not this would result in Gunmar getting a redemption arc doesn't exactly matter - this is really about Jim's efforts to be the best guardian he can be for two interlinked worlds with a lot of bad blood between them, and I want to do those efforts justice. I don't currently know how, but I have some idea of where to start.

I think two key parts of non-violent conflict resolution are convincing the other party that 1) you care about the same thing they do, and 2) you either can make it easier to achieve, you see a better path to achieving it, or you may be able to improve the final outcome beyond what they originally thought or hoped was possible.

In this case, the goal for both sides is to heal that ancient wound between trollkind and humankind. It’s the plan that everybody disagrees about. Protagonists and antagonists (often, but not always) both ultimately want the same thing – they just disagree about what that’s supposed to look like, or how to achieve it.

Currently, I think that to truly heal, trolls and humans have to come to terms with each other. This is no small undertaking - it would change the world irrevocably - and might never be fully achieved, even after centuries of dedicated work on both sides. A healthy relationship (regardless of it’s nature) isn’t something you achieve and consider Done; it’s dynamic, it’s lived, it requires constant attention and respect, and the acknowledgment that it may change irrevocably as life throws its weird curve-balls. Most of all, it requires a dedicated effort to understand the other person. The surest way to kill a positive relationship is to allow oneself, during times of hardship, to slip into the mindset of seeing that person as an obstacle, problem, or symbol, rather than continue the effort of trying to understand them or why they’re acting difficult. And that’s just taking failing positive relationships into account. Consider all the hardship that comes from starting from a mindset of seeing people as obstacles or problems, and you could see hate-crimes between the populations. Now consider how many trolls and humans may interact with each other as they try to move forward together, and you can get some idea of how easily everything can fall apart, back into the same attitudes that led to the same wound that Gunmar manifested from.

And that’s not even touching on how trolls would have to watch their strength and their tempers around delicate little humans (even the ornery ones), and how humans would have to put a certain amount of trust, patience, and good faith in a group that was, in the past, known for eating them (and that still thinks they taste delicious). It will be easier for some than for others, but for those others, it may feel impossible.

I’m not saying it can’t be done. I believe it’s necessary and worthwhile. But I also believe it’s important to not downplay how difficult it would be. It would be stressful, it would come with times of crisis and doubt, and some might give up entirely, and it would be up to the rest to persevere despite the inevitable tragic incidents; to be brave, and not take such incidents as proof that peace is impossible. “Fear (if you don’t let it rule you) is but the precursor to valor.”

There would be hate-crimes (committed by both sides) between the groups. And there would be heroes (from both sides) rushing in to stop them. And there would also be vigils, gatherings of both humans and trolls, in honor of the victims who couldn’t be saved in time, and in solidarity, in honor of the peace they’re working for together. And I think, in that act of mourning and solidarity, therein lies their victory.

Love and grief are some of the most powerful, relatable (rather than ‘humanizing’ which is an embarrassingly ironic and limited word, especially in this context) emotions out there. And I think it’s that relatability that has the power to reveal people as more than obstacles or problems.

I doubt witnessing it would cause every Gumm-Gumm to reconsider their stance on humanity, much less Gunmar himself, but it could be a little step toward a better path; a seed of doubt – a check to keep them honest when they try to tell themselves tales of what humans and troll ‘traitors’ want, or deserve.

Another thing I imagine might challenge Gunmar’s perceptions has to do with the Decimaar blade. At first, I wasn’t sure what it’s supposed to symbolize in the show other than as an explanation for why anyone would follow someone so careless with their lives. It would also explain why no one assassinated him while he was weakened and starving in the Darklands. (Curiously, no one else seemed to be starving, and I’m not sure what to make of that. I think I missed something important.)

At first, I thought the Decimaar blade symbolized the ultimate hatred/abuse: it enslaves, it wipes out its victims' identities; it turns people into objects to be used by their master, and obstacles to be rid of by their enemies. There’s no loyalty involved, no sacrifice – nothing of meaning that is gained from willing service is preserved. It is simply the use of others – abuse made manifest. In that, I saw the Decimaar blade as an extension of Gunmar himself; a symptom of the conditions of his birth. The cruel irony here was that he had the power to turn his own people into the exact, flat, threatening (obstacles/problems) monsters humanity expected them to be. So from this, Gunmar wasn’t just born from trollkind’s hatred, but humanity’s, too. And just like with abuse un-dealt with, un-treated, he perpetuates it.

And then I learned that the Decimaar blade was won from Orlagk, so there goes that idea. Or at least the part of it being a part of Gunmar. But somehow now, I feel that helps it fit even better; I don’t currently think the Cycle of Abuse starts with Nature (in the whole Nurture vs Nature argument). I currently think abuse (in all it’s myriad forms, intentional or not) is inherited. Gunmar may have emerged from hateful conditions, and he may have inherited a direct metaphor for coercive abuse, and he may pass it on, but it’s not truly a part of him. Therein lies a little glimmer of hope that he might eventually see it for what it is - what it's doing to him and his people (who he was born to protect and provide for as a leader) - and reject Decimaar not only as a weapon, but as a way of thinking.

I'm a sucker for redemption arcs. I'm not sure I can give Gunmar one, or if I should even try. But I think in this, Jim has to make the effort to try to understand Gunmar and what he wants, and to convince him that there is a better way. Whether this version of Gunmar (eventually - I imagine it wouldn't come easy if it happens at all) takes him up on it or not, I don't know.

IF I go for it, though, I want to do it justice. Redemption is not about forgiveness or acquittal. Redemption is about climbing, no matter how far you’ve fallen, and even if you can never reach the top, you can still try to give others a boost along the way. Redemption (just like a relationship) isn’t achieved; it’s lived. And it doesn't necessarily mean joining the Good Guys. You won't see Gunmar Reformed agonizing about all the blood (human and trollish) he has spilled, or asking "Haven't I redeemed myself?" Gunmar Reformed (at least the way I'd hope to write him) may still have a great deal of contempt for humans in general, but he has learned enough about them that he can no longer see them in simplistic terms. He may privately think on What Could Have Been had he changed his perspective sooner, but he doesn't have the time or patience to dwell on regrets - the world is still hecked up, and he still has work to do (although the nature of that work has changed dramatically). I imagine if Gunmar changes his plans, he'll chase his new objectives his own way. The Trollhunters might have occasional, tenuous, scary, and unpredictable alliances with him when their goals align, but it might be a stretch to call them allies - a lot has happened, both sides are still angry with each other, but they've come to an understanding and have a degree of mutual respect, and can demonstrate enough good faith in one another to surprise each other. Gunmar will still have all his old ferocity, he'll just be channeling it in a new direction.

[marveliciousmae]

Hello

My name is Amelia

I was born in South Africa, 10 years after incredible change happened, but it seems as if that change has become more relevant in recent times.

I came here today to talk about the horrors of today, but I feel before I do that, I need to speak my truth.

I was born into a privileged white family. We did not choose this, our ancestors forcefully made this happen. I am ashamed of this and wish I could take my privilege away and turn it into equity if I could.

My parents raised me to be myself. They raised me to respect authority and to do what I was told. They taught me to see the potential in myself and thus I did well in my schooling. They have always tried to expose me to the world and have always had the best intentions.

They taught me not to see colour but people. That we are all humans born into different circumstances that are not always just and fair.

Along the way I learnt more about myself and the world.

I encountered racism, sexism, xenophobia, homophobia, transphobia. I could go on. I recognize that my privilege has sheltered me and that I have not and will not experience the severity of these situations like my family of colour do. I apologize. I am ashamed of the violent and disgusting people hurting you.

I will stand with you, against them. I will stand for anti-racism and more. You did not ask for this pain and discrimination. We can end this. We can win. We can try.

I truly realize that standing up like this and expressing myself can be dangerous, but if I can help save lives or at least be a drop in the rainstorm, it will be worth it.

Last year the sisters and siblings from my school stood together with numerous groups of other people around the country and world, against the violence against women and the feminine. Femicide. It is a brutal and horrible disease.

Me and many others feared that everyday would be our last. That we’d be taken by these animals who dare to call themselves human. South Africa has a deep rooted past in racism. And now even our police force, takes part in brutality against the innocent.

I went to a colour majority primary school and have many colour friends around the world, especially in the US and South Africa. They should not have to fear for their lives. They are family. And we will stand against the discrimination, hidden and obvious.

6 years ago I discovered the world of the LGBT+ community. And over these years, I’ve learnt to associate and love myself within this community.

A few days ago I heard of the horrible attack that is rumored to happen over pride month, called pridefall. Many people mainly from 4Chan are planning to attack and harm and just destroy the queer community.

As a stand against this I want to tell you who I am, and tell you that your words cannot hurt us anymore. We are stronger than ever. And we will never let you take off our crowns that we fought for, and will continue to fight for.

All of you know me as Amelia. Family knows me as Mila. Friends know me as Mae. Some of you more recently know me as Apollo.

I will not be restricted by a title. I am me. I am no woman or man. I am a human that wants to love. And about who I love, that is my business.

But if you really want me to give it a label, then I am a queer non-binary individual who does not see gender. I see people who deserve to live in a world where they can be themselves, without having the fear that they will die for it.

I will say proudly that I use They/Them pronouns and I will stand by my names.

I understand if you are confused or do not wish to know me any longer, but please know that I am still me, nothing has changed, I am still here, the same me I was and will be, even if being me is dangerous.

The history behind the queer and black communities are truly incredible.

The people behind gay rights, were trans women of colour that rioted against the police. And if that isn’t a sign of the times I don’t know what is.

Did you know that trans people have lower life expectancies, due to violence?

We owe a lot to these brave women.

The world is in a terrible state right now.

There is a global pandemic spreading which has caused a dubious amounts of racism towards the Asian communities.

The American government is going against its people. The land of the free. The American Dream. That does not exist.

And the month that was supposed to allow queer people to be able to express themselves and reflect on the struggles of the past, now has people waiting to threaten it, and hurt people for loving.

1093 reported deaths due to the police in the US, according to the guardian.

Michael Brown.

Eric Garner.

Ahmaud Arbery

George Floyd.

Breonna Taylor.

Say their names. Say all their names.

They will not die without justice. At least, we will try not to let them.

Black lives matter.

White privilege exists and it’s gross.

Even through a pandemic, the US will find ways to increase their gunpower which is incredibly wrong.

If you feel the riots are too violent and wrong then you haven’t opened a history book. These riots are a few of many throughout hundreds of years. And we will not stand for this unjust. We will not go quietly.

They will hear our voices and we will do what must be done to show that change is needed more than ever.

I ask you to take time to reflect this week. And take time to donate. Would you rather buy a Big Mac, or help people fight this horrible disease that is happening all over the world? And I am not just talking about Covid-19.

For the first time in history people have more opportunities than ever to be able to make their voices heard. We hear you. And we must stand together.

Martin Luther King once said, “I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the colour of their skin but by the content of their character.”

Nelson Mandela said, “No one is born hating another person because of the colour of his skin, or his background, or his religion. People learn to hate, and if they can learn to hate they can learn to love, for love comes more naturally to the human heart than it’s opposite.”

The year is 2020.

We just sent a crew on the first spacecraft for commercial space travel.

Why are we still dealing with the issue of skin colour, who we love, and gender?

Barack Obama said, “While we breathe we hope.”

Thank you for listening.

There will be links in the description where you can learn how to help and where to donate.

Black lives matter.

We will not be silenced.

Be safe.

[delemis]

A Story From a Reachman

My name is Luag Cainach, and I am a reachman. I’m wanted in Cyrodiil for murder, treason, and all of the other things that my accusers also are guilty of. This is the nature of things. I wish to tell a story from my mother, passed down from her mother before her, and her mother before that; on and on flow the stories of my people like blood through the veins of my ancestors. For you see, not much is known of the Reachmen; I do not intend to reveal secrets. I will ruminate only on well-known facts.

The first men crossed into Tamriel from the continent of Atmora. There they met the first mer, who had crossed into Tamriel from the continent of Aldmeris. In the early days of the merethic era, mer reigned dominant, for they had not grown weak from their time spent in the dirt, and so the first men - humble spirits, brought up from humble earth - were no match for them. Some elves put the conquered mankind to the sword, while others took them into servitude. Of those who were killed there is nothing more to be said, for luck was not with them and they were sacrificed on the altar of suspicion. Those taken into servitude are of note.

The heartland jungles of Tamriel were ruled by the Ayleids, who were the first to settle there and make the land their own. They conquered the primitive and violent clans of mankind and pressed them into servitude, ruling wisely and unquestionably for centuries. With time the Ayleid hegemony became decadent, corrupt and cruel; their servants overthrew them, and dashed their legacy against the stones of time.

In the farthest reaches of Tamriel is where Clan Direnni chose to settle, secluding themselves to the towering longhall of their ancestors for many a century. When they ventured beyond the adamantine walls of their citadel, they met the first men. The first men were primitive and violent, in this place as in all places. The Direnni Clan quickly conquered them, and pressed them into servitude, ruling wisely and unquestionably for centuries. 

But Clan Direnni were wiser and smarter than their ayleid cousins, because they had the clear-thinking that adamantium walled safety brought. They feared not the races of men, nor did they abhor them, but lived among them and beside them. They embraced, and made friends and lovers of eachother, and lived together in peace. Clan Direnni was long-lived and powerful, and ruled over their new and prosperous hegemony for a great many centuries longer than the ayleids were ever destined to.

Alas, the Direnni Hegemony faded as all things do, but the kingdoms of men were changed irrevocably in their wake - their blood was intertwined, their spirits were lifted. In the west, the men of the Bjoulsae founded kingdoms of high rock, and they practiced a stone sort of magic that befitted their stone faces and stern countenance. 

In the east, the men of the Reach founded kingdoms of the wild, and they practiced wild magic that only the free spirit of our people can stand to harness. They built not a keep or high wall, but lived off of the land and gave thanks to the ancestors and gods. 

But in time the kingdoms of the Reach were overtaken by the peoples of stone, sand, ice and jungle, and we have known no peace or homeland since.

[scaip]

The foil of a king

I’ll develop a bit the idea that Carla Tsukinami is a foil of Karl Heinz. While I think this is not a new idea in the fandom, let’s try to give more depth to the topic.

The rest is under read more due to length

First: Names.

Karl has obvious german vibes, while Carla is its feminine form.

A quick research on Wikitionary (1), (2) shows that Karl means free-man from the proto-germanic, used as a nickname in Old Norse or as a given name in Old High German. Quite old, eh?

Dialovers is full of germanic references: Richter. Mertz. Heinz. Krone. Giesbasch. Rotingenberg. Banmaden. The ominous, dark germanic background is there in a meta sense.

 The fact that of all the DiaLover’s suitors, Carla is the only one with a non-japanese name strikes me a lot.

Second: Appearances Both are tall men with long white hair and golden eyes. While we never may know how Karl originally looked like, in the current time line he has epic long hair and yellow eyes. However, Carla looks more stern than shady. Karl his shady and transmits chills, his design tells us he is sneaky, hiding something.

Third: As Individuals

Both are very intellent and have great magical power, however, Carla is limited due Endzeit, while Karl has deux ex machina abilities. As far as I remember, we never got to see Carla’s true unleashed potential, only glimpses of it. They are an oddity among their own kind when it comes of their prowess: king Giesbach was jealous and paranoid about prince Carla and Shin’s power doesn’t appear to rival Carla. Karl rules over the state of the Makai, can reset reality, changes his physical appearance, has knowledge about politics, diverse branches of science... we get it, he is clever and magically powerful.

Both are also open-minded individuals. I don’t recall if it was in Vandead Carnival or Lunatic Parade, but Yui gets to learn servants at Heinz’s castle were sent to learn about human customs. Karl appears to idealize humanity, but doesn’t limit himself to watch, he investigates and takes customs and information from there. He even sends his own children to a human school. Carla, for his part, reads both demon and human authors, and enjoys artistic content no matter the source.

Fourth: Younger brothers In Haunted Dark Bridal, Reiji tells Cordelia that if someone like her is the cause between Karl and Richter’s rift, then they mustn't have been close in the first place. We never see Richter interact with Karl. We know Richter had some sort of duel for Cordelia's hand, but lost it. In fact, we don't know much about the relationship between both brothers. We can only guess Richter has to constantly live in the shadow of his older brother. Yet, in Lost Eden he appeared to teach Ayato how to deal with the Eden Castle, he had important information. Both siblings have a distant relationship, but seemed to have been close enough at some point. Or they simply were taught how to deal with the Makai as princes. Or Karl gives him information as he sees fit. Then, we have Carla and Shin. While in some bad endings things end up in tragedy if Yui chooses to pursuit the other sibling, in the good ones, you get to see they give up the girl and remain close. They love each other. Shin behaves inmaturely and Carla is bad at openly expressing his love and concern to his brother. Carla bowed his head to a king he disliked and did something very violent to his younger sibling because losing Shin's life would have been worse. There's competence and resentment, however, you see them go past it and keep loving each other. The affection is there, they only needed to work their communication skills in order to have a healthier relationship.

Fifth: Their relationship with women We don't know much about Heinz's relationships with other women outside his three wives. In Lost Eden, Richter tells Kino his brother used to have many lovers. He seemed to behave as some sort of big-brother figure to Christa until she grow up. The thing is: he was abusive and manipulative to his wives, lacked empathy to their sufferings (and therefore, to their sons') but we don't know more about other women of his past. About other female figures. He has the whole I-am-bad-at-dealing-with-my-feelings excuse because the Eden would meet a bad ending. So, I can only say he was a horrible man to his wives, but lack information about other potential non-romantic and non-sexual relationships with women. One thing I really liked about Carla's route in Dark Fate is the narrative women were given. The Makai people are, obviously, a patriarchal society, I even bet there is some salic law for inheritance. Yet, we get to see how more women dealed with that society: Queen Krone not only feared for Carla when it came to the mistreatment he received from King Giesbach, but for her people too. Giesbach wasn't right in the head and she didn't like it, but had to give Carla a knife in order to stop the madness. Carla was close to his mother, and it is rare to see a positive mother-son relationship in Dialovers. There is lady/princess Nemae too: she was close to her nephews and did what she could in order to help her dying people. While both women met tragic endings, we got to see some positive actions in them. There is also Yui. in Dark Fate, Carla abuses and mistreats her, yet she stood it all bravely despite her fear. Yui is loyal, kind and honest with him. She managed to break past his roughness and help him move forward. Being shutted inside a castle full of dying people for years until Carla and Shin were the only ones left alive is something plainly taken from a horror movie and it left Shin and him full of resentment, but he gets to slowly start to walk forward. In Lost Eden he even asks for her opinion when it comes to his ideas. From Karl's side, we don't know what else he did with his wives, other than use them for child-bearing.

Sixth: Monarchy Both are kings. Carla is the king of the First Bloods, the original population of the Makai. Karl is the leader of the Bat Clan and, according to the reset in Lost Eden; it also appears his role as the king influences the Makai as a whole, having his feelings/state of mind connected to the topography of the place. However, all of Carla’s subjects, minus Shin, are dead due to the Endzeit pandemic. He only rules over their old castle... and wherever remains of the good ol’ Ancestor land? Heinz, meanwhile, rules over whatever territories reach the Bat’s domain. He also influences other clans (or at least knows how keep the Vibora Clan in control) and is a politician in the Japan of the Human Realm. Both introduce themselves as rather misterious individuals, however, Carla’s prominence is bigger to us, the fandom, as he is a character who has his own routes. Karl drives the plot, but always remains a secondary character. This means we get to know more about Carla than Karl. As I said in above, both are open-minded individuals. Heinz takes into consideration humanity(or rather, his own vision of it), and Carla does so too. In Lost Eden, Carla, in order to reach his goals, started an alliance with the Ghouls, despite the prejudices common demons hold against them, and ASKED YUI her opinion about it. He keeps it in mind all possible options, and doesn't mind doing something 'degrading' if it is for the greater good.

To conclude this: I really believe both characters, Carla and Karl, are foils to one another. However, while Karl never gets past his issues, Carla grows. We still lack information about Karl, so we don't know much about him in order to give him proper judgement, however, we know one thing: Karl idealizes humanity because he can't get over his issues and pushes the solution of them onto others: whoever ends up with Yui in that Adam and Eve plot. Carla, on the other hand, faces things and we see him grow. He is close to people, even if they are few (Shin and Yui), but at least we see him getting close to someone new: Yui. Karl, on the other side, keeps the spectre/spirit of Socrates as his friend... and seems to be the only close person he has. He loves Christa, but doesn't treat her well. Carla, on the other hand, allows Yui to accompany him

[tinynightmare1]

Today the world’s busiest border is closed while men, women and children are being attacked. Last night, I crossed back into into the United States at the border at San Ysidro after spending three days cooking and preparing a Thanksgiving meal for these migrants who have come under fire while protesting, all while trying to seek legal asylum.

For the second time in the past four days, the border is closed. The media is reporting a group broke through militarized efforts to keep them at bay, away from the border. According to some who live at the border, a few tried to break through the fence and other friends who live there say they are protesting. They are holding hand-painted American flags, chanting “we are not criminals, we are international workers” as rubber bullets are being fired at them and gas is being released by the very country they are trying so desperately to enter. A few people from the caravan threw rocks, while another tried to reach land to seek asylum. A team of CBP, police and military have shut down the Las Americas Mall on the U.S. side and police are currently telling everyone to leave the area. But our country is not under attack. Our country is simply standing for what it has always stood for: a beacon of hope and a ray of light for those seeking a better life.

The only attack on the U.S. is coming from the racism, exclusionism and xenophobia that aims to kill Horatio Alger’s tale of the American Dream. That aims to be the nail in the coffin of what America once stood for—the same words that are written on the tablets of the Statue of Liberty. The only attack on America is from the gun it is pointing at itself aimed at the American values and morals that were once encompassed in a holiday called “Thanksgiving”.

In elementary school we are taught that Thanksgiving is celebration to remember to give thanks, to gather, share and to commemorate the “First Thanksgiving”. The Pilgrims of Plymouth, Massachusetts sat around a table with 90 Native Americans to give thanks to the harvest that year in 1621. They celebrated an earnest relationship between the pilgrims and the local native Americans who had taught the immigrants how to survive by planting corn and catching eel as well as providing supplies when those brought from England were insufficient.

Every year, a country founded by European ancestors celebrates a holiday where we were once the hungry, the poor, the dying—the people who needed help from those who knew the land and had the knowledge to survive. These pilgrims sought this help in order to survive because the dream of a better life in a new place outweighed the prospects of going back to where they came from. These hopes and dreams of those European immigrants are not much different than those of the immigrants and asylum seekers currently residing in Tijuana hoping for the chance of a better life. That is why I chose to celebrate my Thanksgiving by making food for the tired, the poor, the huddled masses yearning to breathe free teeming at the border in Tijuana.

I had awoke at 3 a.m. a couple days before Thanksgiving and turned to the news on my phone to pass the early morning hours before falling back asleep. The news was riddled with a demonization of the “migrant caravan” and a few videos of actual people making this trek who are fleeing a collapsing economy, violent gangs and a corrupt government that the U.S. is responsible for. I felt a deep punch to my gut and I knew I couldn’t stomach the hypocrisy of celebrating the upcoming holiday gathered around a table gorging myself on food, “celebrating” European immigrants being welcomed to this land while our current American government and media demonized a group of migrants trying to find a better, safer life. With a personal family history that dates back to the Mayflower, I couldn’t find any honor in celebrating those who paved the way for me to exist in this country when we have people just 15 miles away from my house seeking the same opportunities for their children and future descendents. As little of an impact I knew I would make, I decided to make a traditional Thanksgiving meal and build a bridge instead of a wall and let the migrants know that not all of America felt they should be unwelcomed.

The First Thanksgiving took place over the course of three days, coincidentally it took three days to gather food, cook, and gather a few crazy people to help me cook and deliver the food to some of the migrants. I had called my friends at The Heart & Trotter Butchery to see if I can swing by and pick up a couple leftover turkeys for the cause and they graciously handed over three twenty pound turkeys and for 17 hours I cooked 60 pounds of Turkey, way more green bean casserole than I’d like to admit and some mashed potatoes. Amplified donated some boxes to package the food into and on Thanksgiving Day as I was finishing up the food I got a call from James saying there was extra Turkeys and he was going to cook eight more turkeys to help out and that he’d help deliver the food as well. It reminded me of that recent TED Talk of how crazy people start things all the time, but you really need the crazier, second person to follow suit to really make something happen and James was my second crazy person.

The next call I received was from Marla Gamez, a journalist and friend currently in TJ working with different shelters to help the migrants and who would help me figure out where to deliver the food. She explained that the border had been closed and there was fear of a potential clash at the border and that I should not come on Thanksgiving Day. She had been working with some of the more vulnerable people of the group: women, children and people of the LGBTQ community. She said they were trying to lie low and to wait until Saturday to deliver the food. I was slightly disappointed, but this really meant that I had more time and could just finish the eight more turkeys with less of a hectic schedule.

Everyday up until yesterday was consumed with trying to cook as much food as humanly possible. Despite the reports of some people in Tijuana also being upset at the mass amount of people in the city, my good friend Ruffo Ibarra who owns Oryx Capital in Tijuana signed on to help me heat up the food and give us a place to individually package the food into 250 boxes. Of course, being Ruffo, he couldn’t just reheat food. He recreated all the food, adding bone marrow to the turkey to add moisture, french honey to the cranberry sauce and mushrooms and spices to the green bean casserole to create a “Tex-mex” casserole and I had found my third crazy friend to help with the endeavor to celebrate the true meaning of Thanksgiving. When his staff came in for work they looked shocked that the kitchen had been taken over, but they quickly helped us finish the food before service began. How useless I felt in that moment as eight different people I’d barely met who just came in for another day of work, was the source of an immense amount of joy for Thanksgiving and pride for my good friend in what a great staff he has.

Over 36 hours of cooking 11 free-range turkeys, three crazy people, eight surprised kitchen staff and one passionate journalist later, we arrived at a local shelter with 250 individual packages of Thanksgiving dinner. All the work, all the effort and we realized it wasn’t enough. The shelter was teeming with hungry, tired, beat down men, women and children. There was a clinic next to the shelter for the migrants. A chorus of coughing echoed against the shy chatter. These people were some of the most vulnerable in the caravan group and there was a sea of them. Stained clothing, dirt on their faces - it was obvious they’d come a long way but were holding out to truly rest as we could tell their journey was far from over.

As we set up a table to serve the food they organized a line with women and children to be served first and a second line for the men, if there was food leftover. I had half expected a frenzy to occur, hungry people grabbing for what they could, but it never happened. They waited in line, graciously each asking or gesturing for permission to take a box of food. We had to start purposefully handing to the food to them as to say, “Yes, take this. It is meant for you” and the food was gone in less than ten minutes and it was nowhere near enough. This shelter represented just a small percentage of the whole group who was there and the more that are on their way—seeking a better life.

As we approached the border last night there was a strange taste in the air. There was a strange familiarity of the usual border line vendors hustling to sell illuminated balloons and ceramic Jesus statues and for a moment I felt like maybe everything would work out. As we approached the port of entry however, it was clear this was not the same as any other day crossing the border. The vendors hadn’t taken a break because they knew some sort of peace I didn’t, they didn’t stop hustling because they couldn’t afford to. Even with the “Welcome to the United States of America” signs covered in shiny barbed wire looming over them, they were there hustling as if it were just the same as always. And when the Border Patrol came out in full riot gear, and when the police came out in full riot gear, and when the military marched out in a single file lines between the thousands of vehicles waiting in line—they graciously moved aside to continue their hustle. I couldn’t help but wonder how they felt about what was happening. I wonder what they think now, today that the border is closed and they can’t make a dollar from a burrito, or sell a sombrero to a tourist. I wonder where the puppies are that were being sold and if they found homes last night.

The “migrant caravan” of “dangerous people” as our “president” likes to call them are not dangerous - hell they’re not even rude. Yesterday, they barely wanted to look me in the face, almost as if they were undeserving of food. Yesterday children smiled as they ate from the small boxes. Today they are raising hand-painted American flags as rubber bullets are flying towards them, children are crying as they are met with tear gas and all I am left with is a feeling of “it wasn’t enough”. All I can hope is that a few people seeking a better life can have a little more energy from yesterday’s meal to fuel their fight for a better life than where they came from.

“Fake News,” screams our 45th president of the United States of America. Anything against him, anything against his agenda is labeled “Fake News.” Right now, as I type this, the media is reporting “clashes” between the migrant refugees from Central America and saying they “broke through” the police line in Tijuana to reach the border fence. These people are protesting, chanting, “we are not criminals” and they are being attacked with tear gas and with rubber bullets while headlines read, “Migrants Rush the U.S. Border.” These words are harmful, these phrases incite fear and they are not warranted. This is the only “Fake News” I see.

#MakeThanksgivingGreatAgain

[dailybiblelessons]

Wednesday: Reflection on the Thirteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Revised Common Lectionary Proper 8 Roman Catholic Proper 13

Complementary Hebrew Scripture from the Former Prophets: 2 Kings 20:1-11

In those days Hezekiah became sick and was at the point of death. The prophet Isaiah son of Amoz came to him, and said to him, “Thus says the Lord: Set your house in order, for you shall die; you shall not recover.” Then Hezekiah turned his face to the wall and prayed to the Lord: “Remember now, O Lord, I implore you, how I have walked before you in faithfulness with a whole heart, and have done what is good in your sight.” Hezekiah wept bitterly. Before Isaiah had gone out of the middle court, the word of the Lord came to him: “Turn back, and say to Hezekiah prince of my people, Thus says the Lord, the God of your ancestor David: I have heard your prayer, I have seen your tears; indeed, I will heal you; on the third day you shall go up to the house of the Lord. I will add fifteen years to your life. I will deliver you and this city out of the hand of the king of Assyria; I will defend this city for my own sake and for my servant David's sake.” Then Isaiah said, “Bring a lump of figs. Let them take it and apply it to the boil, so that he may recover.”

Hezekiah said to Isaiah, “What shall be the sign that the Lord will heal me, and that I shall go up to the house of the Lord on the third day?” Isaiah said, “This is the sign to you from the Lord, that the Lord will do the thing that he has promised: the shadow has now advanced ten intervals; shall it retreat ten intervals?” Hezekiah answered, “It is normal for the shadow to lengthen ten intervals; rather let the shadow retreat ten intervals.” The prophet Isaiah cried to the Lord; and he brought the shadow back the ten intervals, by which the sun had declined on the dial of Ahaz.

Semi-continuous Hebrew Scripture from the Writings: 1 Chronicles 10:1-14

Now the Philistines fought against Israel; and the men of Israel fled before the Philistines, and fell slain on Mount Gilboa. The Philistines overtook Saul and his sons; and the Philistines killed Jonathan and Abinadab and Malchishua, sons of Saul. The battle pressed hard on Saul; and the archers found him, and he was wounded by the archers. Then Saul said to his armor-bearer, “Draw your sword, and thrust me through with it, so that these uncircumcised may not come and make sport of me.” But his armor-bearer was unwilling, for he was terrified. So Saul took his own sword and fell on it. When his armor-bearer saw that Saul was dead, he also fell on his sword and died. Thus Saul died; he and his three sons and all his house died together. When all the men of Israel who were in the valley saw that the army had fled and that Saul and his sons were dead, they abandoned their towns and fled; and the Philistines came and occupied them.

The next day when the Philistines came to strip the dead, they found Saul and his sons fallen on Mount Gilboa. They stripped him and took his head and his armor, and sent messengers throughout the land of the Philistines to carry the good news to their idols and to the people. They put his armor in the temple of their gods, and fastened his head in the temple of Dagon. But when all Jabesh-gilead heard everything that the Philistines had done to Saul, all the valiant warriors got up and took away the body of Saul and the bodies of his sons, and brought them to Jabesh. Then they buried their bones under the oak in Jabesh, and fasted seven days.

So Saul died for his unfaithfulness; he was unfaithful to the Lord in that he did not keep the command of the Lord; moreover, he had consulted a medium, seeking guidance, and did not seek guidance from the Lord. Therefore the Lord put him to death and turned the kingdom over to David son of Jesse.

There are parallel passages at 2 Samuel 1:4-12 and 1 Samuel 31:1-13.

Complementary Psalm 88

O Lord, God of my salvation,  when, at night, I cry out in your presence, let my prayer come before you;  incline your ear to my cry.

For my soul is full of troubles,  and my life draws near to Sheol. I am counted among those who go down to the Pit;  I am like those who have no help, like those forsaken among the dead,  like the slain that lie in the grave, like those whom you remember no more,  for they are cut off from your hand. You have put me in the depths of the Pit,  in the regions dark and deep. Your wrath lies heavy upon me,  and you overwhelm me with all your waves. Selah

You have caused my companions to shun me;  you have made me a thing of horror to them. I am shut in so that I cannot escape;  my eye grows dim through sorrow. Every day I call on you, O Lord;  I spread out my hands to you. Do you work wonders for the dead? Do the shades rise up to praise you? Selah Is your steadfast love declared in the grave,  or your faithfulness in Abaddon? Are your wonders known in the darkness,  or your saving help in the land of forgetfulness?

But I, O Lord, cry out to you;  in the morning my prayer comes before you. O Lord, why do you cast me off?  Why do you hide your face from me? Wretched and close to death from my youth up,  I suffer your terrors; I am desperate. Your wrath has swept over me;  your dread assaults destroy me. They surround me like a flood all day long;  from all sides they close in on me. You have caused friend and neighbor to shun me;  my companions are in darkness.

Semi-continuous Psalm 18:1-6, 43-50

I love you, O Lord, my strength. The Lord is my rock, my fortress, and my deliverer,  my God, my rock in whom I take refuge,  my shield, and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold. I call upon the Lord, who is worthy to be praised,  so I shall be saved from my enemies.

The cords of death encompassed me;  the torrents of perdition assailed me; the cords of Sheol entangled me;  the snares of death confronted me.

In my distress I called upon the Lord;  to my God I cried for help. From his temple he heard my voice,  and my cry to him reached his ears.

You delivered me from strife with the peoples;  you made me head of the nations;  people whom I had not known served me. As soon as they heard of me they obeyed me;  foreigners came cringing to me. Foreigners lost heart,  and came trembling out of their strongholds.

The Lord lives! Blessed be my rock,  and exalted be the God of my salvation, the God who gave me vengeance  and subdued peoples under me; who delivered me from my enemies;  indeed, you exalted me above my adversaries;  you delivered me from the violent.

For this I will extol you, O Lord, among the nations,  and sing praises to your name. Great triumphs he gives to his king,  and shows steadfast love to his anointed,  to David and his descendants forever.

New Testament Gospel Lesson: Mark 9:14-29

When they came to the disciples, they saw a great crowd around them, and some scribes arguing with them. When the whole crowd saw him, they were immediately overcome with awe, and they ran forward to greet him. He asked them, “What are you arguing about with them?” Someone from the crowd answered him, “Teacher, I brought you my son; he has a spirit that makes him unable to speak; and whenever it seizes him, it dashes him down; and he foams and grinds his teeth and becomes rigid; and I asked your disciples to cast it out, but they could not do so.” He answered them, “You faithless generation, how much longer must I be among you? How much longer must I put up with you? Bring him to me.” And they brought the boy to him. When the spirit saw him, immediately it convulsed the boy, and he fell on the ground and rolled about, foaming at the mouth. Jesus asked the father, “How long has this been happening to him?” And he said, “From childhood. It has often cast him into the fire and into the water, to destroy him; but if you are able to do anything, have pity on us and help us.” Jesus said to him, “If you are able!—All things can be done for the one who believes.” Immediately the father of the child cried out, “I believe; help my unbelief!” When Jesus saw that a crowd came running together, he rebuked the unclean spirit, saying to it, “You spirit that keeps this boy from speaking and hearing, I command you, come out of him, and never enter him again!” After crying out and convulsing him terribly, it came out, and the boy was like a corpse, so that most of them said, “He is dead.” But Jesus took him by the hand and lifted him up, and he was able to stand. When he had entered the house, his disciples asked him privately, “Why could we not cast it out?” He said to them, “This kind can come out only through prayer.”

There are parallel passages at Matthew 17:14-20 and Luke 9:37-43.

Year B Ordinary 13, RCL Proper 8, Catholic Proper 13 Wednesday

Selections from Revised Common Lectionary Daily Readings, copyright © 1995 by the Consultation on Common Texts. Unless otherwise indicated, Bible text is from The New Revised Standard Version, (NRSV) copyright © 1989 by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All right reserved. Parallel passages are as indicated in The Holy Bible Modern English Version (MEV), copyright © 2014 by Military Bible Association. Used by permission. All rights reserved. When text is taken from the MEV, the passage ends with (MEV) and the foregoing copyright notice applies. Image credit: A Boy Is Healed by an unknown artist, via Outsetministry.org. This is a public domain image.

[phoenixrising23]

The Crimson Ash

The Crimson Ash - 

-The Quest Begins - 

You must seek out the castle to the north-east of here, you need to find the scroll of The Crimson Ash. And why must I find this scroll if you of course do not mind me asking? Because dear boy if you can find the Scroll it will help in aiding you and friends in the quest in which you all seek to finish, but how? Is such a thing even real? And besides how is this scroll to help us for if it was written by one of the 12 gods of Ash then how can we even get to it? And here I thought you to be the more intelligent one of your little party, I beg your pardon you must have forgotten if not for me than you would still be stuck inside that tree inside The Twilight forest. You do have a point there boy now if you must know the scroll of The Crimson Ash speaks of a 13th forgotten god . . . Wait a minute you mean to tell me that there is a 13th god? There was at one point a 13th god but you see he became too powerful and the rest of the gods believed that he was going to overthrow the high king, what was this god's name?  I am sorry Tobias but this meeting has taken much out of me for we shall speak again. 

As Tobias, the last of the Myconid, comes out of the book of Ash he hears nothing but the fire crackling outside his tent and the boiling  of his new poison.  

“Hey James what in the name of The Ash Rose do you think he is doing there?” “What do you mean Jake?” That damn Fungus in there sounds as if he is talking to that book he is always carrying around with him. First of all Jake that Fungus has a name and it is Tobias listen he is probably just reading out loud and giving voice to the characters within it. I don’t know James, I was able to hear something about The Crimson Ash, Jake have you not forgotten what mother and father told us? The Crimson Ash is a myth. It's something that the old families told their children to scare them. Whatever you say James look I am going to sleep maybe I am tired, yeah we best be going to sleep dear brother goodnight Jake. Night brother don’t let the beast inside take hold of your dreams, You as well brother.

As the two brothers separate to head to their tents each having different thoughts, Jake’s thought being that he shall find out what Tobias is up to. And James hopes that the unholy Crimson Ash is a myth and nothing more than a myth. 

Listen brother there seems to be something happening here, What do you mean Judas? Mother and Father seem to be preparing for war. They have guards on high alert, they seem to think that something they believed to have been dead for centuries has returned and is planning to destroy the Altar of Ash. Do I need to return home then dear sister? No brother you need to continue with what you are doing the gods have sent you on the quest you are on for a reason, whatever that reason is it must be an important one . . . Do you think the gods know of a plan to destroy the Altar of Ash? No if they did I feel as if they would have informed me and the group, Speaking of the group it seems as if the gods might be trying to reunite the lands once more. It seems like all of us have been spoken to by different gods, The wolves were spoken to by The Lunaric Ash and Tobias seems to not know exactly what god spoke to him but it seems they all have brought us together. Anyways sister I must be going to the lands of dreams it's been a very long day, alright then brother for I shall speak with you in three days time. 

Morning Jax, how did you sleep? Oh hello there James I slept fine and how did your slumber go? It went well. Listen, what do you  believe is the reason why the gods have sent the four of us here? Well last night I spoke with my sister. It seems as if my mother and father have the family guards on high alert. It seems that something my mother and father believed to have been dead long ago has decided to try and destroy the Altar of Ash. Is it something we should worry about then? No, I don’t think we have to worry about it much. My mother and father believe that whatever it is that has decided to attack the Altar will decide to attack my home first. Wait why the hell would it decide to attack your folks? My mother and Father were a part of the first war of Ash. 

Jax,James, Jake I believe that we need to travel to the castle to the north - east of here, For the love of the Ashes were in the hell did you come from Tobias? Do not worry that we really must be off. There is no time to spare. why must we travel to the castle to the north - east we don’t even know what that castle is? The castle is the castle of the Crimson Ash. According to my book it speaks of a scroll, a scroll in which I believe it will help us upon our journey. I knew it. What the hell did I tell you James? I knew the Damned Crimson Ash was real listen Tobias. I am all for reading up on the history of our lands but you must not believe in everything you read in that book of yours. And what do you propose than there wolf do you expect us to just sit here waiting for a sign? Wait, what is this Crimson Ash? What do you Jax? You haven’t ever been told the stories of the Crimson Ash? No, I have no clue who which you are speaking of. 

The Crimson Ash or better known as the forgotten god, became so powerful that the rest of the gods sealed him away to prevent a holy war taking place. The Crimson Ash had made a plan to kill the high King and his family, tragically before the other gods got involved The Crimson Ash slaughtered half a dozen people in the village and ended up slaughtering the high king's wife and young child.   

Wait, why did the Crimson Ash try to kill the high king? Because he believed it to be for the embetterment of the world he believed that the king and the rest of the gods had grown weak he feared that the other races were going to uprising and try to overtake the gods as the most powerful beings on this plain of existence. The Crimson Ash also believed that the high king was trying to become a god himself by destroying this world and opening a portal into the Ash void. 

What is this Ash void you speak of? Jax the Ash void is where a power even stronger than the gods even had it is what powers the altar of the ash. Imagine how powerful someone would be if they were able to figure out how to harness the altar's power and amplify it by ten. 

You believe in that story filled with nothing but damn lies that royal old families pass down to scare their children, yes and why wouldn’t I believe the words of my  ancestors Tobias? Because my people actually had real books on The Crimson Ash and I found nothing on him killing the high king’s wife and child.  As a matter of fact our books speak of The Crimson Ash being sealed away due to the high king blaming him for the murder of his family and blaming him for the plan to open the Ash void. 

So what you three are telling me that the story of this apparent forgotten god is that lost within the different races? According to what we told you it seems the different races have different stories about him, anyways are we heading to the castle or are we just going to sit here? I guess it wouldn’t hurt to go and check the castle. Maybe the other gods left something in there for us to help us on this quest. We need to be careful as we make our way across the lands lest we not forget we need to get through the Twilight forest and The Crimson Lake, then let us pack up and off we go hopeful we don’t run into anything dangerous gods help us. Do not worry gentlemen. I shall take point for if there is anything dangerous my new poison should take care of anything , can someone please tell me why in the hell I why we are listening to this crazy ass myconid and his apparent magic book? Because Jake  we really  don’t have an option we can’t just sit here and ponder what the gods want from us. 

Isn't the Crimson Lake filled with Sirens? Yes it is but only people who are complete idiots fall for what they say. Tobias, is it really called for you to insult Jake? I wasn't insulting your brother James I was just making a point  and besides it isn't even the Crimson Lake we need to worry about the real worry will be the Twilight Forest, It was home at point in time to not only my people but also the Nymphs now they might be highly beautiful but the remaining ones are extremely violent. Jax we should stop here for the night. We are only a few miles from the Twilight forest and it's getting dark and that is not a place you want to be in when it's pitch black outside. 

- Twilight Forest - 

Do you know where we are going? Yes, why do you ask? Because I feel as if we have been going around in circles. Jake that is because the magic surrounding the twilight forest makes whoever is in it feel lost and confused, that is how the Nymphs find you they enjoy making this forest a living hell for whomever comes across their home lands. We myconids have a natural resistance to their magic Jax are you alright back there? You seem really quiet, yes I am fine I just sense an innocent soul. They seem to need help. I also sense something else. It almost feels as if one of the 12 ashes are here, Wait why would an ash be here?  Your guess James is as good as mine. We won't find out until we find this person,damn it great now we have to go and play heroes to save whatever the hell is in this damned forest. Jake now isn't the time to be a complete and utter ass will you two shut up back there we need to listen, 

Ryn Tetsuya you have been chosen to help the gods in the quest of protecting not only the lasting image of your people but to also change the fate of all Nymphs around this world. But how if I leave this forest it will fall to the corruptions of the darkness that has been told by my people for many centuries, do not worry my daughter of the forest your home shall not fall for you have my holy word.

[zankriaskyhawk]

OOC/IC Journal entries: In Shackles. The horrifying scene the Reader were now looking upon through the text, visualizing what were going on within their mind left them near in tears in spite of it all. Of course this happened to be  where the Captain not yet of her title just experiencing horrible troubles on her travels to get away from the Garleans now found herself all in ill times all over again.

"They caught me...Beralda and a few others. The only thing keeping my sanity right now is my best friend being this journal I write within. The officers were looking upon me with such hurtful gazes that threatened to burn through my dear soul,  however I wouldn't allow that. I would not give them the frown they hoped for only a forever smile because I killed a few of their members until they shackled me with bonds that I could not break free of. Even within my full form, I could not.  The soul eater I were called, why? Mayhaps due for the fact that I did steal souls before their eyes, exposing a monstrosity they've never set eyes upon before or the fact that they knew of my rare kind and didn't put much thought into it only amuse at me. A few of my scales were carved into, why I havent' a clue. I could only understand of them that fought with the others to keep me bounded within chains. Luckily this male won them over, maybe he had some sort of pull over them or something. Whatever the case, I didn't care. I just wanted to go to a place I could call 'home'. My hands are bloodied, bandaged mostly for me fighting them off. The bonds they have upon my ankles are digging into my flesh as I write this. 

I can't tell if it's day or evening, hours have passed since I woke. I know this much, and to say my journal were thrown at my face to leave me with a black right eye explains further that these males are just wanting me for much more. I could feel something odd about me, as if I were violated. The thought brought tears to my eyes much earlier, but now I am more aware of my surroundings. A prison to which I might be tortured, then attempted for killing. Little do they realize who I am, and what exactly they are dealing with. Eventually things will turn and change for the worse for them. They haven't known the predator they have in their grasp, to which I cannot and will not be caged for long. 

All I can hear are the screams traveling over the area, children's pleas to be released. The Dotharl that came aboard were mostly dead for their violent lives taking over them to eagerly please their ways of life. Here I sit writing within a journal, unlike the others. I were not brought up the same, nor would I be ever part of their same plains. Othard. How I longed to feel the grass beneath my bloody hands as a day’s battled then head off once more to cook the feast with the rest of the tribes. I hear them, they are coming back to perhaps torture me more into thinking they can submit me. I will not fail.

I hear footsteps approaching, this time I will pretend they will get the best of me only to strike back from finished meals to regain my strength. Bread is not enough, but if I cooperate perhaps they will give me a better dinner. A submissive slave, if that is what you will call it. The Ancestors look after Beralda for me, I miss coddling her at times. The door is opening! They are here! I will hide my journal beneath my shackles until I find what is going on upon this ship they have taken over. These men are clad in armor unlike any I’ve seen. Perhaps from their home land, this is how they dressed for war. Their Commander I’m thinking is speaking to his younger peers in order to figure out what to do with me after killing so many. Now is the chance to listen in to pertain more information. How I will live through this...I know not yet. For now, I place this journal away in hopes that one day one will find it and know my pleading story. One day.” 

The page ended abruptly perhaps with the woman stowing away the journal just like she said she would, but what had happened there that night when she over heard their conversation? Did something more happen? Did this Beralda die? Turning onto the next page, the Reader quietly read on to the next chapter of events. This time caught by surprise with the bold letters: SOULS, SOULS HARKEN TO ME!

[cryoconquer]

hi friends !! um okay so this is a pretty important post and i would really appreciate if you could take the time to give it a bit of a read, especially with some of the drama going on involving racism in the rp community, since, as a canadian, today is sort of.... awkward.

as some of you might know, today is the 150th anniversary of the founding of the canadian state, and as such, there’s been a lot of money poured into events across the country. usually, ‘canada day’ is a big thing here, the equivalent of july 4th, but as it’s the 150th anniversary, it’s been treated as Extra Special. and, understandably, canada day in general is not something that is universally liked, and i personally do not feel that it should be celebrated in the way that it is now. 

see, ‘canada’ is a part of what used to be, and still is, a land known as ‘turtle island,’ which, in canadian territory, is the home of more than 600 unique nations, which comprise currently 4-5% of canada’s population. that might seem like a small amount, but it’s absolutely not insignificant, it’s over 1.5 million people, and the reason that number is so low is that the english and the french committed genocide, a tradition that continued into the colonial canadian government. and this genocide was not limited to the infamous small pox blankets, traded with the indigenous populations in the days of the fur trade, thought to be purposefully infected with small pox, an illness that at that time the british had built up an immunity to, but the indigenous peoples had never been exposed to. this decimated the indigenous population, and this is separate to the indigenous people who were simply straight up killed because they lived on desirable land. 

there also occurred what has been termed a cultural genocide. if you’re a canadian, you’ve likely heard of residential schools, but if not, i’ll give you the tl;dr version. indigenous children were taken from their families and their homes and placed into catholic church-run schools, where they were punished for speaking their own languages, or practicing their own spiritual beliefs. they were forcibly converted to christianity, and made to speak english at all times, as the residential schools forced them to assimilate to white culture. residential schools were known for violent physical and sexual abuses, not to mention improper medical care and food, leading to many cases of tuberculosis, and malnourishment and starvation. the idea was that over a number of generations, the indigenous culture could be “bred out” of canada, by marrying indigenous people who had been taught white customs to white people through many generations until there was no evidence of indigenous culture whatsoever - not to mention, that canada would be made universally white. 

and the worst part of this is that this is not back in canada’s early colonial history. the last residential school closed in 1996. i was already born by then. this was in my lifetime, and in the lifetimes of many of you guys. 

and we can’t forget not only events like the 60s scoop, where indigenous children were again taken from their homes and families and put into the foster system for no justifiable reason, other than the fact that they were indigenous (spoiler alert: not a justifiable reason at all), but the atrocities that are committed today. acts of racial violence by police, especially in urban centres. ‘starlight walks,’ a common practice in the 1970s, where police would take indigenous men they found intoxicated and drive them well outside city limits, forcing them to walk back home for usually over 2 hours. they would often do this in the dead of winter, and the city that i know the most about this happening in has winter temperatures below -40C / F. 

to this day, this shit happens. i’ve hear stories about police harassing indigenous people especially if they’re intoxicated, for the crime of being friendly and striking up conversations with white people. i personally sat on a bus where a white woman came to the driver, concerned for her safety, because two indigenous men were sitting together being loud, clearly having been drinking. i was sitting close enough to them to hear that their conversation was actually about how important they thought their friendship was, and how they were glad to have had each other in their lives throughout difficult periods of loss and addiction. 

and god i can’t even get into the violation of treaties, it’s incredibly complicated, but if you are a canadian, please i implore you to look up what treaty land you live on, and some of the terms of that treaty. learn what nations you are a guest in the land of. also learn some of the problems facing nearby indigenous populations. for example, i lived in winnipeg for a long time, and one of the big controversies was the fact that winnipeg got its fresh water from shoal lake, which houses a nearby reserve which has been under a boil water advisory for decades. despite us using their water, we, the colonial governments, have not provided adequate infrastructure in order to give an adequate quality of life. and this isn’t even mentioning the bullshit of ‘corrupt chiefs’ justifying improper funding, nor the actual problems of the reserve system itself. i can’t get into it all now, but seriously, there are a lot of great resources on the internet, spend some time today learning about the land you inhabit.

this is how i ask us all to celebrate canada day: by educating ourselves. by learning about the people who’s home we inhabit, and how our ancestors have violently disrespected this relationship. read some of the recommendations put forth by the truth and reconciliation commission about how we may move forwards as a whole, settler canadians and indigenous canadians both, and try to heal some of the damage that has been done. 

i myself have been privileged to live most of my life in treaty 1 territory, the home of the anishinaabeg, the assiniboine, the cree, to oji-cree, the dakota, and the dene, among other nations; additionally, it is the homeland of the métis nation. additionally, i was educated in the home of the haudenosaunee, and more recently the mississaugas, and is the place of the Dish With One Spoon Wampum Belt Covenant, which set out an agreement for peaceful coexistence and resource sharing between the iroquois confederacy and the ojibwe and their allied nations. i was born, and now live, in the home of the coast salish people, including: “ including the territories of the xʷməθkwəy̓əm (Musqueam), Skwxwú7mesh (Squamish), Stó:lō and Səl̓ílwətaʔ/Selilwitulh (Tsleil-Waututh) Nations” (i had to copy and paste that so that i could get the correct spelling and symbols, my apologies, i only know the anglicized spellings). 

i would like to give thanks to the original inhabitants of turtle island, as well as those that still live here today, for allowing me to live, work, learn, and grow here. i acknowledge the atrocities of the nation in which i live, and continue to benefit from, and recognize my own personal responsibilities to work towards reconciliation. 

[studentsinresistance]

Rumah Kami Berkaki, Berlari-Lari – Colloquies on the Unattainable Home

by VILASHINI SOMIAH

How is "home" conceived and lived in relation to the practices of coming and going? — James Clifford [1]

Most of what I knew about irregular migrants in Sabah prior to my work was conjecture despite being a local myself. A great amount of time spent in local villages taught me a great lesson on prejudices and how injurious they can be. These lessons procured an emotional fatigue I had never felt before, yet I wanted more. It was a mind-fug of sorts that came in waves with each hour I spent with villagers who were varied in legal statuses but uniformed in their kindness towards me.

The twelve months I spent conducting ethnographic fieldwork in Sandakan, Sabah was both a crawl and a sprint for two reasons; difficult conversations about identity, acceptance, and rights are never easy and usually end high in emotions, yet the most breakthrough and revolutionary discussions on hope, forgiveness, and love are light to the tongue and lingers sweetly in the heart for days. Capturing just an essence of these conversations has proven to be a challenge throughout writing.

One of the most prominent discussions in those twelve months was on the subject of home-making amongst irregular migrants of Philippines descent living in Sabah. I had two preconceived ideas of home (as do many of us with unnoticed privilege do), the first being that everyone was entitled to a home (or two) and secondly, on-going habitation in a particular space was a common process of home-making for most communities. Both these premises are true for many irregular migrants in Sabah, but also untrue due to the reality of their situation within Malaysia.

A recent revisiting of my fieldnotes brought me back to a sunny afternoon in October of 2016 where I shared some fresh coconuts with my friend Shamil,* a 35-year-old factory worker of Suluk descent. The third child of nine other siblings, Shamil has never had proper documents to justify his presence both in Malaysia and the Philippines. Born in the district of Tawau in 1988, Shamil and his family moved to Sandakan in hopes of evading arrests and deportation as well as securing better paying informal jobs. In 2005, after the birth of his daughter, Shamil was detained and deported to Zamboanga. He returned to Sandakan illegally via boat the following year only to be detained and deported again in 2010. His mother recalls for me a young Shamil rich with enthusiasm and life but by the time I was introduced to him in 2016, the Shamil I knew was hardened by life and rarely laughed.

He tells me in between green coconuts regarding one of his greatest griefs:

Ndada tanang di katil kami. Ndak bulih kami tidur lena bah, mimpi di kena chiking. Lahir disini pun diusir, bilangnya bukan kampung kami. Aku mimang mau kira sulap ini rumah aku, tapi belum lagi rejeki aku mengkali. Bukan macam diurang yang lahir disini – ada IC ada pas. Mana-mana di bumi Sabah ini diurang bulih panggil rumah tapi bukan aku. Ada kalibihan diurang, kami ndak. Balum lagi mengkali. Manalatau, bila sudah miwah nanti, bibaslah kami barumah.

(There is no peace in our beds. We cannot sleep soundly, we have nightmares of being raided. We’re born here yet we are deported and are told this isn't our village. I want to consider this hut my home but perhaps it isn’t my time yet. Not like the others who were born here – they have ICs and documents. They can call all of Sabah their home but not me. They are privileged, not us. Maybe not yet. Who knows, when I am allowed that privilege one day, then I am free to have a home.)

This conversation was my introduction to not just how Shamil but many others in a village of approximately two thousand residents felt about the conflict in recognising their birthplace of Sabah as home. “Then why not just consider the Philippines your hometown? Wouldn’t that be so much easier?” I’d ask, to which Shamil would reply, “What do I know about being a Filipino? Of course my ancestors were from there but I know so little about that world. And what makes you think they want us as well? If I felt wanted the first time I was deported over, I wouldn’t have bothered returning.” To further understand this position, I challenged many of my participants to consider the notion that anyone has every right to home-making anywhere (be it Sabah or Mindanao), with or without state interruption. However, many villagers disagreed with me and expressed that what they truly desired was for permanency in Sabah, which was thwarted by ongoing repatriation.

My naive self initially wondered if perhaps the villagers had misunderstood my question on the notion of home-making and that most of what was said was anecdotal. But as our friendship progressed, I became convinced that they did understand. In fact, numerous discussions helped me understand that Shamil and his neighbours were indeed very familiar with the concept of home through the use of everyday language and practice. When asked how they envisioned Sabah, Shamil and his community would refer to it as kampungku (my home town) or tampatku (my place).  But I always sensed hesitancy when I asked if that would mean they considered themselves Sabahan.

Bisut,* a grandfather of twenty-four grandchildren explained to me that he was indeed Sabahan but would later add “tapi ndak tau la. Susah mau kasi gabung kadang-kadang.” (I don’t know. It’s hard to combine the two sometimes). The irregularity of their legal statuses made it difficult to unite the idea of home and the self despite wanting to.

This sentiment was equally echoed by Shamil’s brother Firdaus,* who runs a sundry shop in the village. Unlike his brother, Firdaus holds an IMM13 visa for asylum seekers, and although it requires renewal every year, holding such a document makes him difficult to deport. Yet, how Firdaus feels about Sabah is greatly affected by Shamil’s repatriation.  

Tiap kali kami diusir, rasa macam paringatan seja – “ini bukan tampat kau, jangan kau balik.” Tapi kami mau pigi mana lagi bah? Ini seja yang kami kenal, jadi kami pulang seja lah, macam abangku ni. Tapi hati kami berat, bargegar. Bukan sanang mau balik. Mau bilang Sabah ini bukan kampung kami, tapi dilahir disini, mau bilang ini tampatku jugak, dikasitau kami ini urang luar.

(Every time we’re chased out [deported], it feels like a reminder – “this isn't your place, don't return.” But where else can we go? This is all we know, so we return, like my brother did. But our hearts are heavy and trembles. It’s not easy returning. They say Sabah isn't our home but we are born here. But to call it our place, we are labelled foreigners.)

I am mindful of his use of the word usir to mean deportation, when it loosely translates to the act of casting or driving out with force. I asked why the use of usir, to which he replies, because every deported person, like Shamil, is a Sabahan chased out of their home. “When they arrested and forced him into the police truck, I could only watch powerlessly. I knew he would eventually return but this village changes for him and for us each time it happens,” Firdaus says in a tiny voice. The conversation is halted with him in tears.

Social anthropologist Ankur Datta, in a study of displaced Kashmiri Pandits,[2] explains that the process of home-making for communities that are forcefully uprooted “involves a tension between desires for reclaiming home that existed in the past, dealing with the migrant present and the desire for a secure future in a world marked by movement”.[3] Similar in vein to his subject matter, irregular migrants in Sabah are “defined by movement, as they have been historically associated with migration”[4] but forced movement by way of repatriation has made it difficult for people like Shamil to feel at ease in their homes, thus creating a tension between a safe space and the migrant body, further exacerbating feelings of exclusion and a general sense of belonging.

What I was able to conclude from Shamil and members of his community is that, for irregular migrants in Sabah, a home was a privilege to be earned. For many like him, life was about waiting for the opportune moment to earn this privilege. In November of 2016, the Malaysian government declared curfew throughout the entire east coast of Sabah in order to prevent possible invasion by terrorists and violent extremists who can and have previously threatened the safety of citizens and foreign tourists in the area. Upon curfew, police and military presence was greatly heightened in Sandakan, which led to a number of immigration raids throughout the town. Fortunately Shamil’s village wasn't targeted but when I was able to meet him in mid-January of 2017, morale was low and anxieties were high amongst members of the family. As such, the subject of deportation and rights emerged again:

Kami mimang ada hak. Cuma hak lain sikit. Ada rumah cuma rumah itu ada kaki, lari-lari dia. Lari dari kami, kami pun dilarikan dari dia. Ndak pernah rumah itu duduk diam-diam. Mengkali dalam hidup ini, itu sejalah yang kami ada. Rumah tetap di sana. Jauh. Tapi kalau nasib kami tukar, nah, diam-diam la sudah.

(We have rights. It’s just a little different. We have a home, but the home has feet, it runs. It runs from us and we are taken away from home. The home never stays put. Perhaps in this life, that's all we have. Our home is always over there. Far away. But if our fate changes, then our home might stay put.)

In prior fieldwork, I have not had feelings of deportation articulated to me in such a fashion. I found Shamil’s words to be so apt in describing the irony in which “home” runs away from those removed from it. The forcible removal from one piece of land to another across the waters of the Sulu sea had created for many like Shamil, a home that is in constant motion and unattainable.

* Names have been changed to protect those involved.

** This is an excerpt of a working paper by the author.

Photos from the field

Shamil’s home which I frequented every week. Parked in front is his brother Firdaus's  2001 Proton Iswara which he inherited from a cousin who was recently detained.  © 2017 V. Somiah

On the patio, Shamil makes a bamboo fishing rod. He used to have one made of  PVC pipes but he tells me a  neighbour stole it. The rod takes Shamil a little under two hours to complete, catching four catfishes that evening for dinner.  © 2017 V. Somiah

Shamil (figure in black) leaves for his eleven-hour nightshift at the factory. His wife gives him some rice, vegetables, and fish to have for supper. She says he gets moody working at night, so she usually prepares a hot pail of water for bathing upon his return at 4am. © 2017 V. Somiah

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Notes:

[1] James Clifford, Routes: Travel and Translation in the Late Twentieth Century (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1997), p. 6. 

[2] Ankur Datta, “Dealing with dislocation: Migration, place and home among displaced Kashmiri Pandits in Jammu and Kashmir”, Contributions to Indian Sociology 50 (2016): 52–79.

[3] Ibid., p. 53. 

[4] Ibid., p. 54.