#you cannot give me the argument that the author has tried to insist that the book is not about harry

[didhewinkback]

you cannot make a movie based on a harry styles fanfiction and then insist that the film has nothing to do with harry

[theweeklydiscourse]

Aaron Warner: A Defanged Romantic Lead

Don’t get me wrong, I actually love Aaron Warner’s characterization in Shatter Me. I like his unhinged attitude and how at times he comes off as a little delusional with his fantasies of a fucked up future together with Juliette. He’s like an obsessed scientist who caught a mermaid and is both in love with her while also being fascinated with her supernatural qualities and wanting to exploit her for them…BUT.

There’s this trope I’ve noticed that I’ve thought about for a while, but I’ve never actually written about it. Have you ever noticed that in certain stories involving fantasy or dystopian elements, the story will begin with a dangerous and edgy male lead with dubious morals but as soon as the author considers them as a romantic interest for the female lead they are completely and utterly defanged?

What I’m referring to is the tendency to characterize a male lead as an unhinged individual who engages in violent and dangerous behaviours in the first book only to completely backtrack on that characteristic in the second book. These male leads are often extremely well-liked by readers and are involved in equally well-liked romantic sub plots in their respective series. However, there is a certain dissonance to these types of characters that I believe cannot be ignored and I have an unconfirmed hypothesis on why this trope has become so popular. Aaron Warner is a perfect example of this trope (among many) and to illustrate my point, I’ll use examples from Shatter Me and Ignite Me by Tahereh Mafi.

To make things clear, I do enjoy romances with darker themes, But, I absolutely cannot stand the lack of nerve in both of these narratives and their refusal to truly lean into the subjects they raise and how they cower at the implications of what they’ve written.

Anyways, here’s a page from my physical copy of Ignite Me from a few years ago.

I hate how Aaron’s explanation for his actions in Ignite Me amount to him getting huffy with Juliette for expressing her grievances with the way he handled things in Shatter Me. It’s just one justification after the other in rapid succession. Some of it it plausible, like his efforts to establish Juliette as an intimidating force in the Sector by making a public display of her abilities (albeit against her will) as well as belief that he was lifting her out of a poor situation. But, this is all marred by the final line: "I had no idea you hated me so much. That everything I tried to do to help you had come under such harsh scrutiny.” Because…really? You had no idea that Juliette harboured any negative feelings towards you after what you did? That your actions would come under “harsh scrutiny”?

Let’s go back to Shatter Me, shall we?

“We will always be enemies.” My voice is cracked into chips of ice. The words melt on my tongue. “I will never be what you want me to be.” (Shatter Me, Chapter 13)

I push him hard, slamming his back up against the door. “You disgust me.” I stare hard into his crystal-cold eyes. “You disgust me—” (Shatter Me, Chapter 18)

I meet Warner’s gaze. “If you ever put me in a position like that again, I will kill you. And I will enjoy it.” (Shatter Me, Chapter 25)

“You’re insane.” My hands are shaking but I hold the gun up to his face again. I need to get him out of my head. I need to remember what he’s done to me. “You want me to be a monster for you—” (Shatter Me, Chapter 27)

All of these lines are preceded or followed by Aaron insisting that he is helping Juliette or that she should appreciate the work he’s done to make her flourish. So it seems ridiculous that Aaron suddenly shocked and appalled that Juliette thinks of him as a bad person. While I do think that some of Aaron’s actions were justified given the circumstances, it is still laughable that the narrative expects me to buy into Aaron’s argument here. I imagine that this conversation is meant to recontextualise his actions and give him a chance to explain things from his side, but all it does is give him full permission to go on a self-righteous tangent.

This scene encapsulates my point about Aaron being defanged. It exists to portray him as a well-meaning but unaware benefactor to Juliette (unbeknownst to her) and seems to let him avoid taking responsibility for his actions. His claims that he was unaware of Juliette’s initial disgust and hatred towards him even though evidence suggests the complete opposite. How could you “have no idea” that Juliette felt that way about you when she was throwing it in your face in all of your interactions? The answer is that Mafi wanted to do the whole “I was hurting you to protect you” deal but muddles her continuity due to her need to make Aaron a “good” person at all costs. It’s an especially baffling character decision especially when Aaron claims to have an intimate knowledge of Juliette’s true feelings several times.

But that’s not the only thing. Aaron’s shock about Juliette thinking he was an unhinged creep suddenly frames Juliette in a negative light. Suddenly, she is at fault for being too judgmental and jumping to conclusions about his motives when he had deliberately misled her.

“Was that all a part of your plan, too? No wait, don’t tell me”—I hold up a hand—“that was just a simulation, right?”

Warner goes rigid.

He sits back; his jaw twitches. He looks at me with a mixture of sadness and rage in his eyes. “No,” he finally says, deathly soft. “That was not a simulation.”

“So you have no problem with that?” I ask him. “You have no regrets over killing a man for stealing a little extra food? For trying to survive, just like you?”

Warner bites down on his bottom lip for half a second. Clasps his hands in his lap. “Wow,” he says. “How quickly you jump to his defense.”

“He was an innocent man,” I tell him. “He didn’t deserve to die. Not for that. Not like that.”

“Seamus Fletcher,” Warner says calmly, staring into his open palms, “was a drunken bastard who was beating his wife and children. He hadn’t fed them in two weeks. He’d punched his nine-year-old daughter in the mouth, breaking her two front teeth and fracturing her jaw. He beat his pregnant wife so hard she lost the child. He had two other children, too,” he says. “A seven-year-old boy and a five- year-old girl.” A pause. “He broke both their arms.”

Judge me,” he says, “all you like. But I have no tolerance,” he says sharply, “for a man who beats his wife. No tolerance,” he says, “for a man who beats his children.” He’s breathing hard now. “Seamus Fletcher was murdering his family,” he says to me. “And you can call it whatever the hell you want to call it, but I will never regret killing a man who would bash his wife’s face into a wall. I will never regret killing a man who would punch his nine-year-old daughter in the mouth. I am not sorry,” he says. “And I will not apologize.” (Ignite Me, Chapter 7)

What a sick joke.

“GOD Juliette! I can’t believe that you’d view me as the kind of person who would kill an innocent man in cold blood! It’s not like I deliberately misled you and lied about my motives for killing him. It’s not as if I manufactured a scenario where I came off as a dangerous and cold-blooded psychopath and did nothing to make you think otherwise. Wow can’t believe that you’d be so judgmental.”

You know? It’s not lost on me that Aaron doesn’t even address the fact that Juliette was fed false information about Fletcher and gets so indignant about her assessments of him. I hate this part even more than the last. Take a look at the scene from Shatter Me they’re referring to and you’ll see what I mean.

I’m sorry but this is just stupid beyond words. It irritates me to my core that the narrative cannot commit to Aaron’s previous characterization and follow-through on it. It cheapens his development later on and it almost borders on gaslighting with how it tries to cast judgment on Juliette for questioning Aaron’s morality in the first place. And for what? All to make Aaron into a technical good guy who has all the aesthetics of a dark romantic lead, but none of the edge to match. He is dulled by this contradictory scene and made into this schlub who was just doing his best to help while implicitly accusing Juliette of jumping to conclusions and being too “harsh”.

Because this passage from Shatter Me proves that Juliette isn’t just pulling these accusations out of thin air, she has a legitimate reason to believe that Aaron is morally bankrupt, but the narrative doesn’t let her dwell in those conflicting emotions. Instead, it goes out of its way to make Aaron as noble and misunderstood as possible while shaming Juliette for buying into the LIES THAT HE HIMSELF TOLD HER!! The cherry on top of this scene is that she apologizes to him as he storms off in a huff.

It’s such an emotional cop out and it tries way too hard to soften Aaron’s actions to make him more digestible as a romantic lead.

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 129: Pangea

cw: mentions homophobic slurs

It was their day off.

Their one day when they didn't have to work and their five year old was at the muggle nursery school. They often cleaned and did laundry on days like these, but they always made a point of spending some quality time together. Harry had realized shortly after they'd adopted Cassie that it really hurt their relationship not to have time they set aside for just the two of them.

Today they were headed to get some ice cream and talking about the slumber party they were going to be hosting in a few days and all of the arrangements that had to be made when Harry's mobile started to ring.

Draco watched curiously as Harry pulled it out of his pocket, "Hello?"

"Yes, hi, is this Mr. Potter Malfoy?" a woman asked.

He glanced at Draco and put the phone on speaker, "Yes, this is Harry."

"Hi," the woman said again, "This is Linda in the school office. We're going to need you to come pick Cassie up."

"What? Why?" Draco asked before Harry could reply. "Is everything alright?"

"Sorry, I have you on speaker so my husband could hear you."

The woman chuckled and Draco looked ready to reach through the screen and strangle her. "Everything's fine. She just had a little disagreement with one of the other students and is pretty upset. The head mistress will have a chat with you when you get here."

"The head mistress!" Draco hissed.

Harry laid a hand on Draco's shoulder. "Thanks for calling us. We'll be right in." He hung up and braced himself for the inevitable.

(Read more below the cut)

"What happened?" Draco asked immediately.

He rolled his eyes and turned around to walk back to their house so they could drive to school, "You heard what I heard," he said. "I don't know any more than you."

"Yes but you went to Muggle primary school!" he protested, walking quicker. "You should have some idea-"

"I don't."

"Do you think it was accidental magic?" Draco asked.

He shook his head. "That was not the sound of a call about accidental magic."

"Then what do you think she was fight about?"

"Draco, there are a thousand things to fight about. Muggle children are just as unpredictable as wizarding children." He reached over and took Draco's hand, "She's only five, how much trouble could she be in?"

----------

When they arrived Cassie was over talking to a different adult and the headmistress waved them in.

She seemed happy enough so Harry let her be and followed the headmistress in, Draco all but vibrating with nervous energy behind him.

"Mr. and Mr. Potter-Malfoy, thank you for coming."

"Harry and Draco are fine," he said.

"What happened?" Draco asked quickly.

Harry glanced at him, "Sorry. We've just never been called in before. Is Cassie in trouble?"

"This afternoon, Cassie told a story to her classmates about how the continents got separated."

"Gaia," Draco nodded. "It's one of her favorites, she likes to hear about how life thrives no matter what."

Harry took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Right," Headmistress Blake replied, "and that's great. Storytelling improves communication skills and it's great for students to share like that."

"So why are we here?" Draco asked.

"Jacob told her that Gaia wasn't real, that the whole story was made up, and tried to tell her about Pangea."

"Pangea?" Harry asked incredulously. "How old is this kid?"

She chuckled, "His parents are geologists."

"Still!" Harry said, "That's pretty advanced for a five year old." Draco looked completely befuddled as though he had no idea what they were talking about. "But I still don't understand why we're here."

"I'm getting to it," she said. "She tried to tell him that it was just a story that her father told her."

Draco nodded, "Should we not tell her stories like that?" he asked, sounding panicked.

"Not at all," she said, giving him a warm smile in an obvious attempt to diffuse his anxiety. "But Jacob called you a liar and used a bit of derogatory language."

Harry's entire body froze, "Excuse me?" He'd been hoping that she'd be in Hogwarts by the time other kids were old enough to understand the implications of having two dads. It wasn't a big deal in the wizarding world, but it mattered in the muggle world still.

Headmistress Blake nodded, "She told him it wasn't nice to talk about people that way and insisted that Draco wasn't a liar. When Jacob doubled down on the slurs, she punched him."

"Good." Harry covered his mouth, "Sorry," he said quickly. "Sorry, it's just-"

"We have taught our daughter not to hit," Draco insisted, glaring at Harry. And while this was true, they had, it was only because Draco was already teaching her the words for jinxes that would be more effective. She was going to be a terror once she got her wand. "I'm sorry, I'm afraid that I don't understand what sorts of slurs you're referring to."

The headmistress rubbed her eyebrow uncomfortably, "He called you poofs and said that fags can't be trusted," she said and Draco's jaw dropped, his hand clenching Harry's so hard that Harry was afraid he'd need a healing spell cast when this was over. "Other students overheard and told Miss Murray after the fact."

"We taught her not to hit," he said, "But we've also taught her that it's important to stand up for what is right," Harry said. "It sounds like she tried to use her words first and then when that didn't work she used a different means available to her."

"But the next step should have been talking to her teacher, not punching another child."

Harry nodded, "I can understand why you'd-"

"Excuse me, Harry," his husband interrupted, "But I can't," Draco said bluntly. "And here's why; we are raising our daughter to be strong and independent because Salazar knows that women are not taken seriously in this world. Teaching her now that there is someone to help her when she is being verbally assaulted will not help her when she is grown."

"Mr. Potter-Malfoy, I understand what you're saying but-"

Draco shook his head, "With all due respect, there is no but. If her teacher didn't notice that another child was shouting bigoted slurs at her because she has two fathers then no one was coming to her rescue."

The headmistress squared her shoulders, "Cassie's being suspended for two weeks."

"What?" Draco spat.

"We cannot set a precedent that allows for violence to be the answer."

"And what is Jacob's punishment?" Draco demanded.

She blinked at him, "He's got a broken nose."

"Setting aside that his actions still deserve a punishment from a source of authority so he doesn't continue to grow into a bigoted prick, let's just say for the sake of argument," Draco said, voice sharp as nails, "that she'd gone over and told Miss Murray about what he'd said what would his punishment have been?"

"He would to apologize," she replied.

"What? Just said he was 'sorry'?" he asked incredulously. "That's it?"

She nodded, "Yes. He's only five."

He turned to look at Harry completely outraged, "This whole school can fuck off," Draco said, standing from his chair and pointing at Harry, "I told you this was a bad idea."

Harry winced, he had in fact said this was not a great plan, just not for this reason.

"We'll be taking our daughter home today and she will not be coming back," he said. "And we will be telling this story to anyone who will listen."

"Mr-" she started, looking taken aback, since Draco had always been the polite one of the two of them.

"Oh, don't even start with me," he growled. "I run a very successful design business and while I do not understand how most of the social media works, I have someone who I pay to do it and she and I have been friends for a long time. Get ready to lose any family that you have that has a conscience, you can become the place for all backwards bigots." He started toward the door and Harry stood up.

"We'll sue you for slander," she said.

He looked over at her, completely unimpressed, "It's only slander if it's not true."

"It'll be your word against ours," she replied.

A pale eyebrow rose, "Yes it will. Lucky for me that I've recorded this entire lovely exchange," he said, twirling a pen that the Weasleys sold at the joke shop that did just that. "Feel free to contact our solicitor about anything else."

And with that he swanned out of the office.

Harry stared at her for a long moment, "Maybe you should consider educating your parents and students." Then he followed Draco out.

Draco was already squatting next to Cassie, murmuring softly to her, "yes, well done, my darling," he said pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"He was really mean, papa," she murmured.

His husband nodded, "I know, love."

"Hey, bean," Harry said, ruffling Cassie's curls and bending over to kiss her temple. "Let's get out of here, yeah? Do you have all of your things?"

She held up her unicorn backpack and nodded.

Harry helped her get her backpack on and then they set off, each of them holding one of her hands.

Cassie chattered away about the rest of her day, not even mentioning her run in with Jacob again.

-------------

After they put Cassie to bed they came back downstairs and Harry collapsed onto Draco on the sofa, resting his head in his lap.

"Pansy says that story is spreading like wildfire."

"Really?" Harry asked.

Draco nodded.

"S'kinda sexy," he said.

Draco laughed, "Sorry?"

He shrugged a shoulder, "You getting all livid and protective. It was sexy."

His husband's fingers combed through his fringe, "I'll always fight for you, for her, and for us," he promised.

"I know," he replied. "You're a good man Draco Potter Malfoy."

"It's only going to get harder," Draco said.

"Maybe, but we'll look for a more inclusive nursery school-"

Draco shook his head, "I mean when she heads to Hogwarts."

"I don't think so. People don't care about a man marrying another man," he said.

"But they care about the savior marrying a death eater and then disappearing for almost a decade and a half." He sighed, "I just wanted her to start somewhere where my sins wouldn't burden her and here we ar-"

"Hey," Harry said, sitting up and stopping the words coming out of his mouth. "You are not a burden to her and our marriage isn't a sin that could ever burden her-"

"I didn't mean to imply that you-"

"Listen to me," Harry interrupted. "Draco, you are a good dad," he said as he cupped his cheeks in his palms. "You are a good husband and you are a good person. We are both lucky to have you."

"Harry," he murmured, eyes downcast.

"You are," he promised. "I love you and Cassie loves you. and we are so blessed to have you."

"I love you too," he said, "But this isn't the last bully-"

"I know," Harry assured. "And we'll always be here for her, yeah?

Draco took a deep breath before nodding. "Yes. You're right."

"Ooh," Harry replied, crawling over him and straddling his hips. "I love it when I get to be right."

His husband rolled his eyes, "Just kiss me already."

And of course Harry obliged him.

Life wasn't always easy or perfect but they always had each other and Cassie always had two dads who would go to the end of the earth for her.

----------------------

Day 128: Snake | Day 130: Forfeit

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Anonymous asked: As a beginner in Classics I love your Classicist themed posts. I find your caption perfect posts a lot to think upon. I suppose it’s been more than a few years since you read Classics at Cambridge but my question is do you still bother to read any Classic texts and if so what are you currently reading?

I don’t know whether to be flattered or get depressed by your (sincere) remarks. Thank you so much for reminding me how old I must come across as my youngish Millennial bones are already starting to creak from all my sins of past sport injuries and physical exertions. I’m reminded of what J.R.R Tolkien wrote, “I feel thin, sort of stretched, like butter scraped over too much bread.” I know the feeling (sigh).

But pay heed, dear follower, to what Menander said of old age, Τίμα το γήρας, ου γαρ έρχεται μόνον (respect old age, for it does not come alone). Presumably he means we all carry baggage. One hopes that will be wisdom which is often in the form of experience, suffering, and regret. So I’m not ready to trade in my high heels and hiking boots for a walking stick and granny glasses just yet.

To answer your question, yes, I still to read Classical literature and poetry in their original text alongside trustworthy translations. Every day in fact. 

I learned Latin when I was around 8 or 9 years old and Greek came later - my father and grandfather are Classicists - and so it would be hard to shake it off even if I tried.

So why ‘bother’ to read Classics? There are several reasons. First, the Classics are the Swiss Army knife to unpick my understanding other European languages that I grew up with learning. Second, it increases my cultural literacy out of which you can form informed aesthetic judgements about any art form from art, music, and literature. Third, Classical history is our shared history which is so important to fathom one’s roots and traditions. Fourth, spending time with the Classics - poetry, myth, literature, history - inspires moral insight and virtue. Fifth, grappling with classical literature informs the mind by developing intellectual discipline, reason, and logic.

And finally, and perhaps one I find especially important, is that engaging with Classical literature, poetry, or history, is incredibly humbling; for the classical world first codified the great virtues of prudence, temperance, justice, loyalty, sacrifice, and courage. These are qualities that we all painfully fall short of in our every day lives and yet we still aspire to such heights.

I’m quite eclectic in my reading. I don’t really have a method other than what my mood happens to be. I have my trusty battered note book and pen and I sit my arse down to translate passages wherever I can carve out a place to think. It’s my answer to staving off premature dementia when I really get old because quite frankly I’m useless at Soduku. We spend so much time staring at screens and passively texting that we don’t allow ourselves to slow down and think that physically writing gives you that luxury of slow motion time and space. In writing things out you are taking the time to reflect on thoughts behind the written word.

I do make a point of reading Homer’s The Odyssey every year because it’s just one of my favourite stories of all time. Herodotus and Thucydides were authors I used to read almost every day when I was in the military and especially when I went out to war in Afghanistan. Not so much these days. Of the Greek poets, I still read Euripides for weighty stuff and Aristophanes for toilet humour. Aeschylus, Archilochus and Alcman, Sappho, Hesiod, and Mimnermus, Anacreon, Simonides, and others I read sporadically.

I read more Latin than Greek if I am honest. From Seneca, Caesar, Cicero, Sallust, Tacitus, Livy, Apuleius, Virgil, Ovid, the younger Pliny to Augustine (yes, that Saint Augustine of Hippo). Again, there is no method. I pull out a copy from my book shelves and put it in my tote bag when I know I’m going on a plane trip for work reasons.

At the moment I am spending time with Horace. More precisely, his famous odes.

Of all the Greek and Latin poets, I feel spiritually comfortable with Horace. He praises a simple life of moderation in a much gentler tone than other Roman writers. Although Horace’s odes were written in imitation of Greek writers like Sappho, I like his take on friendship, love, alcohol, Roman politics and poetry itself. With the arguable exception of Virgil, there is no more celebrated Roman poet than Horace. His Odes set a fashion among English speakers that come to bear on poets to this day. His Ars Poetica, a rumination on the art of poetry in the form of a letter, is one of the seminal works of literary criticism. Ben Jonson, Pope, Auden, and Frost are but a few of the major poets of the English language who owe a debt to the Roman.

We owe to Horace the phrases, “carpe diem” or “seize the day” and the “golden mean” for his beloved moderation. Victorian poet Alfred Lord Tennyson, of Ancient Mariner fame, praised the odes in verse and Wilfred Owen’s great World War I poem, Dulce et Decorum est, is a response to Horace’s oft-quoted belief that it is “sweet and fitting” to die for one’s country.

Unlike many poets, Horace lived a full life. And not always a happy one. Horace was born in Venusia, a small town in southern Italy, to a formerly enslaved mother. He was fortunate to have been the recipient of intense parental direction. His father spent a comparable fortune on his education, sending him to Rome to study. He later studied in Athens amidst the Stoics and Epicurean philosophers, immersing himself in Greek poetry. While led a life of scholarly idyll in Athens, a revolution came to Rome. Julius Caesar was murdered, and Horace fatefully lined up behind Brutus in the conflicts that would ensue. His learning enabled him to become a commander during the Battle of Philippi, but Horace saw his forces routed by those of Octavian and Mark Antony, another stop on the former’s road to becoming Emperor Augustus.

When he returned to Italy, Horace found that his family’s estate had been expropriated by Rome, and Horace was, according to his writings, left destitute. In 39 B.C., after Augustus granted amnesty, Horace became a secretary in the Roman treasury by buying the position of questor's scribe. In 38, Horace met and became the client of the artists' patron Maecenas, a close lieutenant to Augustus, who provided Horace with a villa in the Sabine Hills. From there he began to write his satires. Horace became the major lyric Latin poet of the era of the Augustus age. He is famed for his Odes as well as his caustic satires, and his book on writing, the Ars Poetica. His life and career were owed to Augustus, who was close to his patron, Maecenas. From this lofty, if tenuous, position, Horace became the voice of the new Roman Empire. When Horace died at age 59, he left his estate to Augustus and was buried near the tomb of his patron Maecenas.

Horace’s simple diction and exquisite arrangement give the odes an inevitable quality; the expression makes familiar thoughts new. While the language of the odes may be simple, their structure is complex. The odes can be seen as rhetorical arguments with a kind of logic that leads the reader to sometimes unexpected places. His odes speak of a love of the countryside that dedicates a farmer to his ancestral lands; exposes the ambition that drives one man to Olympic glory, another to political acclaim, and a third to wealth; the greed that compels the merchant to brave dangerous seas again and again rather than live modestly but safely; and even the tensions between the sexes that are at the root of the odes about relationships with women.

What I like then about Horace is his sense of moderation and he shows the gap between what we think we want and what we actually need. Horace has a preference for the small and simple over the grandiose. He’s all for independence and self-reliance.

If there is one thing I would nit pick Horace upon is his flippancy to the value of the religious and spiritual. The gods are often on his lips, but, in defiance of much contemporary feeling, he absolutely denied an afterlife - which as a Christian I would disagree with. So inevitably “gather ye rosebuds while ye may” is an ever recurrent theme, though Horace insists on a Golden Mean of moderation - deploring excess and always refusing, deprecating, dissuading.

All in all he champions the quiet life, a prayer I think many men and women pray to the gods to grant them when they are caught in the open Aegean, and a dark cloud has blotted out the moon, and the sailors no longer have the bright stars to guide them. A quiet life is the prayer of Thrace when madness leads to war. A quiet life is the prayer of the Medes when fighting with painted quivers: a commodity, Grosphus, that cannot be bought by jewels or purple or gold? For no riches, no consul’s lictor, can move on the disorders of an unhappy mind and the anxieties that flutter around coffered ceilings.

Caelum non animum mutant qui trans mare currunt (they change their sky, not their soul, who rush across the sea.)

Part of Horace’s persona - lack of political ambition, satisfaction with his life, gratitude for his land, and pride in his craft and the recognition it wins him - is an expression of an intricate web of awareness of place. Reading Horace will centre you and get you to focus on what is most important in life. In Horace’s discussion of what people in his society value, and where they place their energy and time, we can find something familiar. Horace brings his reader to the question - what do we value?  

Much like many of our own societies, Rome was bustling with trade and commerce, ambition, and an area of vast, diverse civilisation. People there faced similar decisions as we do today, in what we pursue and why. As many of us debate our place and purpose in our world, our poet reassures us all. We have been coursing through Mondays for thousands of years. Horace beckons us: take a brief moment from the day’s busy hours. Stretch a little, close your eyes while facing the warm sun, and hear the birds and the quiet stream. The mind that is happy for the present should refuse to worry about what is further ahead; it should dilute bitter things with a mild smile.

I would encourage anyone to read these treasures in translations. For you though, as a budding Classicist, read the texts in Latin and Greek if you can. Wrestle with the word. The struggle is its own reward. Whether one reads from the original or from a worthy translation, the moral virtue (one hopes) is wisdom and enlightenment.

Pulvis et umbra sumus

(We are but dust and shadow.)

Thanks for your question.

[lovetenya]

𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐲𝐚 𝐢𝐢𝐝𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐜𝐬 (𝟐)

pairing: tenya iida x gn! reader

warnings: a couple of swear words. nobody’s angry or swearing at each other.

word count: 1.5k. i’d count it as a oneshot if it was more organized. :)

author’s note: thank you so much for the love on my work! your reblogs and comments make me so happy!! this one isn’t extremely romantic, but there is some fluffy reassurance. tenya deserves so much more love than he gets.

click on the star to read part one -> ✧

Dating Iida Tenya would ALSO include...

Tenya facetiming you to tell you all about the book he’s reading and to help with homework when you can’t be together 

He’s so passionate about his books! I mean, I hope so, because he has so many of them and I can totally see him thinking reading is a “worthy” hobby because it’s productive and “intellectually challenging”

Tenya: “I can’t believe the main character dies! That very rarely happens in literature! I wonder if the author was trying to say something about...”

If you’re not as much of a reader as he is, please act interested and show him you care what he’s talking about!!! He thrives on genuine interest because he’s familiar with being used for homework answers!! (more on that later)

If you thought his nerd rambles were bad, get ready for literary nerd rambles!!! They’re so much better!! (or worse, if you’re a hater)

He will proofread every single essay you write and read draft after draft and never complain

“Hm... I see where you were trying to go with this point, but your line of reasoning needs work.” 

“Is this claim evidence based? You really shouldn’t make assumptions without studying the bias the researchers may have possessed when gathering the data. It’s really easy to use the same statistics to prove two sides of the same argument and you shouldn’t--”

“Tenya, it’s a worksheet. It’s worth five points.”

“Even so! You should always put forth your best effort!”

He will offer his help, but vehemently insist that he’s not going to just give you the answers. No, you don’t get a break just because you’re his s/o. You’ve still gotta work for your grades.

He’ll make sure you’re the one figuring it out. (He wants you to succeed, duh. What kind of class representative would he be if he enabled academic dishonesty???)(A bad one)

People seem to forget that he tried to kill someone, had a sword driven through his shoulder and never really regained full control over his arm. Also, I’m pretty sure it’s confirmed that Iidas have to rip out their mufflers in order to grow new, stronger ones? That’s so scary? I think we should discuss this more. The man is a badass. He called Midoriya the famous “Mr. House Arrest” and called Bakugo a cretin??? He deserves so much more credit for his sassiness than he gets credit for. Just let him be a bossy legend, alright?

He would snap at you to start focusing when you’re studying together 

Don’t get me wrong, he likes you a whole lot, but he also cannot stand being behind on lessons and is not gonna let someone get between him and his hard earned A+++s

He doesn’t like to be together in the common room because he doesn’t like to be teased about the relationship he’s very proud of but very protective over

You’re both surprised you manage to juggle your hectic lives, but it just makes every moment more special

So you usually end up sneaking into his dorm room while he’s making rounds making sure everyone is safe in their rooms. 

(Okay so, I lied. This is the exception to the rule of ‘you don’t get breaks’. This time, he lets it (you) slide.)

He doesn’t want to be a bad role model for the others and give them any ideas, but he also doesn’t want to be a hypocrite

So if he were to see one of his classmates sneaking into someone’s dorm…. No he didn’t. 

He’s the kind of person that doesn’t care what his classmates do as long as they’re being safe. He’s not interested in the details. 

You often end up cuddled up in his bed under his blankets <3

His laptop sits on his lap and he’d put on a documentary, probably

He would ask you whether you came to talk or to watch the movie if you asked too many questions during it HAHA

“Why are you asking me about this? Haven’t you read chapter 9 in our science textbook? It gives a clear description of--”

“Dude. We’re on chapter four. How and more importantly, WHY are you so far ahead???”

“I was bored and wanted to be productive instead of letting my brain rot from idleness…”

“Oh my god. You’re such a nerd.”

He sticks out his tongue at you and pushes his glasses further up his nose at this blasphemous suggestion.

He’d pick up (or help cook) dinner beforehand so you don’t have to leave the room and risk being discovered!! (Even though literally nobody would snitch, he still doesn’t want to break the rules further than what he’s already guilty of)

I have a feeling he really like classic movies too and when you watch them together he’ll explain how they did all of the stunts or the special effects

He’d know every single word to a movie and would DEFINITELY recite his favorite parts dramatically, while still trying to make as little noise as possible

He’d do god-awful impressions and his silly exaggerated choppy hands to make you laugh

You love that it’s a side of him that nobody else gets to see because he doesn’t have very many opportunities to let loose and be a normal teenage boy

It’s just simple fun and it’s sweet to be there with him and to see him like this, especially when he goes into theatrical mode for his bedroom performances

Again, I’m mentioning the fact that a sword was driven through his shoulder and he allowed the injury to remain untreated because he wanted to have a reminder that he stood for something once. 

He had every opportunity to just have Recovery Girl kiss it better, but he’s too determined to be the best version of himself possible. He won’t forget the battles he fought to bring him to his inevitable victory.

Since his arms never returned to full capacity and he’s still in the beginning stages of recovery, his hand and arm cramp sometimes. He’s not one to complain about his pain, so you might have to pay attention to catch the way he hesitates to grab things sometimes, or how he flinches when he twists his arm the wrong way. 

He would never ask you to give him a massage, but if you did, he would be so grateful for the way your fingers seem to ease the knots of burning muscle. His muscles feel like corded steel underneath your hands, but they’re still extremely sensitive to touch.

He needs those gentle touches to remind him that he isn’t any weaker than anybody else just because he’s in pain. If anything, he’s stronger, because he’s living and succeeding through the pain that nobody else has. He hasn’t succumbed to the pain and he never will.

Everyone gets insecure sometimes, even Tenya Iida.

He needs reassurance sometimes that his classmates respect him and don’t hang out with him as a joke.

He just wants what’s best for them and doesn’t want them to think he’s being a hard ass for no reason or that he bosses them around for the hell of it

One day, you’re studying together and he’s visibly upset. You don’t want to press him though because if he wants to talk about it, he will. He does. 

He starts, “Do you think.. No, nevermind.”

You: “What was that?”

“No. It’s silly, really.”

“Please, Tenya, tell me what’s wrong.”

He sighs, knowing it’s no use holding it in. He hesitates, uncharacteristically nervous. 

He’s usually so sure of himself. This is weird, you think.

He says, “Do you think our classmates like me?”

“Like you? Why wouldn’t they like you?”

“Well, I’m not sure. Do you think they see me as a friend? Or just as their class representative?”

“Of course they see you as a friend, honey. For example.. you and I always hang out with Izuku, Ochaco, and Shoto! We’re all still classmates even if we’re always trying to one-up each other!”

With a raised eyebrow, he asks “You don’t think they just like me because I help them with their homework?”

“No way, Tenya. I’m sure they really like you for you.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Well, they talk about you when you’re not around--”

He blurts, “Really? What do they say?”

“All good things, nothing to worry about at all.” He lets out a breath at this (phew!) You continue, “They talk about how responsible you are--”

“They do not!” He sends a glare, but there isn’t any malice behind his eyes.

“No really! They do! They all admire you so much and they all wish they were as respected as you are!”

“Respected?”

“Yes, Tenya. They respect you.”

“Then why do they make fun of me so much? Just because I’m responsible doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings.”

“I know. They tease you because they’re your friends and it’s funny when you snap back at them. They’re trying to get you to lighten up a little.”

“Oh. They think I’m funny?”

“They sure do.”

“Hm…”

“I promise, honey. Your classmates like you, your friends like you, and everyone likes being around you. You’re more than just “a pleasure to have in class”, you know. And I’m not just saying that because I’m biased.”

“Thank you, my love. That made me feel a lot better.”

“Oh, good. Can I hug you now?”

“Yes, please.”

He pulls you into a hug and you both hum, content in each other’s warm embrace. You can’t help but softly smile.

thank you for reading! love, TJ ✮

link to my masterlist

[vidalinav]

Firstly, no one wants a therapy book. These are books about Faeries. So no one is sitting wanting to read about withdrawals, puking, crying and screaming. Maybe a very SMALL contingent of readers. Not the majority. Nesta falling down the stairs, Nesta refusing to train, Nesta giving attitude to Cassian, that's it. That's the withdrawals. Since she is not a full blown alcoholic or a sex addict, there wouldn't be massive withdrawals. She is not Amy Winehouse.

Secondly, the intervention is done exactly for that reason--so she doesn't turn into Amy Winehouse. It's not 'implied' that she is having potentially dangerous sex with people who could hurt her. It's a fact. She says it herself. It's not 'implied' that she drinks too much. She says it herself. It's observed. The concern isn't that she is doing those things--no one is looking for her to become a sweet, celibate virgin. The concern is that she is doing these things TOO much. That's how you become an addict.

People in power, on whom she depends decided to step in and put an end to it. That's how interventions work. Especially since she decided to be completely dependent on them financially. If she had a job, then yes, no one can tell her what to do. You make your own bed and decisions, and that's what she did.

The whole 'sisterly' involvement--she was the person who cut everyone out. She cut out Feyre, then Elain, Cassian, Amren. It was her decision. What are they going to do? Did Elain not try to get involved in her life? Did she not invite her to Solstice? Elain was the only person who gave her a gift. Was it Elain or Nesta who decided that they didn't the other? As I recall, Nesta didn't acknowledge Elain on the street. She refused to participate. So should the sisters just take it? Accept the bullshit and keep the checks coming? Should Feyre and Elain just sit back and watch Nesta spiral out of control until she does become an addict and/or gets raped? or hurt? Yes, there comes a time when you are just fed up and Elain, or Feyre, are not obligated to coddle Nesta and let get do whatever it is that she wants to do, and watch her hurt herself.

I am aware of your opinions and you will never agree and I know you'll still insist that the IC is horrible and the sisters don't care. But honestly, they saved Nesta so there is that.

I sometimes don't know whether I should just delete these, because someone always write a whole ass aggressive post in the anons when you know you could just post it yourself. But sometimes I get a lot of joy out of these-- I wish you put this much energy in analyzing the actual text but alas.

Anyway, let me read.

Point 1: this is not a therapy book. I agree S/JM should stop writing about trauma.

Point 2: The intervention is done for exactly that reason--I argue that you don't know the reason and neither do I, and nor do I feel that S/JM does. You can definitely argue about addiction and where it leads, but I can argue that the text doesn't support that she has one or one that warrants an intervention beyond offering a support system, which then I ask why the intervention is there at all, since I know very well that characters do not have autonomy and this was an author's choice. I question S/JM's narrative decisions and how they are framed in the novel which is why I cannot support specific claims about characters.

Point 3: I already talked about this in a reblog. So I'm going to dismiss this one.

Point 4: If the intention on behalf of the writer is to show that they care, then... I got to see scenes where they care. It can't be speculation. It has to be concrete. If the goal is to show realism, then you have to show realistic consequences of trauma, the dirt of it all, and then also the push and pull of healing which arguably is not in here. You can show people being annoyed by her trauma, that's realistic but it's not realistic for someone to jump into an intervention. You know realistically, as in of this world, you cannot force anyone to be in a program without their consent, and they can leave at any time. Of course there are certain instances where this is not true, but it takes years to get people the healing or help for addiction/trauma that they need and if people don't want to heal well you can't do nothing about it. That's realistic.

If you are arguing that Nesta is rolling down a steep hill to nowheresville as it seems then... by all means it probably should take more than giving a gift at solstice, which doesn't make Elain nor Feyre look good that this is the height of trying. To go straight to intervention without convincing evidence that it's needed nor that they tried literally anything else is my point. So if the goal was to make the foundation for a sisterly relationship, I am not convinced. If the goal was to show they care, I am certainly not convinced.

The objective of any book is to convince the reader of something. If you did not convince a bulk of the readership, whether that be anti-Nesta's who are not quelled or pro-Nesta's who are not satisfied, then the writer did not convince well enough. Which is what I am saying specifically about the benevolence of the IC. That claim lacks contextual evidence. It is not about whether I like them or not. Who cares about that? I like interesting characters, I am arguing that if the author herself wanted me to believe they were "good" or morally righteous, she did not provide that basis. Actually she gave me a lot of evidence that they aren't. Which is fine, if it amounts to something. If doesn't then, S/JM wrote an unconvincing book.

Point 5: The book says that Nesta saved the IC, literally. The IC did not save Nesta, neither literally nor emotionally. That would mean they were directly involved or... empathetic and supportive, which I already said I'm not convinced and why that is. What saved Nesta and what made the majority of the book was the House, her friends, a goal, the Mother, and a romantic relationship. A support system. I can argue that. Anyone can argue that. For one, because the IC is notably absent for most of the book and when they're there they don't look great. Then you have to think why did S/JM make a relationship that is supportive and have that parallel the presence/absence of the IC who is blatantly not? Doesn't make them look great again. Interesting yes they are, but not benevolent.

~

Look, I'm assuming the point of sending me an anon is because you don't agree and you don't know what to do with that, but you also don't want to reblog and you want to make sure I see this post, because I probably wouldn't. It is totally within your right to argue. I love discussions even with people who do not agree with me. But I want to discuss things. So, give me contextual evidence. Give me lines, give me connections. Connect them dots. Once you have done this then hit me up and we'll discuss. Right now your argument is based on opinion alone. You think this. You think that. Purely speculative. It's not based on anything and therefore can't be argued well. For lack of a better way to say this, I don't care about your opinion. Opinions are not fact. They don't mean anything, they're as good as the people behind them. I want to discuss the text and how it works, and what it does, and how it's supported. The consequences of certain narrative decisions.

So, if you think the IC is supportive and justified and want to tell me specifically, show me how they are--by the book, how scenes are framed, what actions characters take along the path to the end. Not by what you know interventions are or because the idea of mental health/substance abuse issues is generally hard to deal with--that's not good enough. You cannot argue the text without using the text either in quote or paraphrasing or giving examples especially on a post where I am talking about the evidence and the lack of it. You said I wouldn't change my mind, you don't know that. I can certainly see something from your pov, but you have to do more than this.

You chose to leave an anon, so you either do the homework or you don't leave an anon with me.

[sonnet009]

Wilder: Jamal’s Story (Route Summary)

PROLOGUE:

MC decides to flee Ziya alone. A rotund wine merchant named Barlow offers her a timely rescue, smuggling her out in one of the wagons in his caravan. On their journey across the Shining Sands MC learns that Barlow is a wealthy and ambitious man who can afford not only a team of djinn guards but even a pleasure slave. It is this pleasure slave who warns MC that Barlow intends to ransom her back to Ziya and urges her to leave the caravan. Though afraid, MC chooses to stay rather than risk facing the desert alone. Jamal is not pleased at the prospect of continuing to share his wagon.

CHAPTER I:

The caravan stops so Barlow can take his dinner out under the stars. MC joins him and Jamal while the djinn guards keep watch. Barlow is very blatant about his sexual relationship with Jamal and Jamal for his part fawns over Barlow in return. MC has never seen anything like it. Left alone for a few moments, Jamal teases MC that she can't keep her eyes off him.

During the next day's travel the caravan is attacked by a raiding group of djinn come down from the Western Hills. The djinn guards rally around Barlow to protect him but change their minds when the leader of the wild djinn offers them a free life with the tribe. Barlow and MC are pushed onto their knees, faces in the sand, and Barlow is beheaded. MC hears Jamal's horrified gasp.

MC does not share Barlow's fate. She is restrained and brought back to the Hills with the tribe and their new recruits. She is not sure why, but feels in her heart that this is no salvation.

CHAPTER II:

While the new djinn are welcomed into the tribe, Jamal sneaks over to where MC has been tied. He probes her about her rich, important family and muses that she must have connections in Umar. Though he knew she was fleeing Ziya he doesn't seem to have the full story – he certainly doesn't know that MC is an accused murderer and therefore utterly without connections or power.

After a ritual in which each new djinn must eat a piece of a raw deer heart, the disgusted Jamal has had enough. In the dead of night he frees MC in return for her promise to take him to Umar. They catch their breath by the river but are soon discovered by one of the ex-guards whose disdain for Jamal the pleasure slave is obvious. He calls out for the rest of the tribe and MC and Jamal run.

The tribe pursues them far, all the way to the base of the mountainous Knives. With little other choice, MC and Jamal head up – away from the Hills but only into more danger.

CHAPTER III:

MC offers condolences for Barlow's death. Jamal is dismissive and MC realises that though he appeared to adore the man it was all just an act. He doesn't miss Barlow, just the security that being his personal slave offered. Jamal insists that MC is his master now, though MC insists that she is not. Jamal reveals his intention for MC to sell him to a famous pleasure house in Umar, and for that she has to be his master.

Jamal whines and gripes the whole way up the mountain path. In contrast, MC finds a fortitude within herself she never knew she had. In the night he attempts to seduce her though she rebuffs him, saying, “I told you, you don't need to do that.” The next day they stumble into the path of a mountain lion. Jamal hides behind MC while she scares it away.

They come across a hot spring and MC spends most of her time trying to avoid looking at Jamal's naked and shameless displays designed to get her attention. But when he asks her to wash his hair it is with genuine, vulnerable wanting so she does so. It is the most intimate moment MC has ever shared with anyone.

CHAPTER IV:

In the sprawling farmland on the other side of the mountains, MC and Jamal are caught in a sudden downpour. Sheltering in an old barn, they share a sweet, quiet moment that turns into an argument when she once again refuses to claim him as her slave. MC is secretly very drawn to Jamal, but fears that his affection is all a lie and that she will be taking advantage of their positions if she lets herself believe him. He accuses her of looking down on him and gives her the cold shoulder. This means that MC has missed another chance to confess that she is not the connected noblewoman he believes her to be.

As they continue on their journey in strained silence, a group of bandits appear and block their path. MC is afraid but not as afraid as Jamal. However, when one of the men grabs MC and makes lewd comments, Jamal exclaims, “Hey!” surprising no one more than himself. As the scene turns to violence, MC and Jamal learn that even a light slap from a djinn whose claws have been growing for weeks can be devastating to a human body. MC thanks Jamal for his protection while he desperately tries to get the blood out from under his nails.

They finally make it to Dijarah, a port town where MC intends to board a ship sailing for Umar. The one problem? She has no money.

CHAPTER V:

To earn money in Dijarah, an innkeeper agrees to hire MC and Jamal to work in the kitchen. Jamal is aghast at the prospect, especially when he meets the old battleaxe of a cook on whom his charms utterly fail. Jamal is terrible at every practical task put before him and, after only a few days, is utterly miserable.

MC is gentle and encouraging with Jamal, and he eventually is able to put aside his pride (a little) and improve. He finds it amusing to think of a world in which he worked here instead of as a pleasure slave. But when MC takes this question seriously he balks and insists that he would never want an unglamorous life like this. “I know what I am,” he says quietly.

As the two grow closer, Jamal tells MC the story of his life. Bred illegally and born sick, Jamal was passed under the table from master to master, role to role, failing at all of them. Finally dumped in a pleasure house as an insult, Jamal actually flourished there – able to put his natural charm and artistic talents to use. That is why he cannot even consider another life. MC asks if he would choose the same life if he were a free man. Jamal goes quiet and does not answer.

CHAPTER VI:

One day MC walks into the kitchen to see Jamal scrubbing pots with all his might then absent mindedly tidying up some things – not as part of his assigned task but just because it needs doing. MC announces herself and they compare their palm callouses and growing arm muscle. One night Jamal is asked to perform for the inn's patrons by playing the lute – he is giddy with excitement to be the centre of attention once more, though the audience is not his usual clientele. He plays and sings beautifully and MC sets off a standing ovation that nearly makes him cry.

An evening shift turns tense when a group of drunkards start causing trouble. Jamal shocks everyone by taking charge of the situation and intimidating them into leaving. Though, as soon as they are gone, his legs turn to liquid and he slides to the floor declaring how terrifying the whole thing was. The innkeeper draws him a hot bath in thanks. Jamal asks MC to wash his hair again. Though she won't join him in the tub – despite his persistence – Jamal does wash and style her hair for her in return.

Finally MC and Jamal have enough money to book passage on a ship. As they are boarding MC catches sight of Hamza in the crowded street. She drags Jamal away to avoid getting caught, though now she is less afraid of being arrested than she is being exposed to Jamal who still doesn't know that she is a fugitive. She resolves that she must tell him soon, even if it ruins the... friendship... that seems to finally be blossoming between them.

CHAPTER VII:

Hamza has also boarded so MC spends most of her time hiding in her cabin – and Jamal has no objections to passing the days relaxing on a soft bed. She tries many times to broach his misconceptions about her but is consistently thwarted by interruptions and her own cowardice. A rich passenger tries to buy some time with Jamal from MC but she staunchly refuses. Jamal is delighted by this, then confused as to why he is so delighted.

One night they lie side by side on the bed and MC asks Jamal why he is so set on being sold to this particular brothel. He explains that, not only is it a famous venue, but if they purchase him then by Umar’s laws he will no longer be a slave but an indentured servant. MC says that isn’t good enough – she wants to free him. Jamal is dismissive of such an impossible idea but MC insists that Lord Yasir, the most powerful man in Umar, could surely help them. Jamal asks why MC would be seeking Yasir’s help for herself and she prepares to finally tell him the truth when– the ship’s bell rings. They have arrived.

Hamza catches sight of MC at just the wrong moment. She drags Jamal off the ship, pushing past everyone else, and manages to lose Hamza in the moonlit streets of Umar. They come to Minerva’s Pleasure House. Inside is a whole new world to MC but Jamal is in his element. Then he goes quiet. “I don’t want you to leave me here. I want to stay with you. I want to be–”. The madam interrupts, realises exactly who MC is, and throws her and Jamal out of the place, calling MC a murderer and threatening to tell the authorities if either of them ever return.

CHAPTER VIII:

MC hurries to Yasir’s estate, a confused and suspicious Jamal with her, and fortunately finds the merchant-turned-lord to be very welcoming and willing to provide sanctuary. Jamal confronts MC and she finally admits everything. Jamal is devastated. He accuses her of using him, of dragging him through danger and hardship just for the amusement of it, of being just as rotten as Barlow and the others. “You think so little of me. You think nothing of me.” MC cannot explain her actions without admitting – to Jamal and to herself – that she has been falling in love with him. Jamal is stunned. Then he turns and leaves the manor.

He returns in the morning and apologises for leaving, kissing MC on the cheek and saying that he understands she was only doing what she had to do – she’s a survivor. He turns down MC’s attempts to make him a free man and instead asks Yasir to use his influence to place him in the pleasure house. “No more pretending,” he says in response to MC’s protestations. “I know what I am.” Yasir arranges for the madam to accept him as an indentured servant.

MC and Jamal say a fraught goodbye in the gaudy room that is to be Jamal’s from now on. Jamal kisses MC and, at his soft declaration that he has fallen in love with her too, she gives in to her passion and they come together in a tangle of flesh and emotion. After, as they lie in bed, the door is kicked down and in bursts Hamza to arrest MC. Jamal is remarkably unsurprised. “I should’ve known it was all a lie from the beginning. All those things you said about my potential. Trying to make me doubt who I am; what I am. But you know something, mistress?” There is nothing but cold resolve in his eyes. “I’m a survivor too.”

CHAPTER IX:

MC is transported back to Ziya to face her execution. She spends the journey thinking on Jamal. That night he left the manor he must have gone to Hamza to arrange the ambush. Anger and betrayal come in cycles but always give way to regret and the knowledge that she brought this on herself. MC’s execution is a public event on the steps of the shah’s palace, but the proceedings are suddenly interrupted by Jamal and Yasir’s right-hand-djinn Royo. Since MC was under Umar’s protection, Ziya’s actions in abducting her have been taken as a hostile act. Hamza takes justice into his own hands and attacks MC with his sword. Jamal tries to protect her but she pushes him away, taking the blade in her chest.

MC wakes in her old bedroom in her Aunt and Uncle’s villa. The blade missed her heart and, though badly wounded, she will live. Jamal is by her bedside. He asserts that he hasn’t forgiven her, and he’ll never forgive himself, but he wants her to know that Hamza was the one who caught and pressured him into the betrayal that night, and Jamal convinced himself that she deserved it. But he regretted it immediately and went running to Yasir for help. He confesses that he wasn’t lying when he said he’d fallen in love with her. He thinks that’s their shared fatal flaw – they’re dreamers.

When MC next wakes quite a lot of time has passed. This time it is Royo who comes to see her, informing her that the political pressure from Umar – and Yasir specifically – has worked. To avoid trouble between the two cities, Ziya has agreed not to execute MC but to exile her. Royo must return to Umar now but says that MC is welcome there once she is well enough to travel. MC asks after Jamal but Royo shakes her head. He is waiting by the carriage to leave and will not return to the villa. MC asks Royo to take something with her when she goes – a letter addressed to the madam of Minerva’s.

BITTER END:

Two years have passed since the almost-execution and MC has been travelling ever since, working tirelessly in whatever jobs she can in order to save money and send it periodically to Minerva’s to bit by bit pay off Jamal’s “debt” to the pleasure house. Finally with enough to complete the contract she returns to Umar.

When Jamal sees her in Minerva’s he covers his shock by asking if she is there to taste him once again. They go to his room and MC interrupts his cold, emotionless seduction with the last of the money he needs to truly be free. He insists at first to not want it then finally cracks open, tears spilling down his cheeks. “But where would I go?” MC says he can go with her if he likes. He doesn’t answer, conflicted, still so afraid to trust. MC backs off and says he can go wherever he wants to go; anywhere in the world. She leaves the pleasure house but lingers outside, hoping that when Jamal comes out a free man he will choose to go with her after all.

SWEET END:

Two years have passed since the almost-execution and MC has been travelling ever since, working tirelessly in whatever jobs she can in order to save money and send it periodically to Minerva’s to bit by bit pay off Jamal’s “debt” to the pleasure house. However when she journeys to Umar with the final payment she is informed by the madam that Jamal has already been freed from his contract and left months ago. MC turns to Royo for help, who informs her that Jamal had also been working hard to pay for his freedom – taking on extra chores and responsibilities at Minerva's – and that last she knew he was heading for Dijarah.

MC sets sail immediately. When she disembarks at Dijarah’s docks she is stunned to find Jamal waiting, Royo having sent word ahead. There is a tense moment of uncertainty then Jamal launches himself at her, catching her in a tight embrace. He thanks her for contributing so much to buying his freedom and says he’s never worked so hard for anything before – for the chance to live a free life. To stand before MC as an equal. To say he loves her and for it to be the simple truth. Hand-in-hand, Jamal escorts MC to his new place of employment – the inn in which they spent so much time before. He winks. “I hear they're hiring. I’ll put in a good word for you.”

[whatareyousearchingfordean]

Happiness Continues

Part 1: The Conception

Summary: Y/n has been feeling stressed with moving and big things happening at work. After a stupid argument with her husband, they both find a way to help her blow off some steam. 

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Plus Size Reader

Word Count: 3.7K+

Warnings: Language, verbal argument, sexual tension and teasing, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it)

Author’s Note: Now it’s time to officially dive back into the lives of my favorite idiots. Can’t wait to go on this journey with you guys again. Special shout out to my constant hype woman @waywardbeanie who willing squeals with me all the time and my beautiful beta @emoryhemsworth​ I couldn’t do it without all of you too, so please, let me know what you think. Feedback is golden! xoxo Alex

Catch up with the series masterlist and then check out Alexandra’s Library for more by yours truly!

The highway whizzed passed outside her window as she made her way home. Y/n had one hand on the steering wheel as the other rubbed small circles into her temple. It was a Sunday after all, and she had to go into the warehouse. Et Cetera was working on launching a new skincare line, and one of the new machines had caught fire. It was just the icing on top of her already tipping cake. It felt like the only thing she had been doing for the past few weeks was putting out fires, whether it was at work or at home. 

The only thing getting her through the current shit storm that was today was the Memorial Day barbeque celebration at Jared and Gen’s later. Well, actually it was starting about now, but she needed to get home and grab her bathing suit before she could go anywhere. She was pissy that work was making her late, but she had to try and remember that it would all be worth it once the line launched.

As Y/n pulled into the driveway of her and Jensen’s home, she could see the garage door was open, his black Land Rover pulled out and ready to go. Y/n replaced its spot inside with her car, jumping from the cool cab into the sweltering heat of Texas.

Y/n went for the door leading to their mudroom before remembering that the hall was packed tight with boxes, ready for the movers to come and whisk them away. She made a detour back down the drive and into the house through the front door. 

The television played softly somewhere in the background and Y/n assumed Jensen was on his ass in front of it, considering that was where she often found him nowadays. He was enjoying his time off a little too much, but after fifteen years, she couldn’t say he didn’t deserve to. She stopped to take off her heels before venturing further inside, carrying them and her purse in one hand. 

“Jay?” She called out, hoping to find her husband ready to pack the car and go. But as she entered the kitchen, the cooler sat open on the floor, empty of anything, even ice. The woman bit her tongue before moving on towards their bedroom, the sound of the television growing as she neared. 

Passing by his home office, she stopped short, peering through the cracked door. Inside, the room looked as it had been untouched. The books were still lining the large shelves and his desk was strewn with papers and various contracts. 

The sight was all she needed to boil over. Granted, she didn’t have a far way to go considering having to go into work on Sunday had already riled her up. Y/n chewed on the inside of her cheek as she stormed into their room, finding Jensen perched on the edge of the bed. He had their beach bag seemingly packed already behind him, but it was no help to him now. His wife was already steaming.

“Hey honey,” he smiled, the grin fading as she stalked passed him without a word. Y/n tossed her heels into their nearly empty closet before continuing to their bathroom, slamming the door behind her. 

Jensen cocked his head to the side as he stared after where she had disappeared. He knew when she left this morning she was in less than a stellar mood, but he was, unfortunately, completely clueless as to what had her in a mood now. 

“Babe?” He shut off the television and went over to the door, rapping his knuckles against the wood lightly. “Are you okay?” 

“Not now.” Her voice was soft from the other side, a slight echo to it as it reverberated in the empty bathroom.

“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.” He tried the handle of the door, surprisingly finding it locked. His brows knit together, as his wife never locked the door on him. “Y/n/n?” 

“Don’t,” the door swung open then, revealing her now sans the suit she had gone into work in, and only in her panties. “I cannot talk to you right now.” 

“What the hell did I do?” Jensen followed her as she pushed past him, pulling her bathing suit from its place in her drawers and exchanging her panties for the bikini. 

“I have been asking you for a week, a week Jensen, to pack up your office, and this morning I have to go into work to deal with an emergency. I figured that'd be the perfect time for you to get it done, but no! You couldn’t even be bothered to fill the damn cooler for this party!”

Her husband backtracked, blinking at her sudden outburst. “It takes two seconds to fill the cooler, I was waiting until you got home, and my office will take no time at all.”

“Jensen, the movers will be here tomorrow. Tomorrow!” She repeated for emphasis as she pulled a tank and a pair of shorts over her swimsuit. “And we have a party to go to. Are you gonna get all of that done before ten in the morning?” 

“I have time. They have plenty of other things to move first.” 

Y/n clenched her fingers into a fist before relaxing them with a deep breath. “I don’t understand why you couldn’t have done it this morning or even yesterday. Why do you insist on making me more anxious than I already am?” 

“Oh, come on. You know I don’t do that on purpose. I’m sorry that it’s not helping you, but it’s all going to be okay,” he tried, his apology only ticking her off more than she already was. 

“Whatever, I’ll just get over it. Come on, we have a party to go to.” Her tone was clipped and Jensen knew he was still in the dog house. But he also knew his wife well enough to know now was not the time to push her. The two of them could talk about it later. 

He left her to finish getting ready and went to pack the cooler with beer and water and loaded it in the car. Y/n followed him out of the house not even a minute later, their swim bag over her shoulder. The couple climbed into the car in silence, and that’s how they remained the whole drive to Jared’s.

All the other guests had arrived already when they pulled into the driveway. Jensen sighed as he watched his wife jump out of the car without a word. He hit the steering wheel with the heel of his hand, hoping that her nosy family didn’t pick up on the anger rolling off of her.  

He unloaded the cooler and dragged it along behind him, though the garage and out to the poolside. Setting down under some shade, he wasted no time in reaching in and cracking open a bottle of craft beer. 

“What did you do?” Jared’s voice had him nearly choking on the fizzy liquid as it went down his throat. He didn’t even hear his brother-in-law come up behind him.

“What makes you think I’ve done something?” Jensen knew he was being far too defensive, but fuck Jared and his perceptiveness. He had known this would happen.  

“Uh, you two didn’t walk back here hand in hand forgetting there are other people in the world.” Jared had that inquisitorial look in his eye, the same one that nearly had Jensen shitting his pants when he and Y/n had been running around. 

“Okay, first off, we don’t forget there are other people around. And secondly,” Jensen sighed before continuing, “she’s just stressed and taking it out on me.”

“Uh-huh, what did you do?”

“I didn’t pack up the office this morning when she had to run into work, so sue me.” 

“Ah, dude, the movers are coming tomorrow.” Jared wrinkled his nose, but Jensen could see the glimmer of mischief in his eyes.

“I swear to god, you need to go somewhere else, away from me.” Jensen shoved his friend's shoulder, causing Jared to burst out laughing as he sauntered away. The actor shook his head as he reached for another beer to bring his wife. 

As he made his way further into the backyard, he found Y/n sitting at the deck table, having already discarded her tank top. She was chatting with her sisters-in-law, a smile on her face until she noticed him walking her way. But she didn’t make a move to stop him as he neared, instead accepting the beer from him and leaning into his touch when he kissed the crown of her head. It was her way of telling him that she was okay, she only needed a little time, and he could accept that. 

What he couldn’t accept was her blatant teasing throughout the day. Now, he knew she was pissed at him, but she was playing a very dangerous game right now. It started out innocent enough when she had asked him to rub sunblock on her back. She’d laid out along the lounger and Jensen had knelt beside her, rubbing the cream into her skin. It was the small moan she let out as his fingers dug into her muscles that had his breath hitching in his throat. She was careful to keep it low enough that only he would hear but loud enough to set him on edge. 

Her next trick came in the form of flaunting herself in front of him, over and over again. Jumping into the water right in front of him and coming out to lean down for something, giving him the perfect view down her bathing suit. Jared knocked him upside the head one time when he caught Jensen staring and then adjusting himself, quirking an accusatory eyebrow up at his not so subtle action. Jensen supposed he deserved it, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. He finished God only knew what number beer as he glared at her retreating figure. It was clear to him that her actions were no accident now, she knew exactly what she was doing. 

It wasn’t until the watermelon incident that he knew just how much she was riling herself up in all this too. Jensen was in the pool with the kids, having fun tossing the boys in the water between him and Jared. The girls were readying the food for dinner, and Y/n had decided to steal a piece of watermelon. His wife sat down in the chair, biting into the soft flesh of the melon. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as the juice dripped down her chin and landed on the swell of her breast. Y/n made eye contact, smiling at him as she wiped it away with her finger and placed the sweet liquid on her tongue, sucking her finger between her lips for a moment too long. He had to fight back an eye roll, instead deciding to narrow his eyes at her, his tongue licking along his lip and pulling it between his teeth. It seemed to do the trick as he noticed the subtle way she clenched her thighs before crossing her legs. Now he had her right where he wanted her, all primed for the perfect payback.

“What are you up to?” Gen appeared next to Y/n as she watched the interaction between the couple.

“I’m eating watermelon.”

“And making a mess.” 

“That’s one of the joys of eating watermelon in your suit, you don’t have to worry about where the juice goes.” Y/n turned away from her husband’s heated stare to look at the small brunette next to her. 

“Okay,” she raised her hands up, “I do not want to know.” Gen backed away from where her sister-in-law was laughing. No, she really did not want to know. 

Her last harebrained scheme to get her husband going came as the night was coming to an end and she had more alcohol coursing through her veins than was necessary. The sun was disappearing behind the trees and the boys had lit a bonfire. Jensen found a spot on one of the loungers near the fire, his long legs crossed at the ankle in front of him. Y/n came out of the house behind him with his sweater hanging off her shoulders, that glint in her eye still present as she walked over to where he was. 

“You have the bug spray?” She asked him politely.

“Maybe,” he tilted his head at her as she looked around him for it. Spotting it on the patio below, she reached over him, placing her hand for balance on his thigh. Jensen grunted as she stretched across him and snatched the spray bottle, watching her every move. As she moved to stand back up, a devilish smile crossed his features before he grabbed her wrist and caused her to stumble into his lap. 

“Don’t use too much,” his voice was nearly a growl as it reverberated in his chest. 

“Never, dear,” she replied, skimming her supporting hand across the bulge in his swim trunks as she went, feeling her husband up. 

Y/n had to take a deep breath as she walked away from Jensen, the buzz from her many drinks was making her brain fuzzy and needy for her husband. Her plan hadn’t been to wind herself up along with him, but she should have known better, that two could play her little game. 

After applying the spray, she sat down across the fire from her husband, Odette choosing her lap as her resting place as she made her rounds through the adults. Y/n helped her make a couple of s’mores on the fire before handing her off to her father as she headed inside for a mixed drink from Gen’s fridge. 

The air conditioning caused pimples to rise on her heated skin as she entered the home and took off her sweater. Y/n stumbled slightly as she crossed the threshold inside, the numerous drinks of the day taking hold of her brain. The day wasn’t over yet, and she was determined to slip in at least one more. 

By the time she reached the fridge, she heard the door behind her opening and closing again. She paid it no mind as she pulled the juice and soda from the fridge, turning on her heel and bumping the door closed with her hip. 

“I know what you’re doing,” his growl had her nearly jumping out of her skin, the bottles in her arms tumbling ever so slightly before she clumsily regained her grip on them. 

“Jesus.” Y/n set the bottle down on the island in the kitchen, her heart thumping wildly in her chest. Jensen stepped closer to her, invading her personal space, and squaring his shoulders to make himself even bigger than he already was. He knew just how much it made her weak in the knees when he displayed his size difference over her, and he was using that knowledge to his advantage. 

“Come on babe, you can’t play me.” His voice was low, the sound of it reverberating deep in his chest, sending shivers down her spine. “I’ve been watching you clench your thighs all day.” 

“I—” The syllable barely slipped from her lips before his hands were on her, dragging her down the back hall and into the dark laundry room. The soft glow of the moonlight and a far off street lamp illuminated the room just enough for them to see each other. 

Jensen pushed her body against the dryer as he closed the door behind them both. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the low lighting, giving him enough time to lift her onto the machine and slot himself between her open thighs. 

“I’m still pissed at you,” she murmured as he dove into her neck, placing soft open-mouthed kisses against her sensitive skin. 

“So you’re torturing me then?”

“You tick me off, I tick you off. I think it’s only fair.” Her words were a whimper on her lips when Jensen nipped against her collar bone. Y/n ran her hands up his bare back, his skin still heated from the Texas sun. The woman could feel his muscles rippling under her fingertips as he ground his arousal into her core. 

“Mmm, don’t think that’s how this works,” Jensen stepped back from her, her hands falling to her sides to catch herself from falling from the machine. Her chest rose and fell with a deep breath as she tried to calm her hammering heart. “See, I think now’s the time to show you who’s really in charge here.” 

Y/n bit her lip as she looked at her husband up and down. Y/n loved this side of him, the small upturn in his lips sent heat pooling deep in her stomach. Without breaking eye contact, she reached behind her, untying her bathing suit top and dropping it on the washer next to her. She watched his Adam’s apple bob as he fought to keep his composure, but his wife knew him well enough to see the way his tongue peeked out to wet his lower lip. He was on the brink of breaking, and she had just the idea of how to push him over the edge. 

“Then show me,” she purred, sucking two fingers between her lips before disappearing her hand into her bathing suit bottoms. Jensen moved like lightning, his fingers wrapping around her wrist and pulling her hand up near his face. 

“No time for that, baby girl.” Jensen dropped his grip on her, moving to pull her bottoms from her body. Y/n lifted her hips to help him and Jensen placed the barely-there material with the other piece of her bikini. He took back his place in between her legs, attacking her mouth with fervor. Y/n could taste the beer he had been drinking all day on his lips, the taste all-consuming of every other flavor she so loved of her husband, but she didn’t care at this point. She’d been trying to rile him up all day, in turn doing the same thing to herself, and now she wanted the release she knew her husband could provide her. 

He had one hand on her hip and the other was cradling the base of her skull, keeping her as close to his body as he could. The soft moans escaping her body only drove him crazier than he already was. Y/n ran her nails down his back, slipping her hands underneath the elastic of his bathing suit and squeezing the taut muscles of his ass. 

“Fuck me, please,” she begged, far past caring for any decorum at that moment. He already had her naked and wet in her brother’s laundry room, her whole family just outside enjoying a bonfire as the night came to an end. 

“God, anything for you, baby,” Jensen murmured against her lips as she moved her hands to pull his erection from its confines. Y/n guided him to her entrance, a collective sigh falling from their lips as he bottomed out inside her. He stilled as her body adjusted to him, his forehead dropping to her shoulder as he breathed deeply. A surprised gasp popped from her mouth as he pulled out and fucked into her in one swift movement before easily finding his rhythm. 

The laundry room filled with the couple’s collective breaths and the soft creaking of the machine she was placed on. The air grew thick around them as they both frantically chased after their release that they had been building up all day. Y/n’s hands were roaming across the heated skin of Jensen’s back, looking for purchase anywhere she could.

Every muscle in her body was clenching as he drove himself home time and time again. “Jay, fuck—” She wasn’t sure what she was asking for from him, all she knew was that she was almost there. 

“I know honey, I’ve got you.” His voice was low, rumbling deep in his chest as he licked over the shell of her ear. Everything about him was invading her senses, making her forget anything but her husband. Jensen adjusted his hold on his wife, giving himself access to rub tight quick circles to her clit. Before she could react to his touch, she felt her body falling, every muscle shaking around him. Her orgasm pulled him into his shortly afterward, his hot seed coating her walls as his cock twitched inside her. Jensen shuddered under her fingertips, his shaky breaths like music to her ears. Her husband fell into her chest, nuzzling his nose into her collar as he waiting for his breathing to even out. 

“Someone’s gonna come looking for us,” Y/n chuckled as she combed her fingers through his hair. She could feel his smile against her skin before he huffed out a breath. 

“Yeah, and I really don’t feel like being murdered by your brothers tonight.” Jensen placed a kiss to the underside of her jaw before standing up and separating himself from her. He adjusted himself quickly before grabbing her suit for her. Y/n struggled to get the wet garment back on, needing the help of her husband to straighten the material back out. 

Jensen peeked out the door into the dark hallway to ensure the coast was clear before they exited the laundry room. He slipped his fingers between hers and pulled her along with him and back out to enjoy the fire. 

“Well, well, well, look who is holding hands again.” Jeff piped up from the other side of the fire. He had his youngest dead asleep in his lap as he chuckled at his baby sister. 

“Oh,” Y/n laughed as Jensen fell back into his original seat, pulling his wife down with him to sit across his lap. “Can’t stay mad at this face for too long.” Leaning down, she pinched his chin between two fingers and brought his lips to hers, the couple both smiling into the kiss.

Part 2: 5 Weeks Pregnant

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[eretzyisrael]

Identity and Reality

This morning I picked up a book from my philosophy student days, “Identity and Reality,” by Emile Meyerson. It’s a book about the metaphysical foundations of science, but the title inspired me.

Everyone has an identity in the sense of their answer to the question “what are you?” Almost everyone has a need to find, adopt, or construct an answer. Often it’s a list of things: a mother, a Jew, a football fan, a plumber, and so on. Recently “gender identity” has been added.

There is no national identity with a longer pedigree than that of the Jewish people. For millennia Jews have had a unique language and religion, and a tradition that connects them to the Land of Israel, which (according to that tradition) was given to them by Hashem. Religious Jews explicitly remind themselves of this three times a day.

This makes “Jewish” a very desirable identity. As Jimmy Durante said (about something else), “everybody wants to get into the act,” despite the anti-Jewish attitudes that Jews have to deal with. Jewish identity is so sought-after, that one of the popular themes of antisemites is to claim that they are the “real Jews” and we are Khazars or just fakers. If a Jew chooses to live in the Land of Israel, they have additional prejudices against them. Recently a European “anti-fascist” said that as an Israeli Jew, I was “stealing the very air I breathe.”

But still, the Jewish identity is attractive because – here is the connection to the book I picked up – it is solidly grounded in reality. Lots of people hate Jews and even want to kill them, but no identity is better documented. Indeed, one of the most important parts of the cognitive warfare that is being waged against the Jewish people by its enemies is the effort to break down that identity; in particular, to disconnect us from the Land of Israel. So, for example, Palestinian Arabs go out of their way to destroy archaeological evidence of ancient Jewish provenance in the land, as they have done at the Temple Mount and numerous other sites.

Mahmoud Abbas has always insisted that “Jewish” refers only to a religion, not to a people, because a people can have ties to a particular land, and if there were a Jewish people, this would be their land. This is why he objected so strongly to the condition that he recognize Israel as the state of the Jewish people, although he claims to recognize Israel’s existence. This is why the PLO has never agreed to the formulation “two states for two peoples,” although it claims to support a “two state solution.”

Tribal identities are important to Arabs, but attempts to forge a pan-Arab identity among Arabic speakers haven’t been particularly successful, because, for example, North Africans, Egyptians, and Syrians have little in common. A great deal of energy is put into the attempt to establish that there is a historical “Palestinian” identity, but the people who identify as “Palestinians” today have diverse origins, with many of them relatively recent (after 1830) migrants to the area. There is very little that is specifically Palestinian in their culture (as opposed to tribal, Arab, or Muslim), other than elements that developed in opposition to Israel. They didn’t even self-identify as “Palestinian” until the 1960s. That is not to say that there cannot be a “Palestinian people” – give them another 3000 years, and if they still remember the Nakba, they may become as well-established as the Jewish people.

The Palestinian argument is that we, the Jews, appeared from Europe in the 20th century and “colonized” a long-established indigenous “Palestinian people,” ultimately taking their land by force, driving most of them out of their homes and not allowing them to return. The Jews, according to this story, are not even a people, just a bunch of Europeans whose made-up religious myth connects them to what is actually the Palestinians’ homeland (I am not sure how they account for the more than 50% of Israelis who previously lived in various Arab countries).

Like all “Europeans,” the story continues, the Jews are white racists who exploit black and brown indigenous peoples like the Palestinians. Justice therefore requires that the Jews should give up control of the land to its “rightful owners,” the millions of descendants of the Arab refugees of 1948.

The Palestinian story is wildly wrong on several points. First, there were several ancient Jewish commonwealths in the Land of Israel, and some Jews always were present during the millennia in which the land was under the control of various outside powers. Doubtless some of today’s Palestinians are also descended from ancient residents of the land, but the great bulk of Palestinian families arrived much later. So the claim that Arabs are “more indigenous” than Jews is false. Arab families with names like “al Musri” (Egyptian) or “al Haurani” (Syrian) and numerous others testify to their origins.

Second, when the Zionists arrived and began developing what would become the Jewish state, it was not in the possession of the Palestinian Arabs – there was never a sovereign Palestinian entity in the land – but was a colony of the Ottoman Empire. Most private land belonged to absentee owners. Shortly thereafter the British Mandate was established, and the Arabs, led by Amin al-Husseini, who later cast his lot with Hitler, violently tried to prevent the advent of Jewish sovereignty. When the British were forced out, the Jews defeated the Palestinian Arabs and the Arab nations that invaded (who were interested in grabbing territory and kicking the Jews out, not in setting up a Palestinian state). The Jews did not “colonize” Palestine – they decolonized it, by ejecting the British.

Third, by the time the British left and the Arab nations invaded, the Palestinian Arabs had been fighting with the Jews for several months (with the connivance of the British, who preferred that the land come under Arab control). Much of the Arab elite fled early in order to avoid the conflict (some went to summer homes in Lebanon). The poorer Arabs fled for various reasons, including fear induced by propaganda about Jewish atrocities – which was not difficult for them to believe, since their own leaders planned to do the same to the Jews if they got the upper hand. Some Arabs were expelled (Lod or Lydda) because their towns or villages fought on the side of the Arab armies. Some 500-700 thousand Arabs left for various reasons, but there was no overall plan to expel them. In some cases (Haifa) Jewish authorities asked non-belligerent Arabs to stay.

After the war, only a few were allowed to return. The new state simply could not take the risk of allowing hostile Arabs to return and reignite the war. This was a classic ethnic conflict over land, and the usual result of these is either that the weaker side becomes refugees, or the winner massacres the losers. The leaders of the Arab nations did not hide their intention to massacre the Jews if they won. The 800,000 Jews kicked out of Arab countries at about the same time suffered a similar fate to the Palestinian Arabs.

Fourth, and finally, the whole “racism” theme is nonsense. Only a minority of Israelis ever lived in Europe. They range in color from black Ethiopians to white Europeans with red hair and freckles. Most are various shades of brown, as are Palestinians, who also include the descendants of black slaves and – if you remember her – Ahed Tamimi, who earned the nickname “Shirley Temper” for kicking and hitting Israeli soldiers, with her pale skin and blonde hair. The conflict is best described as national and religious, not racial.

But unlike other similar conflicts, the losers managed to persuade the world of the justice of their cause, with the help of the Soviet KGB, the Arab oil weapon, the liberal application of terrorism, and the exploitation of the always-present antisemitism of the west. Which is why my European anti-fascist acquaintance thinks I’m an oxygen bandit.

Abu Yehuda

[magdaclaire]

to forgive is not to forget and sometimes you cannot do either

read on ao3

Oh no, oh no. There’s only like five ways that this conversation is going to go, and if someone raises a fucking pinky finger to his Tony, Rhodey is going to lose it. He’s going to completely lose it. 

When the good Captain starts raising his voice, Rhodey starts rising out of his seat, completely out of his control. He’s sat down again, however, by the fact that Tony grabs his wrist, pulling him back down to the Earth in more ways than one. Instead of letting him fly off the handle, Tony laces their fingers calmly, keeping both himself and Rhodey hemmed in off of the edges of anger and disparity as to not lose their collective minds in the middle of this mixed company. Instead of losing it, Rhodey zones out for a minute, checking his recently painted nails (peach, because Riri had picked it out and decided it looked great for their skin tone) and looking occasionally at his phone. 

That is, until Steve Rogers stands his happy ass up. 

“Captain,” Rhodey interrupts, crisp and clear and still polite despite the beginning of his sentence interrupting the middle of the Captain’s. Rogers looks at him with raised brows, though he gives the natural submission of an officer so clearly outranked; Colonel James Rhodes had at least earned his colonelcy, come to think. 

“Yes, Colonel?” Rogers asks, looking at Tony and Rhodey’s linked hands before moving back to the Colonel’s face. Rhodey will remember that. 

“You no longer preside over the Avengers Initiative in any fashion. Captain Danvers is the new Captain of the Avengers, and I have the military authority liaison position. What actions you perceive as right and wrong, whether this is an official meeting or not, are no longer relevant. Keep them to yourself,” Rhodey instructs, level toned and frustrated, to which Rogers’s face screws into an expression of displeasure. Rhodey holds his gaze. 

“I’m not the leader anymore so I don’t get to have an opinion?” Rogers asks, high and offended, but Rhodey doesn’t roll his eyes, which he thinks someone should be proud of. Tony squeezes his hand, but still Rhodey continues. 

“Was anyone allowed an opinion during your tenure as leader?” Rhodey asks rhetorically. Tony’s hand slips out of his, grabbing onto his arm with more tenacity, more strength. Rhodey ignores it. “I don’t think it much matters what you think anyway. Your probationary period has not reached its end, and thus your vote isn’t one that needs to be taken into consideration. Your presence in these meetings is a privilege and can be revoked, should I or Captain Danvers choose to revoke it. Don’t tempt me, Captain Rogers.” 

“Well, then why don’t you revoke it, Colonel? You seem to be damn well tempted enough,” Rogers shoots back, temper tested as he rises completely to his feet, Barnes looking alarmed and yet cowed next to him. By Rhodey’s guess, he doesn’t want to be here at all. His attention is pulled away by Tony’s hand on his arm once again. 

“I think we need a moment’s recess, if we could have it. I think it would be good for everyone. Captain Danvers?” Tony suggests, looking desperately between Carol and his usual corralling partner, Agent Sharon Carter. They both nod, though Captain Danvers is the one to reply aloud. 

“I was about to suggest the same thing. How about we take twenty minutes, agents? Come back at 1400, and come back without the chips on shoulders, if you don’t mind?” Carol clips with her eyebrow raised, not a suggestion at all. Rogers purses his lips but gives her a tight nod, taking the south exit with his half of the team in tow. Tony, who has always reminded him of a Chihuahua when he’s upset with him, is nearly vibrating when he drags Rhodey into an empty office, shoving Rhodey into a chair. Rhodey crosses his arms and waits for the fire to start, because if he gets the first word in, this is not going to go well. 

“What the fuck was that, Rhodes?” Tony asks, 

“Rogers is a bag of fucking microaggressions in a freedom suit and I’m not gonna deal with it - he disrespects you and argues with you whenever you open your mouth and puts you down and undercuts your arguments, and it’s counterproductive!” Rhodey argues, the steam nearly coming out of his ears, and he isn’t angry at Tony, he shouldn’t be expressing it at Tony, but Tony won’t let him throw shit at Steve Rogers for some reason, so this is what he’s got. Tony crosses his arms and leans against the wall opposite him. 

“I can deal with Steve Rogers. What I can’t deal with is my best friend ruining the groundwork that I’ve put down for pardoning and forgiving Steve Rogers and his merry band so that we can get them back into the fold. That’s what I can’t deal with,” Tony says, but there’s one thing that Rhodey has to stick on, because what.

“He doesn’t deserve your fucking forgiveness, Tony!” he insists, uncrossing his arms to scrub his hands across his skull. Maybe he’s overprotective of Tony, and maybe that comes from a couple of decades of being in love with him and not doing a fucking thing about it, but maybe that’s no one’s goddamn business either. That doesn’t mean Steve Rogers deserves to be forgiven for lying to him and trying to kill him either. Like Tony hasn’t been lied to for his entire life. Like most of the people Tony has trusted his entire life haven’t betrayed him. But he looks up and Tony looks stricken and he’s getting closer and Rhodey isn’t expecting - Tony sputters. 

“But you forgave me!” 

Silence settles. Rhodey racks his mind for whatever the fuck Tony means, tries to do whatever mental math that Tony’s guilt complex has conjured, but he can’t come up with whatever Tony thinks he did. Whatever he thinks Rhodey forgave him for. So he asks. 

“Forgave you for what, Tones?” Tony crumbles. 

“I didn’t catch you. The suit didn’t catch you. Nothing I did, everything I did failed, I should have been able to - platypus I failed you. And you acted like it was nothing. You just came right back to me and acted like we were fine, and you’re still my best friend and you still love me and everything is fine and you’re not gonna leave me,” he rambles, falling to his knees between Rhodey’s own, and Rhodey just wants to hold him. So he does. He gathers Tony into the well of his chest and holds him against himself and just lets him cry for a minute because that’s what he needs. 

“Tony, none of that was your fault. It’s not your fault. I’m never gonna leave. We’ve been together for decades, Tony Stark. I’m yours, and you’re mine, in every way that matters. It wasn’t your fault. There was nothing to forgive,” he promises, stroking Tony’s hair. Tony’s sobs subside eventually, and the tears dry too. 

Carol doesn’t come get them. 

“I think we might be doing this wrong, you know,” Tony says eventually, when they’ve been sitting like this way too long for his knees to still be in good condition. Rhodey hums a questioning hum. “I’ve been halfway in love with you since I was fifteen years old.” 

Rhodey chokes on clean air, and then he’s coughing, and Tony has to get off of his chest, killing their intimacy. But, Rhodey has the idea that they’re just getting started on that side of things. 

“I was twenty-two. Coming home from my first tour. When I figured it out about you. Too scared of DADT to do anything I guess, or maybe that was a good excuse, was too scared of you not wanting me back too. But I knew I loved you. Always knew,” he says, not quite looking at Tony, because even though Tony’s already said it, he has near thirty year old fear in the back of his mind making his teeth ache. Tony catches him by the jaw. 

“I love you,” Tony says, a confession and a benediction and a completion. Rhodey breathes, and his chest feels clear. 

“I love you too,” and it feels like forgiveness. 

[notyetneedcoffee]

Soul Seer, pt. 14

Loki Master List

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Warnings: 18+ NSFW, Naughty Times!

Author’s Note: Takes place right after Avengers 1, with time travel elements and hints of Infinity Wars. Does NOT follow cannon after Avengers.

 You dropped your bag on the bed and wondered over to the window. The green meadow and vast forest beyond should have been a welcome site after the devastation of New York or the craziness of DC. Everyone kept saying it would be okay. This was for the best. Still, the hollow pit in your stomach would not go away.

The construction you’d driven through to get to the residence couldn’t be seen from the windows. The soundproofing must be impeccable, too, because you couldn’t hear any of the earth movers or heavy machinery. The windows didn’t open. They were solid black from the outside, but looking out they were nearly invisible.

Stark pulled out all the stops on your new home. Expensive furnishings, lush materials, and Stark Tech filled the apartment. Looking around, you admitted to yourself it was more than you ever could have asked for. You’d never had a bedroom so large. Off the sitting room, a library held books stacked to the ceiling. You even loved the colors.

It still felt empty.

A chime filled the room, followed by the voice of Jarvis. “Miss, Captain Rogers is at the door.”

“Please let him in.”

“Y/N,” Steve called out.

“Just looking around.” You answered, stepping out of the library to meet him in the sitting room.

“You okay?” Steve came closer, rubbing your shoulders.

Swallowing back tears, you tried to offer a smile.

“Hey,” he pulled you into a warm hug. “I know. Everything is different now. Give it some time, it will be okay. Really.” Steve felt you take a breath, ready to give the same argument you’d given a dozen times before. “You trust us, right? We’re not going to let anything bad happen.”

“She’s a smart woman, Captain. Do not make promises you cannot keep. You will try not to let anything bad happen.” Loki’s smooth voice came through the door.  

“Loki!” You broke free and dashed into his arms. Your feet came up off the floor as he hefted you close, burying his face in the side of your neck. The feeling of his strong hold anchored you. His presence settled over you like a favorite blanket. It made you melt and gave you strength at the same time.

He set you lightly on your feet as his fingers combed over your hair, cool hand coming to rest on the back of your neck. Loki pressed his lips to your forehead. “It’s only been a few days, my pet. Have you really missed me so?”

You looked up into his smiling face. A frown drew your brows together. “Not getting to see you after that,” you shivered, “performance pissed me off. It wasn’t fair.”

“It was imperative you leave with the agents.” Loki stroked your face. “I wish you had not insisted on being there at all. Even if was not real, it was not a pleasant sight.”

“Sure felt real on my end.” Steve grumbled, even though the corner of his mouth tipped up.

“You agreed, Captain. It had to appear to be a genuine fight, especially to those who provided care to you after the fact.” Loki faced Steve, easily tucking you under his shoulder as you wrapped your arms around his waist.

“I know. I know.” Steve rolled his eyes. “You still pack a painful punch.”

Loki smiled. “As do you, Captain.”

“Well, thanks. I guess.” He chuckled. “Tony has made certain that only the team and Pepper have free access to this building. You’ll receive notice when and where the cleaning or service crews will be around. They are escorted and under surveillance by Jarvis at all times. So, feel free to wander the building. Training facilities and the gym is on the first floor. There’s lounges and entertainment rooms on two, the labs take up all the subfloors, and we all have units on the top three floors.”

“I believe Stark even placed an observatory on the roof.” Loki looked down at your face. “The stars are more visible here than in the city.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Y/N,” Steve buried his hands in his pockets. “Give it a few months and you’ll be able to make contact with your family and friends again. No one will make you break contact, and Tony will make sure you’re kept informed. We just have to protect you from the people that know how much of Loki’s knowledge you have.”

You sighed. “I understand, Steve. I really do.” Looking around, you leaned into Loki a little more. He felt like home. He made this space work. “And I appreciate everything the team is doing, especially you. This takes breaking the rules to a whole new level.”

Loki laughed. “For someone who toes the line, you certainly knew exactly what needed to be done to fake my death.”

Steve’s ear turned pink. “Well, I figure you’re already abiding by the rules of your sovereignty and you will do way more good helping us than sitting in a steel box somewhere. Sometimes doing the right thing doesn’t follow the rules.”

Loki extended a hand. “Thank you for taking care of Y/N in my absence.”

“Anytime.” Steve shook his hand. “I’m, ah, going to head out. Everyone is getting settled in, so we won’t be starting work until after lunch tomorrow.”

“I will see you then.” Loki nodded.

“Thanks, Steve.” You smiled.

As soon as the door closed, Loki’s hands cupped your face as his eyes studied you. “You’ve been weeping, little one.”

“I fell asleep in the car.” You answered honestly. “I dreamt of you dying again.”

“I wish you had not come.” He whispered before his lips covered yours in a soft kiss.

“Show me.” You grasped his wrists. “Show me how you did it. Maybe then I will see it for what it was instead of what the adrenaline imprinted on my memory.”

His forehead touched yours. You never could accurately explain how Loki shared his knowledge. It wasn’t like seeing something new or recalling a memory. You just suddenly knew. It was like having a latent memory triggered by the sight or sound of something. You just knew.

Entering the inquiry, Loki had been himself. One of the SHIELD agents was a magical projection. He indeed fought with the others, though he purposely used flashier magic and moved with less grace. Just before the worst of the battle, Loki bumped into his projection and with a flash, they traded places.

Steve could have fought off the specter-Loki had he wanted. Instead, he faked his effort and succumbed to the choking. As planned, Natasha swept in and killed the specter. The true Loki, stood behind you to keep you calm.

He remained with the team that escorted the ‘body’ to lock down. You were swept away with the team that checked in on the Senators and their people. The bitter taste of impotent anger flooded your senses as you realized how Loki stood passively by as a group of key politicians gawked and scoffed at what they thought was his mutilated corpse.

“Fools.” You spat and rolled your eyes. “They ran like cowards at the first sign of danger. How dare they preen over your body? They wouldn’t last two seconds against you.”

A low rumble vibrated from Loki’s chest. His fingers dug into your hips as his open mouth left a wet kiss and playful bite on your neck. “Mmm,” Loki purred against your skin as he pulled your body hard against his evident need. “You defending my prowess is quite enticing.”

Your fingers wound into his thick hair, tugging his face closer to yours. His large hands lifted you from your feet, fingers digging into the meat of your ass. He moaned when your tongue laved over his lower lip. You whispered, “I will always defend you. You are mine.”

You yelped as Loki tossed you away from him, only to gasp as your suddenly bare ass bounced on the soft sheets of the bed. Just as your jaw snapped shut, he stalked through the portal at you. As his knee sunk into the mattress, the clothes evaporated from his body. The raw hunger in his eyes, caused more than your mouth to water.

Loki captured your ankle in one hand, pulling it up to his mouth. Wet kisses, playful bites, and delicious licks had you quivering before he reached your inner thigh. You laid back, clawing at the sheets as he pushed your legs further apart.

“Mmm, my pet.” His fingers slipped through your wetness, spreading slickness over your sensitive flesh. “So responsive for me.” His talented cool tongue circled your clit before lapping up your juices. “So luscious.”

“Loki…” Your sigh turning to a sudden gasp as Loki’s hand held you down and his mouth latched on to your clit. Fire shot through your veins. Your body writhed, but he held you firm. Somehow, the impossibly strong force of his hand holding you down just pushed your excitement higher. His magic tongue danced over sensitive flesh, lighting your nerve on fire. Loki hummed, low and rich, rocking your body with the vibration.

“Oh fuck!” Tension coiled low in your belly. Loki did not let up, determined to pull ecstasy from you as fast as possible. Two long fingers slipped into you, stroking firmly against the perfect spot. Your back arched. A wicked smile spread across his sex damp face. Fingers pumped harder. A wave broke, washing you in heat, as you came over his hand. “Loki!”

His thick chuckle filled your ears as your body quivered. Loki crawled up your body, raining kisses along your flesh. “I could not wait, pet.” Loki growled against your ear. “I needed to taste your honey.” His cock pressed into you, filling you. “Needed to hear you scream my name.” He hitched your knees up, fucking into you deep. “Yes,” he groaned, “to feel you around me.”

Whining, your finger dug into his shoulders, holding on. Loki set a powerful, fast pace. The crisp forest, clean male and distinctly Loki smell filled your head. The low rumble of his groans brushed you ear. He surrounded you, filled you. So intense. Your breath mixed with his, noses brushing along each other’s.

Loki felt your body coil, felt the heat flush your skin. His hips snapped and you cried out. He pushed your further, barely holding back his own release. Your thighs shook as he dug his fingers into your flesh. His deep timbre rumbled over your cheek, tickling your ear, “Come for me.”  

Fire raced down your body, hitting you hard and stealing your breath. Loki moaned, chasing your release with his own. You melted, every bit of tension, every bit pain, washed away leaving you floating despite Loki’s weight pressing you to the mattress.

You stayed wrapped around him, relishing in his body around you, in you, anchoring you.

Loki held you tight, uncertain whether the need to remain close was his own or if it came from you. Either way, he relaxed into the feeling, allowing himself a moment of need. There would be enough work, enough worries, later. For this moment, he could allow you both to forget it all.

TAGS:

@1800-fight-me,  @abschaffer2 , @alexakeyloveloki , @archy3001 , @asgardianthot , @asiaaisa77 , @badassbaker , @bangtan-serendipity , @beautifullungs , @buchanansebba , @buckybarneshairpullingkink , @buckybarnesplumwhore , @buckybarnesplumwhore , @daughterofthenight117 , @dawnlaufeyson , @dsakita , @everything-is-awesomesauce , @fangasm202 , @geeksareunique , @girlmadeofivory , @girlmadeofivory , @imma-new-soul , @jesseswartzwelder , @jillilama-blog , @kalesrebellion , @kermittheshipper , @kiki5283 , @kneel-before-queen-loki , @lbouvet , @lovely-lollipops-blog , @messenough , @michelehansel , @mindtravelsx , @morganhoran1671 , @myownviperroom , @night-cereus , @notyourtypicalrose , @osric-the-l3m0n-l0v3-demon , @person-born-winchester , @rainbowkisses31 , @readermia , @rinthehufflepuff , @rogerrhqpsody , @rynabarnesrogers-reading , @sammghgecko , @scarlettsoldier , @sebbysstangirl , @sex-cee-seabasss , @sexyvixen7, @smokeandnailz , @tahiri-veyla , @theladybiers , @theneuropsychwriter , @the-omni-princess , @the-reading-octopus , @thorfanficwriter , @ultracolorfulnerdcollection , @ultrarebelheart , @unadulteratedwizardlove , @vanillabunn21 , @vintageroses1014516 , @vodka-and-some-sass , @wwe-fanfiction-queen , @neverending-space , @saiyanprincessswanie , @a--1--1--3​ , @peter-pan-hoe​ 

[evienyx]

I, for one, am glad that someone actually noticed that Tommy's character in the SMP is quite absurd in the way he views himself. Actually, if you look Nov 16th video, after Tubbo became the president, Tommy confronted Dream and said to him (in paraphrase), "How does it feel to always be the villain?" Anyways, my actual question is how do you feel and view L'manburg's independence? Why is it shaky? I have my own opinions but I am very eager to get yours. Thank you.

L’Manburg makes me so upset, because I have so much emotional attachment to it and it is one of the worst active systems of government I’ve ever seen.

That’s not what you asked me, though, so I’ll answer your actual question instead of just ranting about how awful the system of government is (seriously, I’m surprised it hasn’t collapsed, yet).

Anyway, yeah, L’Manburg’s independence is incredibly shaky. I would say that this stems from tension from both internal issues and external threats.

Let’s go back to the beginning of the country. I would say that the L’Manburg Revolution and the time from then up until around the announcement of the election would be when L’Manburg was the most stable. Of course, this isn’t saying much, considering the fact that this is right after the country is established, but, despite everything, everyone in the nation was working together. 

Everyone stood behind Wilbur, and respected his authority. He was listened to, and he still listened to other people while still maintaining that authority. While people were still partially riding on the thrill of victory and independence, everyone was also focused on improving L’Manburg and helping it grow. Wilbur, at the time, was diplomatic, and he was a leader that everyone believed in. Part of this was likely because he had been the one to lead them to independence in the first place, but when the Revolution was won, Wilbur was officially declared president without any argument from any of the remaining members of the nation. 

People stood together, and they listened to and respected the leader. Despite the fact that this shook a bit when the election was declared and other political parties began to emerge, up until the election, Wilbur’s authority was still strong and respectable. 

When the election happened and Schlatt won, internal problems in the government itself arose in a way that they never had before, and yet L’Manburg’s independence still wasn’t shaky. Why is this?

Because both sides in this conflict (Manburg and Pogtopia) wanted for the country to stay standing at the end of it. Taking Wilbur out of the equation after his mental break, both Manburg and Pogtopia wanted L’Manburg at the end of it, and both of them had Dream sided with them at one point or another in the conflict. Even more, though, L’Manburg’s independence wasn’t shaky because, through all of it, up until the end, Schlatt kept a firm grip on his power over the people. He may not have been necessarily respected, but he was feared, and that was enough. At the end of the day, people listened to him, and he knew it. 

When Schlatt said that when he goes down, the country goes down with him, he’s right.

On paper, Tubbo being president seems like a great idea.

Theoretically, it should have been. 

Tubbo has always worked to make the country the best it can be. He follows the rules first and puts his own desires second. People tend to like him, and he has good ideas, and he has only the country’s best interests at heart.

After L’Manburg is retaken and blown up, in the aftermath, Tubbo speaks of dreams of a city sitting above the rubble, a country raised from the ashes, better than before. He calls on those who have been disrespected and torn down by previous administrations and raises them to stand with him. He wants their ideas, and opinions, and he makes himself as equal to them in power as soon as he possibly can. 

This is when those little shakes in L’Manburg’s independence begin to become tremors.

Tubbo should have been the best president the country had to date, but he can’t be, because he can’t even be president.

No one respects his authority. People go against what he says when they don’t align with their own interests. One of Tubbo’s main goals, even if it doesn’t seem that way, is to separate himself as much as possible from Schlatt. We see this right from the beginning with how he says everyone gets equal say in what happens. However, because of this, any time Tubbo tries to exercise the presidential power he has, people don’t respect it, and it doesn’t work, because they simply call him ‘the new Schlatt’ and ignore his pleas to just think. 

These internal issues become even more pressing when one considers the external issues. In particular, conflicts with other nations. While L’Manburg is not in conflict with any other nations as a whole, necessarily, they have been at odds with Dream (who, at this point, is a faction all on his own). 

L’Manburg’s independence is shaky because they do not respect their leader in any situation, not even ones of conflict, with great consequences. Ones where it is the president’s job to make a choice.

We see this the most clearly at play would be on the day of December fourth, the Exile of TommyInnit.

Before the Meeting with Dream, Tubbo, Tommy, Quackity, and Fundy all talk about what the plan is. Tommy declares that exiling him gives Dream exactly what he wants (and Tommy’s right, but that’s a whole other thing), and that instead they need to make a stand and fight. Basically, Tommy is saying that they should go to war. Quackity and Fundy agree. Tubbo, though, who is the president, says that he doesn’t like this plan. Dream always has the upperhand. They can’t just fight their way out of this one. 

As we’ve seen for the two weeks up until this point, no one listens to Tubbo. He attempts to be the voice of reason in the conversation where he should be the one leading. He is the president, after all. The lack of respect that everyone present has for Tubbo’s authority is even more apparent if you consider the fact that just two days before the only reason they got into this situation in the first place was because nobody listened to Tubbo.

If we take all relationships, all emotions and connections, out of the equation and look at the choice that Tubbo needs to make logically, the answer of what to do becomes incredibly clear.

Logically, the right choice to make is to exile Tommy.

This is a choice that the leader of a country is being asked to make that either hurts one person or hurts the country as a whole. I have a whole other thing on the motivations and justifications on Tommy’s character that I’m not going to get into at the moment, but, logically, Tubbo made the right choice.

Tubbo had to make a choice between saving his friend who, despite being justified and having his reasons and the like, still did burn the home of the leader of the enemy nation, and saving his country, full of innocent people who have already lost lives, who are just looking to live in peace and safety, from a war that they would not win. As a friend, the choice he made was not the right one, but as a president, it most certainly was. He cannot sacrifice the good of the entire nation, he cannot pull his country into war, all for the sake of one person who did, technically, make a mistake.

Still, though, when Tubbo ultimately makes the choice (which is, in the end, his choice to make, regardless of what anyone else says), Tommy, Quackity, and Fundy argue against it. As Tommy is led away by Dream, Quackity and Fundy scream at Tubbo, tell him he’s acting like Schlatt, and, despite everything they’ve been saying before, do not respect Tubbo’s authority or the fact that this is his choice to make. They only say that, in the end, it is his choice when Tubbo seems to be on their side.

Tubbo, Fundy, and Quackity are, at the moment, the top authorities in L’Manburg. Quackity, though, is also running his own nation, and engaging in possible wars and acts of terrorism, while Fundy is preoccupied with things like visiting Tommy and working through his own issues. Tubbo is trying to lead the nation, but he isn’t able to because nobody respects his power or authority anyway, so he is unable to do anything because he isn’t able to be president.

There is a reason why L’Manburg’s independence is so shaky, and why whenever he felt like it, Dream could take down the nation and reclaim the land for himself, and that is because Tubbo, as president, does not have the respect of the people, no matter how much they may insist that he does. If a war was to happen, the country would collapse very quickly the way it is, because unlike before with the Revolution and the Pogtopia Rebellion, they would not have a leader who everyone respected and listened to. Instead, they’d have Tubbo, a boy who started off his presidency by watching his home be blown sky-high, who has not gained the respect of the people, who people do not listen to or respect the authority of, and, no matter how much it hurts to admit it, L’Manburg, in this case, would fall.

I have so many problems with just the system of government that L’Manburg is founded upon, but that’s not what you asked, so I won’t go into that right now, lmao.

I hope this answered your question without feeling too much like aimless rambling.

...I’m too invested in these block people.

[bibliocratic]

For your writing prompts, I’ve always found that the phrase “for you” has a certain gravity, so maybe something with that? :3

This was such a good prompt, which is my only excuse for why this is three days late and barely counts as a drabble at all.

jonmartin, post-S5 domesticity and parenthood

“He was showing me another room he's made it to on his game,” Jon offers as an explanation as he ambles back into the living room. “Some sort of creepy dungeon, lots of what I can only presume are zombies. He can turn into a dragon now with this magic cloak thing, it's all very sophisticated.”

Martin, whose knowledge and ability with video games both started and ended with having a go on someone's Game Boy Colour one rainy school break, makes a supportive, 'showing-interest' noise as he feels around for the remote before finding it wedged under his thigh, muting the sound of a gritty BBC drama he is clearly not enamoured by. He shuffles over to make room on the sofa. Disturbing the cat, who jumps off his knees, casting a betrayed gaze upon the offender before she haughtily goes to commandeer the high-backed chair usually taken up by Jon.

“Dragons are one of the few things that haven't turned out to actually exist, and tried to murder us.”

“Oh, don't be like that,” Jon smiles as he drops down next to him.  Martin's got a beer out of the fridge now Lewis has gone to bed, and Jon leans forward to snaffle it from the coffee table, takes an  slow sip, winces at the flavour and puts it back down on its coaster. “Swimming's at ten Saturday, isn't it? Still haven't fixed his goggles.”

“Half past, they had to move the rota round for some other thing,” Martin says distantly.  In the background, someone on the TV has their mouth bared in shouting, and some grim-dark poorly shaved detective is holding a gun.

Martin's shoulders are set tight. He's twisting his wedding ring round and round and round, fidgety and unsettled all evening, and now he's leant forward with his elbows on his knees, half-way through a beer on a Thursday night even though he can get funny about drinking in the house on a weekday.

“You want to talk about it?” Jon asks quietly.

Martin frowns, but doesn't ask how he knows. His palm opens from clenched to fold their fingers together, his touch chilly from the condensation on the bottle.

Jon waits for him.

Martin clears his throat. He sources out the remote again and flicks the TV to standby, the dour detective vanishing morosely.

“I'd like to talk to you about something,” Martin replies eventually. “And I know that we're not going to agree on it, but I want you to at least – hear me out, alright?”

“Alright,” Jon says carefully. A frown has rooted on his own face, but he pushes the curious simmer to a lower heat and tries to be patient. “Alright. What – what do you want to talk about?”

“What happened last week.”

“Martin...”

“Let me finish,” Martin says, his tone slightly sharper. He doesn't shout, never in the house. The only time Lewis sees his dad raise his voice in anger, he's belligerently got his hands in the guts of the boiler, pride the only thing stopping him call a plumber, or else he's stubbed his toe against the side table he always manages to catch.

Jon lets out a heavy breath.

“Fine,” he says. “Fine – we – we can talk about it. You know what I think.”

“Yeah, well, I don't.”

“It was an outlier. It doesn't mean there's a conspiracy.”

“I can't see why you're downplaying this. It was a threat, and you got hurt.”

“A few bruises from the fall. Look, Daisy and Basira handled it. They were – they were a lone Hunter. It wasn't anything organised, so I don't see the need to twist myself in knots when it won't happen again.”

Martin scoffs dismissive. “Last I counted, we've had three 'it won't happens again' in the last ten years. Face it, we've been lucky. This one got too close.”

“So what are you suggesting?” Jon says, deliberately calmly. Martin'll get to his point eventually, but he'd rather cut through whatever he's been stewing in for the past several hours.

Martin throws up his hands.

“I am suggesting that we consider the very real possibility that something like this might happen again. Something worse than some mangy Hunter or clueless cultist. These things out there.... there's more than one of them who'd see a former Archivist as a threat, Christ, I just want you to take this seriously...”

“I do take – ” Jon's voice spikes before he exhales hard and lowers his tone again. “Of course I take this seriously. Of course I worry. But if someone came here, if anyone came here, I'd – I'd Know....”

“Knowing didn't stop you from getting hurt,” Martin insists.  “It – it doesn't make you invincible.”

“I've never thought that...”

“We need to prepared, is all I'm saying. Your... the knowledge you get from the Eye, it's so much, it's so much less than before. So what if it's not enough, what if it tells you something too late or not at all?”

“Martin, I'm not going to get myself worked up over maybes.”

“Maybe you should!” Martin snaps.

They are both bullishly quiet for a moment before Martin holds his hands up again.

“Alright,” he presses on, lower pitched than before. “Alright, then lets deal with facts then. Fact number one: there are – there are forces out there that want to see you come to harm.”

“Martin.”

“Am I correct?” Martin repeats. His gaze won't leave Jon's. His temper's made his neck and throat go blotchy, but he's pressing his hands down too hard on his knees to stop their tremors.

Jon meets his eyes.

“Correct,” he says. Because it's what Martin wants to hear, because it's what Jon tries not to think about when the night-time drags loud and sleepless, and every noise he cannot account for takes on the guise of malevolence.

“Fact two,” Martin continues. “There is the possibility – no, no, listen to me, Jon – there is the chance, however small, that those forces, those people, could come here.”

“So what, we should install more locks? Buy more fire extinguishers?”

“This isn't funny,” Martin says waspish.

“I'm not laughing,” Jon replies dogged.

Martin lets out another aggrieved noise. He takes a moment, steeples his hands against the lower half of his face.

“That Hunter,” Martin says slowly. “Had our address on them. Knew where we lived. If Daisy and Basira hadn't sorted them out, they would have come here, and tried again. And if it can happen once, then it could happen again. A-and some of those people, the ones that serve their gods a-and want to make a name for themselves by going after an Archivist – ”

Here Martin's voice catches thready, the centre of his terrors finally excavated.

“I can't – I can't protect you from that, Jon,” he confesses. “I can't protect Lewis from that. And if someone comes here, what if you can't either? You're not – you're not exactly in the game of e-exploding people any more.”

“Been trying to give it up,” Jon replies. Martin's laugh is a little wet.

“Sets a bad example anyway.”

Jon rubs the skin of Martin's hand. He doesn't know what he can say to make this better.

“I would like to propose an idea,” Martin says. Softer now. More tired. “and I-I want you to hear me out.”

“OK.”

“Whatever it is.”

“You're not exactly inspiring confidence.”

Martin gives him a Look.

“OK,” Jon says, rubbing his thumb over Martin's knuckles. “OK, I promise. Whatever it is, I-I'll at least listen.”

Martin nods, and though his lips are pinched, he squeezes Jon's hand once gratefully. He separates them, and gets up, going over to his shoulder bag slouched by the door. He'd been vague, earlier this week, when he'd gone out on an 'errand'.  Jon had assumed it was something to do with their anniversary in the next few weeks.

Martin takes out a thick clump of folders from the stomach of the bag. Jon's heart drops when he sees the green-ink stamp of an imperious owl on the front of the beige folders but he says nothing.

“I have been thinking,” Martin says, planting himself back down. “About back-up plans. Last resorts, you know.  If someone does come here, if they're more than either of us can handle, if we can't keep our son safe.”

He passes Jon the folders. They're stuffed wide with statements, corroborating evidence, photographs, police reports, newspaper snippets attached with paper clips. Jon reads the introductions of a few statements as he flicks through, feeling not a little unmoored by the way this conversation has progressed – Statement of Dai Williams, regarding a library in Blaenau Gwent; Statement of  Michalis Charalambous, regarding an unusual wedding present – and something aches in him like a barely-forgotten hunger, twinges like an old wound.

Near the top of the pile,  there's a photograph, blown up to A4 size, of a book. The backdrop of an unremarkable desk, the cover itself blue backed, scuffed and foxed with age, the silver title decorated with florid curlicues: The Shipping Forecast and Other Nautical Curiosities. There's no author.

“What's this?”

“It's a Leitner,” Martin says. Not briskly, but straight-off the bat.

Jon pushes down several reactions with difficulty. Martin knows how he feels about Leitner. Martin wouldn't bring this to him, knowing what histories have left their scars on him, and beg for Jon to listen to him if it wasn't important.

“Go on,” Jon says, and nothing else.

“This book is currently in Archive Storage, where it's been for the past twenty or so years,”  Martin continues. He's to-the-point now, direct, and Jon appreciates it.  “Those are copies of all the statements I could find related to it, or people who have been in contact with it, and it makes up a fairly consistent picture of ownership and exchange for at least the past hundred and fifty years, records get a bit patchy before that.”

“Which Power?”

“The Lonely.”

That makes Jon look up. Martin's jaw is set for an argument but his voice betrays him.

“Tell me,” he says.

“The statements are all mostly the same. The book gets found or left as inheritance or in library donations, and some poor sod picks it up. Specifically, what happens is it renders people invisible when they read it.”

Jon blinks.

“... you're taking the piss.”

“No. Practical research did some basic experiments to test it before it was boxed up properly, they've – there's notes there, if you want to read in detail, but basically, you read a few lines of it, and you and whatever you're holding can't be seen. It wears off after a while, depending on how much you've read. The researchers went up to about a page.”

“There's a catch, obviously.”

“It's addictive to some people. Some of the people in the statements can use it once, get the heebie-jeebies then never touch it again, some of them can't shake the urge. The – er invisibility is more tempting to those vulnerable to the Lonely, or so the hypothesis goes. They read a little more, a little more and then, they're just gone.”

“So it's dangerous?”

“Yes.”

“Then why? Why show me this?”

“If someone comes here,” Martin says, “If it's – if it's the Vast o-or the Desolation or even th-the Slaughter, we can't fight them. We can't, OK, we-we have nothing that we could fight them with. So we can't fight them, and we can't outrun them, and I don't think hiding under the bed and hoping they leave is going to do much either. The best we can hope for is that we have a few minutes grace courtesy of your magical eyeballs. And that would at the very least give us time, to get Lewis somewhere safe, get out of harm's way, to go to Daisy's or something.”

“And your great plan is that we use a Leitner to what, turn invisible and sneak away unseen?”

“I'm asking you at least consider it.”

“I have considered it and it's – it's a Leitner, Martin! You know how I –  They're not toys, they're dangerous!”

“I know that! Of course I know that. But so is being unprotected! We wouldn't be using it for – it would be a last resort, nothing more. You can read the statements and the reports. I've read them all, over and over again, I-I've checked and doubled checked. As far as I can tell, the turning invisible is a temporary state.”

“For the right people. What about you?”

Martin does not meet his eyes.

“I wouldn't be using it.”

“...What.”

“I wouldn't – I wouldn't be able to,” he says. Quieter, self-conscious. “Much as I like to think that I'm – no. No, it'd be, it'd be too much of a temptation.”

Jon's tone has slipped flat and hard.

“So you're suggesting an escape plan that, what, doesn't include you?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Jon – ”

“No!” Jon wants to get up, to stand, to shake Martin by his ridiculous shoulders, because how dare he, how dare he. “No, how can you even ask me that?”

“Because I need to,” Martin urges. “Because it's not just us. Because if the worst happens, I need to know we have some way of protecting Lewis, that you could use that book to make sure he's safe.”

“And leave you.”

“I'm not the one they want.”

“I don't remember them being all that picky about hurting whoever was in their way,” Jon bites back, and he knows he's louder now, that his eyes are getting wet and his face hot. “You can't know that.”

“No,” Martin replies honestly. “No, I-I can't.”

Jon rubs at his eyes. The anger's boiled over and out of him at a dizzyingly come-down from furious. He listens, wondering if they've woken Lewis, but he doesn't hear the squeak of bed-springs. There's a wind picking up outside, and the cat twitches in sleep.

He doesn't feel angry any more. Just sick and scared.

“That's not fair,” he swallows, looking at the damp-blurred image of his husband's face. “That – that's not fair, to ask this.”

Martin's moved closer. Places his hand back over Jon's.

“I know,” he murmurs, and he sounds sorry, but that doesn't help either of them.  “I know it's not. And if there was – was any other option, I wouldn't even think of suggesting it. But I'd, I'd like you to think about it. Please. For me.”

Jon leafs through the folders in his hands without taking any of them in. Martin strokes his back soothingly, and crowds in too close, not close enough.

“I'll read them,” Jon says eventually. Wetly and unhappily. “ The statements, reports, I-I will. For you. And if – and only if they seem legitimate – I'll come with you and have a look at the book myself. And that's all I can promise you.”

“Thank you,” Martin whispers, and presses his lips to the thinning crown of Jon's hair, Jon leaning back slightly against his chest. He clears his throat. “Basira's all for performing some more clinical tests on the book, if you wanted some more concrete validation.”

“Why am I not surprised,” Jon says, feeling too tired to enquire further.

They linger on the sofa for a while after Martin shoves the folders back into his shoulder bag.

“I better put the dishes away,” Martin says.

“Leave them. I'll do them in the morning.”

Their bedtime routine is closer and quieter. Usually Martin goes up first, and Jon watches the newspaper review or the tail end of a documentary, but tonight he trails after him as Martin checks all the plugs and double-checks all the locks.

Martin pokes his head into Lewis' room, even though they said their goodnights hours ago. Jon can't begrudge him the anxiety.

“Kicked all the blankets off as usual,” he reports back as they knock elbows in the bathroom, Jon's mouth full of toothpaste, passing Martin a water glass to take his statins. Martin dutifully swallows the pill before reaching for his own toothbrush. “He sleeps like you, arms flung out all over the place.”

Jon doesn't deny it.

Jon gets into bed first, and fusses with chargers and alarms while Martin gets into a t-shirt and boxers. He gets the light and Jon follows the sound he makes as he approaches the bed in plunging darkness, the disturbance of the covers. Jon immediately curls against his shape, tucking himself tight and buried against his chest.

Martin doesn't comment on how clingy Jon is, how he knots their legs together, clutches him over-tight. On how hot the bed is going to get, on how his arm will go numb quickly from the angle. His own arms come around just as fiercely. He tells Jon goodnight, that he loves him into his hair, and Jon whispers it back into the dark and the heat, and knows it's true to the bones of him.

Neither of them sleep all that much that night.

[hteragram-x]

LOCEIT writing prompts

Recently I wrote a bunch of Locei HCs. You can find them [HERE]. And here’s the first part of writing prompts I promised. (Sorry for making them so long. I’m incapable of making my thoughts brief and concise.) Most of them are for Human AUs.

 ---

Logan is a well known author and scientist who works mostly on developing cures for the most dangerous diseases. Janus is send by a rival company to steal some of Logan’s research by gaining his trust and observing his methods from up close. Scenario 1: Logan immediately notices that this new guy is very suspicious, but he lets him stay to see, how the situation develops, because he has no substantial proof of any wrongdoing. Until… Scenario 2: Logan is entirely oblivious and soon blinded even more by his developing feelings, but Janus is affected by that too and eventually reveals the truth himself ditching his old employer in the process.

Janus is a politician who faces a lot of harsh criticism for the way he looks, for being gay, for being snarky etc. He hires Logan to be his manager and to help him cope with the unfair media coverage (also by carefully crafting his image). Somehow they change places, because it turns out Logan is a better politician than PR employee, while Janus feels better and is more effective by controlling the events from behind the stage.

Remus and Roman constantly try to find Janus a date, but all the candidates fail to impress him. Most of them are not too smart or (even worse) think they are smarter than him. Some are not sophisticated enough for his liking. Others try way too hard to impress him when it’s clear they are pretending. Janus went on a blind date with Logan only because he lost a bet and he’s immediately sure that this is going to be a disaster. The guy is an arrogant smartass with no tact whatsoever and after five minutes he tells Janus: “You look like you don’t want to be here. Cool. I dislike you too.” Janus’ pride doesn’t allow him to go home, so he insists on staying and having fun no matter what. They somehow manage to go from mild hatred to actual warm feeling in just a few hours.

Janus is the Creativitwins single father and one day they escape in the park. After half an hour of panicking he finds both of his boys sitting with a guy who is almost losing his mind trying to communicate with these two chaotic five-year-olds and to get any information about their parents.

Continuing with the single-dad-Janus theme... he hires Logan to be a tutor for his twins and a year later he has to somehow explain to them that their private teacher is now their new dad.

Logan buys a vintage car not knowing that it’s occupied by a very frustrated ghost of Janus who died in it in an accident. He would prefer to be stuck in some cool castle or just leave this miserable Earth, so he ruins Logan’s days for fun by being a petty apparition. Finally he discovers he can communicate with the new owner by using the radio and nearly causes another car crash when he speaks for the first time.

Logan and Janus have been friends for twenty years. Their friendship started on a playground when Janus lied to Logan about having access to a magical cave which turned out to be just a small hole under a fallen tree with a few mushrooms inside. Now they sit together in Logan’s new flat, unpacking his things and reminiscing about all the times when Janus lied to Logan changing their friendship in both good and bad ways. There were some lies that Logan is learning about just now which eventually leads to the very emotional confessions and revealing a lie of omission Logan was keeping for years himself.

Janus is a very untrustworthy owner of the shop full of antiques and old furniture. Some of these items are definitely cursed and he sells them knowing full well about the potentially dreadful side effects of having them. This semi-illegal business continues until he meets a very no-nonsense man who doesn’t believe in any of his bullshit. He gives Janus a chance to turn his life around or he will expose his crimes which leads to a lot of arguments and frustration on both sides. What Janus doesn’t know (and cannot know) is that Logan has a curse on himself and Janus’ decision will affect Logan’s entire existence from now on.

Logan and Janus are on two sides of a lawsuit, because they both wrote a nearly identical book and published it on almost the same day. It turns out that there was some unexpected force making them share thoughts and come up with the same idea despite living 500km apart and never having met before. (It can be about soulmates or not.)

And one for canonverse: when Logan is tired Janus often takes his place and they both have rehearsals where they try to make Janus an expert in playing a role of his friend. One day, when they meet to practise, Logan tries to play Janus and it turns out the way he envisions him is a little bit different than what Janus expected. Not that he complains.

...

That’s all for now, however, I’ll probably write more. If you use any of them feel free to tag me. I’ll gladly read it :D. Some of them may be a little weird, but I didn’t want to use only the most common tropes that appear in the stories about them.

Also [HERE]’s a bunch of writing prompts about Cretivitwins.

[real-jaune-isms]

RWBY Volume 8 Chapter 4 Review/Remix

A pretty good episode this time, and only 30% pain and despair so things are looking up! But when it goes mean it goes real strong with the mean. Lots to think about here, and boy oh boy do I wonder what we’ll see next week!

For a nice touch of levity, we open on Robyn telling a funny story about a time Joanna lost a fight to try and pass the time. Maybe she’s trying to cheer Qrow up too, but as someone who gets very bored at work pretty often I get the appeal of talking just to keep sane. She sees Qrow is too lost in his brooding about Clover’s pin to listen to the story, and Jacques is too busy fussing over a fly buzzing around his head (the Pence jokes write themselves). Tough crowd indeed, though her joke about Ironwood needing to pay for cell block entertainment does get a smile and a chuckle from the sad old bird. She takes this chance to apologize, possibly again and we’re just seeing this conversation now, for what happened with Clover. Many would argue it is really her fault for getting trigger happy back in the airship when Qrow was the one under arrest, but that’s an argument not worth having because the blame soup was being stirred by way too many cooks to make a clear verdict. Qrow, however, blames himself for deciding to team up with Tyrian, which was certainly a bad move. It was a heat of the moment thing, and he makes it clear he really would have preferred working with Clover to re-detain Tyrian again, but Clover just wouldn’t let up on his arrest orders. The real pain though, he admits, is that he had really started to let his guard down around this guy and thought her could actually make a partnership work again without his Semblance tossing 1,000 monkey wrenches into the mix. Feels like a fairy tale dream, vanishing like a rose petal on the wind, like every other friend. I of course added the part about rose petals, because you know he meant Summer and the unity of STRQ she probably represents in his mind. Robyn knows a thing or two about having a Semblance that impairs your relationships. Not many people like being around someone they can’t keep anything private from, and she can call out and mistruthing with a touch of the hand. Qrow has to admit he hadn’t considered someone else having that kind of personal trouble like he does, but their conversation is ended by Harriet coming in to toss Watts back in his cell. She’s pissy at Qrow and says he shouldn’t have Clover’s pin, but he retorts he has no reason not to have it since he’s not Clover’s killer. She still has a hard time believing that since Harbinger was the murder weapon, but Robyn finally raises a very good point. Miss Hill is a literal walking polygraph and all they would need to do to prove Qrow’s innocence is let her out of her cell and take her hand. But they won’t do that because they don’t want to prove what’s really true here, they want to cling to a convenient story so they don’t have to admit what really happened. Cuz if they put those glasses back on and face the facts, that means reevaluating what side their on if Clover died because he refused to help detain a serial killer before arresting a former colleague and that’s the real problem. Hare had already threatened that if she was gonna open the cell she wouldn’t use her hands for a friendly shake, and the dig at her allegiances and her ignorance towards Ironwood’s sins almost riles her up to the point of taking Robyn’s bait. But Marrow calls her back down to sensibility and she leaves in a huff. Robyn lays back and sighs at how there was almost something exciting happening.

Cutting to an actually exciting scene, Yang Jaune and Ren are outside the city chasing the Hound through a mountainous canyon on their bikes. It can fly while they have to navigate the rocks, and their bikes aren’t handling the cold terribly well. Yang laments that none of them can fly, but that inspires Jaune to pull out his shield and get closer to Ren. He’s gonna get his teammate up there, and Ren immediately understands how. Leaping off his bike and onto Jaune’s shield, he’s launched through the air by the burst of Gravity Dust in the crest and uses his grapple line blade to wrap around the Hound’s leg... and get dragged through the air like Curious George at the end of a bunch of balloons. Still, he’s weighing it down some and can climb up the line to get in close... when he’s not getting swung around against the cliffside. To further slow it down, he shoots his other line around a big rock that gets dragged behind them for about 5 seconds before the Hound flies higher up and the line comes loose. Ren gets knocked around even more while Yang finds an inclined path that gives her enough height to start shooting at the Grimm. It handles this fairly well, by dropping Oscar from its mouth into its hands and flying ahead of her with a loud roar. Apparently one of its Grimm for all Seasons abilities is to call for backup, because dozens of Centinels suddenly burrow up out of the rocks and ground around them and several Teryx swoop in above. Navigating becomes that much more difficult for the blondes, especially when one Centinel spits acid and hits the thruster of Jaune’s bike. He thinks fast and leaps off his bike to launch off another Grimm in front of him and flip onto a rocky overpass where he almost loses his balance and falls back down. Luckily Yang instead zooms by and pulls him onto her bike where they continue their pursuit. She does a great job of bobbing and weaving around the insects, but a Teryx lands in their path. Jaune tosses his shield grenade in front of a large rock and they drive onto it to tilt it into a ramp, launching over the avian foe into a spin between two more big bugs. They bump on a rock, but the Grimm cannot touch them with Yang’s driving. Unfortunately, they have a far more dangerous problem: They’re heading towards the edge of a massive cliff. Yang tries to make a quick turn but instead flips the bike over and launches both of them off to go tumbling off the precipice. Jaune tries to plant his sword in the ground as an anchor, but he doesn’t keep hold of it with their momentum and they both fall with a very believable scream. Big props to Miles and Barbara for this and the dramatic performances soon to come. Ren comes swooping in for a massive save and grapples Jaune’s sword with one weapon and the poor guy’s leg with the other. Jaune grabbed Yang by the hand so she’s fine too, but an incoming Teryx might soon negate it all. Luckily, Ren instead negates all their emotions with his Semblance and the Teryx passes them by. Less lucky, Ren being here means he’s not hanging from the Hound. He let it get away with Oscar to save his friends, and you know he’s kicking himself for it.

Shifting scenes from that tense gloom, we see Weiss decided the safest place to take Nora for the time being is her own damn mansion. Whitley answers the door and is about to try and berate Weiss for this but she is having none of it. She holds him at swordpoint and insists that they are coming inside. Whitley is very against the idea of harboring fugitives after the hit the Schnee family’s reputation has taken in the wake of its patriarch’s arrest for war crimes, and Blake is quite frustrated that this is what he chooses to complain about. The staff is all gone, Willow has retreated to her room and assumable to the bottle, you gotta admit Whitley probably feels more alone now than ever and is... coping in less than ideal ways. Weiss still seemingly carries a chip on her shoulder of wanting to prove that she is doing something actually important and she made the right move by leaving home to be a Huntress, so she insists that Whitley has no right to nag them because they are saving the Kingdom here. At least, that’s what my 2 semesters of psychology classes would tell me. Ruby plays intermediary between the Schneeblings and lays down their very minimal terms. Let them stay here a little while so Nora can rest and recover, and then they will leave him to his sulking and riches. Whitley begrudgingly accepts and asks what he has to do, and Weiss seems to relish this chance to tell him to go to his room. Finally flexing her big sister authority without Papa around to veto her in favor of his adoring son. But like Willow said last Volume, Whitley has been stuck in this house just like Weiss and Winter, and they could certainly try to treat him with a bit more fairness and sympathy. I’m sure it hurt him a little inside to have yet another authority figure bossing him around without a care for his desires. Still, he’s not giving much reason to make us sympathize so I say wait a little bit to see if he’s got any softer moments to come. Weiss directs May on where to carry Nora, and Blake checks on Ruby while they have this quieter moment. Possibly because she wants the chance to talk to her too, Blake suggests Ruby should try calling Yang to make sure things are okay, both between the sisters and in general. But that’s just it. She did it 35 minutes ago. Okay not really, but I wanted to toss a Watchmen joke in. Still, as much as Ruby worries how that half of the team is doing, she’s already trying to call them and it’s not going through.

We fade back to our three battered teens as Yang collects what scattered pieces she can from her bike, the only one they still have. But like I said, it crashed into a rock after they tumbled off and it’s in no condition to run anymore. So Jaune is trying to call for help and transport back to Mantle, but either Ironwood shut down all communication in the lower districts or they’re just so far out in the tundra that a signal just won’t reach. The latter would make sense, and explain why Ruby couldn’t reach Yang. Giving up on the call, the three instead trudge through the snow in the light of the setting sun back more or less the way they came. Jaune is dragging the bike along while Ren leads the way to an outpost he saw while getting dragged by the Hound. Yang notes how low their auras have been drained due to protecting them from the cold this long, and like a kid on a car trip asks how much longer it will be. Ren has no immediate answer so she asks again and he gives a snippy “I don’t know”. She can tell there’s something more bugging him and tries to coax it out of him after sensing the hostility in his explanation that he only got a glimpse of their intended destination before he had to abandon Oscar in favor of saving them. He refuses to discuss his deeper feelings because he thinks it’ll just waste time. This riles Yang up and she demands to know what his deal is, to which he insists she not worry about it. The argument keeps escalating from there. Things aren’t going smoothly enough for Ren? No, they’re not going smoothly at all, but boohoo Ren, that’s part of the job as a Huntsman. He doesn’t think it’s a job they should have at all, they weren’t ready for it or to make the incredibly damming decisions they’ve had to since taking that position. Sure, they had a few lucky breaks and near miss successes, but then they entered this losing streak that they can’t seem to recover from because the losses are too drastic and every choice they’ve made has been the wrong one. Yang refuses to accept such pessimism and insists that even if they haven’t done everything perfectly they still had to do something because inaction would have made things worse. But how could they be worse than they are now, Ren demands to know as they freeze to death out here. Salem has the Lamp and Oscar, and they have nothing but the cold winds. They may not have an army but they have the Maiden, Yang tries to counter, but because they haven’t let her to open the vault for Ironwood all of Atlas is just a buffet waiting to be chowed down on and it will all be their fault when that happens. Yang rightfully asks him if he seriously thinks letting Ironwood try and float Atlas away to safety will work out for him or for the people of Mantle he’s abandoning, but he argues that they shouldn’t even be the ones asked to make that call. He’s trying to spit the hard truths no one else wanted to face, but this is way too harsh and mean, especially for Ren. What are these hard truths, you ask? That Ruby is still too young to be a leader, that he himself is an orphan from a town that doesn’t exist anymore (which I guess shows how unimportant he is for someone thrust into this decision making role), and that Jaune, who by the way has been trying in vain to get the two to cut the shit and quiet down this whole time, cheated his way into Beacon. A damn low blow there, bro. Bringing back the deep wound from Volume 1. And you can tell he regrets it immediately, but to say that would mean backing down from his point. Jaune doesn’t even address the personal callout and just says alright, you don’t think we should have the job, good for you. I’m still gonna keep walking and get out of the cold because like it or not we were given a goddamn job to do. Maybe not in those words, but the meaning was there. Ren and Yang silently let him take the lead, probably feeling the hot wash of shame distracting them from the arctic chill. Yang still takes one last dig at Ren though by asking if it’s his goal to push everyone away, implying he’s being an asshole and not even Nora is sticking by him. Well... in so many words anyway.

We get another change of scenery with a dramatic violin stroke like something out of a murder mystery movie. Oscar is regaining consciousness, and he hears Ozpin try to reassure him to stay calm and that it’s gonna be okay. When he looks up, however, he sees Salem leaning in a shadowy doorframe staring at a smoky apparition in her hand and welcoming back her long lost Ozma. Judging by the childlike laughter and general shape of her smoke display, I think she was manifesting a memory of her and Oz’s dead daughters to try and reminisce about the days when they were still lovers. Oscar realizes he’s being held in the air from the Hound’s mouth and tries to struggle free as Salem notes how young and weak this new vessel is. She’s not even acknowledging Oscar, just talking through him to Ozma. It’s been what may have truly been centuries or even a millennium since they’ve last met, and dear Oz has nothing to say to his wife? Oscar does his best Ozpin impression to try and fake it till he makes it, but Salem knows her man better than anyone and sees through it to grab him by the face and call his bluff. But he really is still a separate person from Oz, so maybe he can be more cooperative to her requests than that old wizard. She still wants to know where the Relic of Choice is, since Oz clearly must have used an extra layer of deception to hide it opposed to the others, and she wants Oscar to reveal the trick. But that’s not a memory he has access to, and he tells her plainly that he doesn’t know. She believes him, knows Oz would hold that one close to the chest longest of all, so she asks an easier question. How does she go about asking the Lamp questions? She gets the standard coverup answer, the Lamp is out of questions so it’s futile to even try, but she refuses to believe that one. Instead she blasts the poor kid with an evil magic rainbow laser and lets him scream himself hoarse for a bit. His chest has scorch marks, or at least his clothes do, and he fearfully tries to pull away from her “loving” touch. Lying so easily about these things, he truly was reincarnated into a like-minded soul... but sooner or later one of the two in this battered body will break and Salem will learn what she wishes to know. He tries to insist he won’t tell her anything, but that’s why she has backup. Hazel comes in to literally gut punch this 14 year old until he coughs up his guts or the truth, whichever comes first. And he justifies it all by saying this is revenge for his defeat at Haven and from the still unforgiven death of his sister.

Salem doesn’t stay to watch the savage beating, instead walking the halls of Monstra with her lovely new pet. Cinder has been waiting in this hallway for a chance to speak with her Mistress, but is distracted by her immediate discomfort in the face of the Hound. Salem claims it is an experiment that she is quite happy with the results of thus far, and wants Cinder to get on with whatever point she had so she can get out of the way. Cinder wants to search for Penny, she thinks she can make up for the past blunder and claim the Winter powers for herself. But Salem just laughs at this. “She thinks, she wants!” It’s like hearing a cockroach tell you about its hopes and dreams. Mommy Salami does not give a fuck what Cinder wants to do, she has done nothing to earn Salem caring about that. Cinder, to her credit, does not take this dismissal lying down and tries to argue that they are doing nothing to further their plans when Cinder could be achieving a great victory for her Mistress by securing their way into the Atlas vault. Salem does not slow her pace, and says when it is time to act she will tell Miss Fall what she needs her to do. Cinder tries to argue, and is met by the snarling maw of the Hound turning on its heels to send her shrinking back. Salem has been pretty damn patient with this bratty girl, but she will not repeat herself again. You are not going the the ball, Cinderella, you are staying here and doing what your godmother tells you to because if you don’t you will learn just how easily you can be replaced and forgotten. Cinder gives up her case and assumes the position of submission, which is to say taking a knee and repeating her self-depreciating mantra that without Salem she is nothing. This satisfies Salem and she walks away with her dog in tow, leaving Neo to glare at Cinder as if wondering who is really the domesticated little pet in this place. 

Cut to Cinder immediately rebelling against her given orders and heading for the airship insisting she just wants to go check on something and then they’ll come right back before anyone knows they left. Neo just floats along behind her because like hell she’s staying in the Satan whale when it’s this bitch’s fault she’s here at all. We get the last unseen shot from the trailer as Cinder looks out over Atlas and rationalizes that Salem doesn’t know Team RWBY like she does, she wouldn’t understand how determined they would be to try and save the world, and so it falls to her to check out Amity Colosseum again and see if they’re up to something. Neo seems annoyed and disinterested at Cinder’s petty little scheme, but they’re both caught off guard by Emerald arriving behind them and offering to tag along to help. She’s been getting better with her Semblance and asserts that she would be very useful. Poor misguided lass, searching so desperately for acknowledgement and praise you’re never gonna get... Cinder seems pissed that she was eavesdropping, but she’s not gonna turn down the assist. Time for an evil girls’ night out~

Back on the ground, night has fallen as JRY have found the outpost at last. Jaune hits a heater to get it running and prevent their freezing to death as Ren broods out the window and Yang is outside working on her bike. The leader takes this time to address the tension with his teammate. Yes, he did make a bad decision and cheat his way into the Academy. But when he found himself in that bad situation he realized he needed help and he asked for it. He turned his situation around and got better, became the strong person he is now. Holding onto this ideal that being strong means doing everything on your own? That was literally the issue Jaune faced in his mini character arc back in Volume 1, and he came out of it humbled and ready to accept support from his team. From Pyrrha. But she’s not here anymore, and Jaune is. Nora is, team RWBY is here for Ren. So Ren needs to understand that he can let them in, because the more he hides from how he feels the worse it’s gonna feel and hurt him inside. Ren goes outside to sulk under a streetlight, but Yang has come inside now to say that she’s found the part she needs to fix the bike so with a little more tinkering they can get it working and ride back into the city once they’ve got some R&R. Yang does take the time to say she’s sorry Ren said what he did because of her argument with him, but Jaune dismisses it for the time being as all three of them being under a hellish amount of stress. He’s been where Ren was before, he knows how much it hurts. Yang turns back to the tool bench to work on the thruster, but she’s got some inner turmoil of her own to vent about. She wants to know if Jaune thinks “She” thinks less of Yang for making the choice she did and staying to help Mantle instead of going to help fix Amity. Playing the pronoun game like this can be tricky, and Jaune fairly assumes she means Ruby since the two of them did have the verbal disagreement before splitting off, and Yang did question her leader’s decision making and leadership. He assures Yang that her sister will always love and believe in her even if they have squabbles like this. But it would seem Vomit Boy lost the pronoun game, and Yang was not actually asking about Ruby. Judging by the purple cannister she’s wrenching into the battered thruster, she was asking if Blake would think less of her because of these recent actions. 

A lot of people seem rather torn about this choice in priorities for Yang, but allow me to explain why I think it’s not that bad of a writing decision. If there is one thing that has been consistent in this Volume it has been the confidence of other characters that Yang and Ruby will endure this clash of ideals and remain loving sisters. Usually these sentiments have been given by characters who are siblings themselves and know the strength of that bond, like Weiss and now Jaune. We’ve never actually heard either sister personally express any anguish or regrets over that argument, but we can assume they’re both still a little sour about it. But they have been there for each other to a depth that few siblings have, as evident by Yang’s story in Volume 2 about how she had to step up in raising Ruby in a lot of ways after Tai went into grieving for Summer. They’ve been each other’s best friend and closest confidant for so long, I truly believe their bond is clad in iron and they know it too. Meanwhile, a lot of Yang’s recovery arc in Volumes 4 and 5 was dealing with being abandoned by Blake in a time of need and it continued into 6 as learning to accept her back into her life and find a way to make their partnership work again. Shipping or not, they do have a strong bond that has been renewed by dealing with their combined trauma and killing Adam. And when that happened they both promised they would stick together and back each other up, but now Yang has been the one to decide she wants to split paths and do something else. She has good reason to worry this might have upset Blake, and we the audience know Blake is worried about how she’s doing. So, when faced with a color that reminds her of her partner, it makes some sense that Yang would try and get an outside perspective of if she’s fractured their bond. And if you ship them, that more magnifies the interpersonal concerns than really changes the problems.

Regardless, Jaune realizes this is a problem he’s not quite equipped to deal with and decides he’s going to get some rest in one of the beds in the outpost. He gets the strong feeling he’s gonna need it cuz it feels like things will only get worse before they get any better. As we pan out past Ren, whom Yang promises she won’t let brood himself to death out in the snow, we see cracks start to form out on the ice. That can only bode poorly for these poor kids. Many folks think this is a frozen over lake with some scary aquatic Grimm waiting in the depths like a megalodon Grimm shark or the sulfur fish Grimm that apparently were the winners of a fan design contest this past year. Personally, I’m taking a note from the opening and saying it might be a cloister of Apathy since their gross grabby hands wrapped around Team RWBY when they fell through the ice at the end of the intro. But we will have to wait and see. Thanks for reading, hope to see you and your notes soon!~

Edit: this came out a week late and we did indeed see what it really was. Boy were we not ready for the truth...

[speeding-fox]

Crushed! (Part 1 of 2)

~~~~

Author's note: "~~" means the scene changes, while "--" means a different perspective of the same scene.

~~~~

Plot Synopsis: Porukabon finally summons the guts to confess to Shianbon, but his heart gets broken. Unable to handle the rejection, he storms off somewhere, only to wind up captured by the Neo Musketeers and subsequently corrupted, now he's out to destroy his heart breaker! Will it be possible to stop him?!

~~~~

[In the Main Base's living room]

Beautiful music plays as two biidaman, and man and a lady, walk to the bow of a ship. The man then raises the lady into the air, as he does so, she stretches her arms out to seem like she's flying, what a very familiar sight. "I'm flying Jakkubon! I'm flying!"

The camera then pans to Polka and Tosukana on the couch, sobbing at this scene while they're holding tissues. "*sniffle* Th-That's s-so... BEAUTIFU-U-UL!" Polka bawled, his tears shooting like a water spout, before blowing into the tissue he was holding.

"This is *hic* too sweet!" Tosukana hiccupped as he tries futility to wipe away his tears with his tissue.

They both continued to cry as the sliding doors to the living room open and Sora walks in, wanting to know what's with crying. "What heck are you guys bawling about? I can hear your crying all the way down the hall." He turns to the television to see the romantic scene in question, then grimaces. "Eugh, you guys are watching a romantic movie? Gross." He looks back to the two. "Why the heck are you guys watching a romantic movie?" After saying that, Tosukana throws the tissue box he had next to him right at Sora, and it hits him square in the face, leaving a perfectly rectangular red mark across his face. "OW!"

"None of your business!" Tosukana yelled at him. "And it's not gross, it's beautiful!"

Sora rolled his eyes as he gently rubs the red mark. "Whatever. Anyway, did you guys really have to watch this at my place and not at Tucker's house?"

"Does it matter?" Tosukana inquired with a raised brow.

"Yes! Because mushy lovey-dovey romantic stuff is gross!" Sora argued.

"That's not a good reason." Tosukana contended.

"Yes it is!" Sora countered.

Now it was Tosukana's turn to roll his eyes, he then lets out an exasperated sigh. No point in continuing this argument, it's pointless anyway. He turns his attention to Polka when he hears him giggling. "Huh?"

His giggling also caught Sora's attention. "Porukabon?"

Polka didn't catch his name being called, he was too preoccupied in his own fantasy to even hear him. He fantasized about the same boat scene, but with him and Shian, and Shian is the one holding him up while he outstretches his arms as if to fly. "I'm flying, Shianbon! I'm flying!" He was so caught up in his daydream that his failed to realize he actually has his arms outstretched while now standing up on his tiptoes.

"Porukabon? Porukabon??" Sora tried calling out to him, but it fell on deaf ears. He slightly puffed up one of his cheeks and grumbled. He went off-screen for a moment, then came back with a comically large megaphone. 

"Oh no." Knowing what Sora was going to next, Tosukana preemptively covers his (invisible) ears.

Sora raises the large megaphone, inhales, then screams into the speaker. "HEY! EARTH TO POLKA!"

The moment Polka heard the booming of Sora's voice through the megaphone, he lets out a shriek, and jumps up high into the air. "YAAAAH!" He then falls back down onto the floor and lands with *THUD!*. "AGH!" His eye is now a swirl. "Ow..."

Sora snickers. "Welcome back, Porukabon."

When Polka recovered from his mild daze, he swipes the comically large megaphone from his hand, jams the loudspeaker onto Sora's head, then picks the megaphone up by the handle, and yells into it. "DON'T FREAKING DO THAT AGAIN!"

The yell powered up by the loudspeaker sends Sora flying and crashing into the wall, leaving a Sora-sized indentation in said wall. "N-Noted..." Sora uttered in a pained, squeaky voice while dazed.

"Hmph." Polka scoffs as he tosses the megaphone away, then crosses his arms.

"Sheesh..." Tosukana uttered as he stared at Sora, he felt kind of bad for him, but he did deserve that for surprising Polka like that. He then shifts his gaze to Polka to ask him something. "Anyways, what happened there, Porukabon?"

"Huh?" Polka glances to him. "What do you mean, Tucker?"

"I mean, what were you daydreaming about just then?" Tosukana questioned.

His cheeks gain a pinkish tint. "Daydream?" He turns away and denies it. "I wasn't daydreaming."

Tosukana smirks. "You sure you weren't imagining that boat scene with yourself and Shianbon just then?"

Polka's cheeks got redder, did he actually say her name aloud while he was fantasizing? How embarassing! "N-No! No I wasn't!" He snapped back.

"Yes you weeeere.~" Tosukana sung teasingly.

Polka turned and snapped at him. "SH-SHUDDUP! I was not! I don't like her like that!" 

"Polka, I know you crush on Shianbon, it's obvious. No point in trying to deny it, especially with that reddish-pink face of yours." Tosukana stated slyly.

Polka wanted to keeping denying it, but he couldn't figure out a retort to fire back to try to prove to Tosukana he's wrong. After sputtering for an answer, he finally conceded. "Okay fine! I have a crush on Shianbon, alright?! Will you knock it off now?! God!" He huffs, crosses his arms once again, and turns his back to him.

Tosukana snickers a bit. "Okay okay, I'll stop." He pauses for bit, then asks him. "When did you start crushing on her?"

Polka took a moment before responding. "After she saved me from hitting the ground after I fell out of that tree..."

Hearing that answer, Tosukana flashbacked to the time where he and his friends were playing a game of baseball, he accidentally hit the baseball into a tree, and Polka offered to go get it. He climbed the tree, and crawled onto a branch, and he was about to grab it when said branch snapped from under him, lucky for him, Shian managed to catch Polka right before he hit the ground, and unlucky for Sora, the baseball fell and bonked him on the head. Tosukana noticed Polka was blushing, but Polka himself told him it was just the shock of suddenly falling out of a tree. Tosukana knew there was something more to that, but at the time, it wasn't appropriate to point it out given the circumstance. "I figured that would be why."

Sora walks back over to the two, rubbing the spot where the baseball fell onto his head. "And I still feel that pain every now and then. Owie."

"Heh, I guess you really *fell* for her, didn't you, Porukabon?" Tosukana joked.

Polka groans. "Ugh, that's a joke my dad would make."

Tosukana laughs. "Sorry, couldn't help myself."

"Ugh, how cheesy." Sora remarked while turning away. Tosukana glared to him and throws another tissue box at him, and this time it hits him on the side of his head. "Ow! Stop that!"

"Anyway..." Tosukana began before turning to Polka, him still having his back facing him. "Why haven't you told her how you felt yet?"

It took Polka a couple seconds to reply. "I... I don't think she'll like me back..." He answered hesitantly.

"Not like you back?" Tosukana stood up and went over to him to place a hand on his back. "Dude, you won't know until you tell her how you feel."

Polka gazed to him and sputtered. "B-Bu-But I-I'm too afraid to tell her!"

"Then let me help you!" He offered. "I've watched enough romantic movies to know exactly what to do!" 

"Are you sure..?" Polka asks, uncertain if Tosukana would really help him with this endeavor.

"Positive! And trust me Polka, I can help you win her over!" Tosukana insisted. "What do you say?"

Polka mulls it over for a bit, then lets out a sigh and agrees to his offer. "Fine, I guess you can help me confess to her."

Tosukana squealed in delight, then grabs Polka's arm. "Great! Now let's get you ready!"

"Ready?" Polka uttered in bewilderment.

"Yeah! We get you into a nice suit, then find a nice bouquet of flowers for you to give to her!" Tosukana turns to Sora. "Sorabon, do you want to help-" He stopped himself when he saw that Sora was no longer at the spot he was just standing at, then stares to the door to find it open and him standing in the hallway.

"Nope! I told you, romance, not my thing, plus, I have more important things to be getting to, now if you'll excuse me, I have to go play video games- I MEAN, go do heroic stuff with my dad! Later!" With that said, Sora zooms off, and the sliding door closes, leaving Polka and Tosukana on their own.

"Well, I guess that just leaves the two of us." Tosukana turns to Polka. "Now let's go get you spiffied up for your big moment!"

Polka didn't want to do this, something in the back of mind feels like something is going to go wrong, but if Tosukana says he knows what to do, then he trusts his judgement. In addition, it's probably better he tells Shian that he likes her now rather than wait until later, just to get it over with. Surely this cannot go horribly arwy, right?

~~~~

[Later at Biida Park.]

After getting Polka all nice and fancied up, and finding a nice bouquet of cyan flowers, him and Tosukana head to where Shian said she'd be, Biida Park, and they find her chatting with Tiiru and Dot, aside from them, others were just minding their own business a fair distance away. "There she is, but she's still with Dottobon and Tiirubon..." Polka mumbles.

"She did say she's hanging out with them." Tosukana states.

"Ye-Yeah, but... I-I was ki-kinda hoping they would b-be off doing something else while sh-she waited, a-and no one else would be around..." He stammered. "I-I don't want t-to humiliate me-myself..."

Tosukana places a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Polka, everything will be fine, those biidaman are a little far away to pay you any notice, but I will be watching from the bushes just incase something does happen." He lightly pushes Polka forward, then hides in the nearby bushes, once in there, he shoots him a quick thumbs up. "Go get her, bud!" He then ducks into the foilage, only his eyes are showing now.

Polka stops and just stands there, shaking for a bit. Oh gosh, he is really going to do this, he is really going to confess his feelings to his crush. He wants to turn back, but it's too late for that, he's here now, may as well just get it over it and hope for the best. He takes in a deep breath, then breaths out. "You can do this, Porukabon. Just tell her how you feel. Be confident!" Clad with his suit and with bouquet in hand, he wills up the courage, and approaches over to the three. "Uh, he-hey guys." He uttered sheepishly.

Upon hearing him, the three turn to him. "Oh my goodness Porukabon! You look so nice!" Dot exclaimed.

"Whoa, I agree!" Attested Tiiru. "You look pretty good in that."

Polka blushes and rubs the back of his head, but he looks aside and doesn't say anything. "I'll say, you don't half-bad in that suit." Shian's compliment makes him blush deeper. "I gotta ask though, what's the occasion, and what's with the flowers?" She asked with a slightly raised brow.

Polka gulped. This is it. 'Don't back out now, Porukabon, you've wanting to tell her for a long time! Just say it!' After internally urging himself, he faces her, and shakily holds out the bouquet for her to take. "A-Actually S-Shian, th-they're for yo-you."

"F-For me? Wha..?" Shian needed a second to process. Why would he give her flowers? What would she even need them for? Pop's garden back home? He's probably allergic to some of these.

Dot's eyes glimmered and she put her hands together at Polka's gesture. "Awww!"

Tiiru is simply stands there, unsure of why Polka is gifting their sister flowers. They know that Shian is not really into flowers that much. Were the flowers even hypoallergenic? They wouldn't want "Mom" to get allergies if they weren't and Shian chooses to take them home.

Meanwhile, Tosukana is watching from the bushes. "This is already going well so far!" He muttered excitedly to himself.

Polka shakes his head and clears his throat to compose him, he then gets on one knee, and outstretches the bouquet a bit more, and speaks in the most "handsome" voice he could muster as he also pulls off the "handsome face" he learned from Shirobon. "Shianbon, after you saved me after I fell out of that tree that fateful day, I have had feelings for you, and I can't keep them boxed up anymore. Shianbon, I like-like you. Will you accept me as your boyfriend?"

"Oh my gosh!" Dot squeaked. She knew of Polka's crush on Shian, and she was so glad he finally got the courage to tell her how he felt about her.

The realization finally dawned to Tiiru. "Oooooh, that's why you're giving her the flowers." 

Meanwhile, Shian just... couldn't figure out what to say right away. She didn't think Polka liked her like that, he gave her no indication that he crushed on her, actually, now that she thinks about it, those weird looks he sometimes gave her and how he sometimes blushes near her makes a lot more sense now. How the heck did she not connect the dots sooner? It was kinda obvious.

She felt... awkward, to say the least. She doesn't return those feelings, and Polka needs to know this. Better to rip off the band-aid than to lie about reciprocating his feelings.

"Porukabon, that's nice and all," She lightly pushes the bouquet back to him. "but no, I won't."

Polka felt his heart shatter. "N... No..?" The flowers in the bouquet wither. "Wh-Why..?" He shakily asked as his eye began to water.

"Bro., I'm not into you." She tells him bluntly. "I like you and all, but not in that way."

He stares to the ground, tears falling from his eye. She didn't like him back... Polka sorta expected this to happen, yet, the truth still crushed him.

Seeing Polka in this state, Tiiru glares and whispers to Shian. "Shianbon, you didn't think you could've let him down more gently than that?"

"What?" She whispered back. "He needed to know I didn't like him like that."

"Did you need to be so blunt about it?" They ask.

Dot chimes in hushedly. "I'm with Tiirubon. You could've told him more nicely."

"I still got my point across, didn't I?" Shian inquired. "I already told you guys, I'm into someone else." She says, not realizing she said that aloud.

Hearing that, Polka gazed up to her. "Someone else..?"

'S**t, did I say that out loud?' She cursed internally. "Uh, no. I didn't say that." She tried to bluff.

Polka was not buying it. "No, I heard you loud and clear." He stands up. "You're into someone else." His grip on the withered bouquet tightened, and his voice raised as he continued speaking. "Why didn't you tell me sooner so I didn't waste my godd**n time?!"

With Polka getting aggressive, Shian reacts in kind. "Because it's none of your godd**n business!" She snapped. "Plus, how was I supposed to know you liked me? You barely made it obvious!"

Tiiru stepped forward a bit, hands held in a "calm down" gesture. "Please calm down you two."

"STAY OUT OF THIS!" Polka screamed at them.

Shian got defensive. "DON'T YOU YELL AT THEM!"

From the bushes, Tosukana didn't expect things to take a sour turn, nor for it to become a scene. "Oh no, this got ugly fast. I should step in before it gets even worse." He comes out of his hiding spot and rushes over to them, hoping to diffuse this situation while feigning obliviousness.

Tiiru sees him running over all of a sudden. They stare at him bewildered. Where did he come from? "Taka?"

"Hey everyone! I was on my way here when I heard yelling. What's going on this time?" He asks, pretending to act like he doesn't know what's happening.

Polka swiftly turned to him. "Don't you pull that crap!"

Tosukana flinched, not expecting Polka to turn on him suddenly. "P-Porukabon, what are you-"

Polka cuts him off. "Don't you pull that fake obliviousness BS! You know full well what was happening!" He jabs a finger into Tosukana's chest. "Why the FREAK did you not warn me this was going to happen?! With all the romance movies you watch, you should've known something like this could happened, now you made me a fool of myself! You got my hopes up for nothing!"

"You tried to help him, Tucker?" Dot questioned him.

"I-I..." Tosukana stammered, trying to come up with a good answer. He decided to drop the oblivious facade at this point, no need to keep it up any longer. "I... I tried to-" He was cut off adruptly when Shian grabs his arm and pulls him away from the enraged Polka, then stands infront of him protectively.

"I don't know what the heck you're talking about, but you need to f*cking lay off and leave him alone!" She bellowed.

The hand that held the withered bouquet clenched tighter. "You f*cking know what?!" Polka slams the bouquet down onto the ground. "SCREW YOU! I DON'T YOU NEED YOU!" With that he storms off, crying until he was out of the group's eyesight. Silence soon followed. The whole scene caught the attention of some of the biidaman at the park, but they all went back to minding their own business once the scene was over, trying to act like that didn't happen.

Shian takes in a deep breath before sighing. "Oh my bon..." She then turns to Tosukana. "Tucker, you have some explaining to do."

"And after he's done explaining," Tiiru added while glaring at their sister. "*We* need to discuss some things."

She raised a brow. "What?"

In the bushes across from where Tosukana was formerly hiding, the Neo Devil Trio, or Neo Musketeers, watched all the drama go down, no one noticed they were there. "Ooooh, draaamaaa.~" Dandylion sung quietly. Once the show was over, the three ducked down and sat upon the ground.

"That was like a scene from a movie, except it was actually good." Lucifer commented.

"Pffft, yeah. She straight up shot him down. I *almost* feel bad for Porukabon, but not really." Hades remarked.

"Oh poor Porukabon's little heart, and I thought *we* were the bad guys here." Dandylion says with fake sincerity while shaking their head. "What a shame."

Hades brandishes some kind of black and dark red device. "What a shame indeed."

Lucifer raises a brow upon seeing the aforementioned device. "What are you planning to do with that, sis?"

"Oh, just a little something that will, shall I say... "assist" Porukabon, and make Shianbon regret turning him down." Hades answered somewhat sinisterly.

"You're going to use that on him? Hades, hasn't he been through enough?" Dandylion questioned, partially concerned, but mostly not.

"Nope." She replied. "Despite how One-Eye feels about Ms. Blunt right now, convincing him will not be an option, so I have a little plan to rope him in." 

The siblings huddle together to discuss said plan. "Oh come on, do I really have to wear *that?*" Dandylion whined quietly.

"You're the second tallest here. You have to for the plan to work." Hades states hushedly.

Dandylion groans softly. "Fiiine."

"Why are we whispering?" Lucifer asked whilst whispering.

There was a pause before Hades shrugged. "I don't know, we don't know who's listening I guess."

~~~~

Somewhere at a clearing in the far outskirts of Biida Park, Polka was venting and taking out his frustrations on a rather large rock. "God freaking DAMMIT!" He screamed as he managed to punch an indent into the stone. "What a waste of my godd**n time! I figured crap like this was gonna happen, yet I held my f**king hopes up! I'm such a f**king IDIOT!" He punches another indentation into the rock, causing some pebbles to fly, before resting against it, and began sobbing into his knees.

He didn't cry for long as he heard a little girl shrieking. "Huh?" Polka looks up to see what he thought was a chubby dark green little girl getting chased by a large kumaron. "HELP ME!" She cried out. Guess Polka has to put aside his self-appointed pity party for later and help this little girl out!

She trips over a little rock, then turns her body to face the kumaron that was towering over her, it roars as it moves in to attack her. She screamed as she braced herself for its attack.

"HEY! LEAVE HER ALONE!" Polka yelled to the kumaron, making it stop in its tracks and turn to face him. It roared once more as it began charging at him on two legs. 

Polka was a bit scared, but he plants his feet firmly into the ground, put his hands around his biidama, and fires off a biida shot at the rampaging kumaron. The biida shot made a direct hit on its head, and it knocked it right out. "Ha! Gotcha!" He then rushes to the girl to see if she's alright, and holds his hand out to help her up. "Are you okay?"

She takes his hand and helps herself up. "Yes I am. Thank you so much for saving me! That thing decided to chase me for no reason!"

Polka smiled a bit. "Heh, it was no problem I guess." As he was talking, he was unaware someone was approaching him from behind. "I gotta ask though, what're you doing out here? Did you get lost or something?"

He never got his answer as he was suddenly snatched up from behind by an armored-up Lucifer. "GAH! What the?! LET ME GO!" Polka tried to break free from his hold, during his struggle, he caught a glimpse of his holder. "Lucifer?!"

"Yeah, it's me, and I suggest you stop your struggling." He raised his armored talon until it was barely touching Polka's chin. "That is, if you don't want to get your new suit ruined."

Polka could care less about his suit right now and cares more about what their motives with him are. He tries to chomp on Lucifer's wrist to get himself free, there was an audible *CLANG!* of metal, then he cries out and starts spitting profusely. "AUGH! Ow! Yuck! Pft! Pfffft!"

"I don't know why you thought trying to chomp me was a smart idea." Lucifer remarked.

"Bleh! That wasn't just a cry of pain, doofus! That was mostly a cry of how disgusting your armor tastes! It tastes as bad as those Bontendo Switch cartridges! Do you ever wash this thing?!" Polka spat back.

His insults ticked Lucifer off, but also baffled him somewhat. Who in their right mind would taste those bitter cartridges? Not like Lucifer would know, not like he tried doing that or anything- oh nevermind that, he was insulted, that what matters at the moment. "How about you shut up and watch your tongue before you lose it, punk!" He threatened as he moves the claw to touch Polka's chin.

Polka gulped at this and froze, then he glances to the girl with a pleading eye. "Don't just stand there, help me!"

"Oh Porukabon, I would, but..." She undoes her disguise, revealing herself to be Hades!

"HADES?!" He shouted out.

"Is there really a need to shout out my name?" She quipped.

Groaning is heard from the kumaron. It sits up, then takes off its head, revealing it to actually be Dandylion! They rubbed the newly formed bump from where Polka's biida shot hit on their head. 

"Owwww..." They whine before standing up and turning to glare at their siblings. "Next time, one of you guys is wearing the tacky costume and getting hurt!"

Hades rolled her eyes. "Oh quit your whining."

Polka growled. "Grah! Enough of the chatter, and let me go right now!"

"Oh, what would be the fun in that?" Hades inquired. "Especially if we need you for something."

"I'm not in the mood to deal with you guys right now! I've already had a bad enough day as it is! I don't want any part of your scheme!" Polka hissed.

"Oh, we already knew that, getting crushed by your crush and all that." Hades gets out the evil-looking ray gun-like device. "And we weren't intending on asking you."

"Y-You saw all that- YOU THREE WERE SPYING ON THAT?! YOU NOSY PIECES OF-" Polka adruptly stopped his bellowing upon seeing the device in her hands, he went from raging to worried when the second thing Hades said began to sink in.

"What's that..?" He asked hesitantly, not really wanting to know the answer.

"What, this thing?" She raised the evil ray gun up from her other hand before lowering it back into it. "Don't worry about it, actually, you wouldn't have to do any worrying once I'm done using this Dark Energy Ray on you."

"DARK ENERGY RAY?! WHAT?!" He shrieked.

"Hold him still!" Hades commanded Lucifer as she tries getting closer to Polka, evil device in hand. Lucifer nods, and his hold on Polka tightened.

Oh heck no! Polka wasn't going to let himself become their test subject! He resumed his struggling, he kicked his feet about as he tried to forcibly remove Lucifer's arm from around his throat to try to pry himself free, grunting and shouting as he did so. "NO! AGH! LET ME GO! LET. ME. GO! I'M NOT GONNA BE YER GUINEA PIG! ARRGH!" 

Lucifer growled as he started having difficulties holding him still. "Knock it off you brat! And stop your screaming! You're too far out here for anyone to hear you! Just let it happen!"

"NO!" Polka refused to let up, he couldn't afford to let them win! Eventually though, he wound up exhausting himself, Lucifer is much stronger than he is, all his efforts to escape ended up being futile.

"You seem like your about done." Without wasting another second, Hades sticks the device onto Polka's biidama. "Don't worry, this won't hurt you... much!" She turns it on, and the Dark Energy Ray began transmitting dark energy into Polka through his marble.

When she said it wouldn't hurt him much, she lied. He closed his eye tightly as he began to writhe, grunt, and cry out as he felt the dark energy course through his body. He used what reach he had to grab the sides of his head as he felt the dark energy begin to take hold, he then painstakingly moved his hands to cover his face. "Ggh! N-No! NO! AAAGH!"

The device soon shuts off, having run out of dark energy, not long after, Polka fell quiet, his hands fell from his face, and he became eerily still. Hades removed the device from his biidama, which was no longer blue, but is now almost completely black. She gestured for Lucifer to put him down. "The transfer's done, you can put him down now."

Lucifer sets him on his feet and gets next to Hades as Polka slightly hunches forward and softly groaned. "Is he just about done complaining yet?" Dandylion questioned as they just about get their other foot out of their kumaron costume. "Such a tacky thing. Ugh, never again." They mumble before stepping over to their sister.

Hades turned to her sibling to answer. "Yup, he's quiet as a snail." She turns back to Polka to give him a simple command. "Porukabon, open your eye." He obediently does so, his eye color is no longer sienna brown, it is now a very pale brown, it no longer had an eye-shine, and he has an evil, hateful glare, though this look wasn't because of what the siblings had done. He began growling lowly and doing the motions of wanting to beat someone up. "Tell me, Porukabon, how do you feel?"

"...ANGER..." He replied robotically and darkly.

"Anger, eh? I see." Dandylion stepped infront of him, knelt down to meet his eye, and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Anger over what?"

"...BROKEN...HEART..." He answered robotically and lowly.

"Ooh, that is something to be angry about, huh?" They comment. "And we certainly know whose fault that is, don't we?" Polka didn't answer, but he responded by making a low growl-like noise, then hisses the name of his heart-breaker. "SHIANBON..."

"Mm-hm, and since Shianbon is the one to break your heart," Dandylion raised their fist in front of him, then clenched it, a bone-cracking sound effect is heard after they did so, and speaks a bit darkly. "Destroy her! Crush her like how she crushed your heart! Make her regret ever rejecting you!"

Polka growled and nodded, then spoke lowly. "YES, MX...." With that, the Dandylion ushered him off to fulfill his mission as he continued to slowly punch his own palm.

Lucifer and Hades stare at Dandylion, slightly stunned. "Geez Dandy, you sure can get... "dark" when you want to be." Hades acknowledged.

Lucifer nodded. "Yeah. Your name may be Dandylion, but you sure get sinister when we least expect it." He smirked. "I like that."

"Me too." Hades attested.

Their siblings' compliments made them blush and hold their cheeks. "Aww, thank you! You two flatter me." They lowered their hands and did a little clap. "Now how about we go watch the show go down?"

"H**l yeah!" Shouts Lucifer.

"Great idea. I can't wait to see the annoying cyan one get crushed!" Hades exclaimed. "Shall I get some popcorn?"

Dandylion bounced. "Ooh! Yeah! Let's have the big bucket!" 

"By the way Dandy, how did you manage to make that sound effect anyway?" Lucifer inquired. "Hope you didn't actually hurt your hand.

Dandylion opened their palm they made the sound with to reveal a joy-buzzer-like thing strapped around their hand. "This sound buzzer! I found it in a gag shop."

Lucifer chuckled. "Heh, nice."

~~~~

Back with the main group, Tiiru and Dot just finish talking to Shian about how she should've taken Polka's feelings into consideration instead of just being straight up honest. "So you rather have me lie to him?" Shian inquires.

"That's not what we were saying." Tiiru objected.

"What we we're trying to tell you is you should've let him down gently. Something like "Polka, I like you, but I see you more like a friend than a boyfriend. I'm sorry you had to learn this way, but I hope we could still be friends." would've been a better response, other than just... being outright honest." Dot explained. "He might not have taken it as badly..."

"And not saying you were into someone else would've also helped." Tiiru muttered snidely while looking aside, but Shian clearly heard that.

"Shut up, Ti! I didn't think I said that out loud!" She snapped, then turned back to Dot. "And Dotto, when you put it like that..." She pauses, then sighs. "Yeah, I could've worded it better. Porukabon probly wouldn't be as pi-" She briefly stops to correct herself. "-'as upset' with me right now."

"This is all my fault." Tosukana admitted. "I encouraged him to confess to Shian and got his hopes up."

"Yeah, and not only that, you forgot the "G" part in "GBs," Tucker. How could you ever forget that part??" She questioned him, rather upset that he forgot the "gay" part in their best friend duo name.

Tosukana looks away and gazes to the ground. "I guess I got so eager to try to help Porukabon gain the courage to confess to you that it just... completely slipped my mind somehow... I'm sorry Shian..." He lets out sigh afterwards. "I didn't mean for this mess to happen..."

"Bro," Shian puts a hand on his shoulder. "while I am kinda upset at you for forgetting, your heart was in the right place for Porukabon, though with all the romance movies you watch, you should've considered this mess happening as a possiblity."

Her remark made him let out a little chuckle. "Yeah, I should've. I didn't watch too many romance movies where that happened, but I still should've known better."

Shian nodded. "Maybe you should lay off those kinds of movies for a while, dude." She joked.

Dot spoke up to ask Shian something. "Shianbon, if you don't mind me asking, um, what does "GBs" stand for?"

Shian replies with: "It's an acronym for me and Tucker's duo name. We'll tell you what it stands for later." She rests her hands on her sides, then raises one of them up. "Alright, enough talking, I think now's the time to go find Porukabon. Anyone know where he could've went?"

Everyone went silent as they start hearing the crackling of electricity. It was barely quiet, but it began to sound like it was getting closer. Tiiru voices their concern "Uh, no, but does anyone else hear a crackling sound getting closer." Their question made everyone turn to the source of the noise, and see a yellowish-orange electrified shot heading towards them!

"LOOK OUT!" Tosukana shouts to everyone.

Luckily everyone, including Dot (whom used the spring function of her wheelchair) dodged it. The area where the group once stood crackled with electricity for a bit. 

"Where the did that come from?!" Yelled Shian. Her question was soon answered when Bolt-Striker flies in, Polka is armored up within it, and is staring her down with an evil, angry glare while growling lowly. "Porukabon?!"

They have a stare-off for a moment, then Polka utters lowly and robotically. "DESTROY... SHIANBON..."

"Wait, WHA-" She was cut off as Bolt-Striker began firing three more biida shots, all aiming directly at her. "S**T!" She barely manages to avoid getting hit and the following explosions.

"Shianbon!" Dot, Tiiru, and Tosukana all call out at once.

After evading Polka's attacks, she swiftly turns towards to yell. "Dude, what the FREAK do you think you're doing?! I get I broke your heart and all that, but does that really warrant destroying me?!" Polka answers by getting much some smaller biida cannons to come out of the main one and firing some more biida shots at her. "GAH!" She gets out of the way of the attacks, but she starts making a run for it as Polka chases her down.

"I don't know what's gotten into Porukabon, but we have to help Shianbon!" Shouts Tosukana.

"Right!" Tiiru takes out their phone with an open app. "Time to call Tenacious-Tealer!" They press the button on the app, but nothing happens. "Huh?" They press it again, same effect. "Why the heck isn't it-" They check to see why it wasn't working and quickly found out the problem. "Low phone battery?! Are you kidding me?! This is the worst possible time for that to happen!"

"Why didn't you park it somewhere close-by?!" Tosukana exasperated.

"I didn't think Polka would start attacking Shian, Tucker! Plus, we aren't allowed to park around here!" Retorted Tiiru.

Dot speaks up. "I have a way to get to our mechs quickly, Tiirubon."

They turn to her. "You do?" Shortly after their inquiry, Dot presses a button on the handle of her wheelchair that makes handlebars and a footrest come out of her wheelchair's backside. Tiiru stares wide-eyed in awe. "Whoaaa! What's this?"

"A new feature I added." She replied proudly. "Now hop on!" Tiiru nods and hops on.

Tosukana takes out his phone. "While you two go get your mechs, I'm going to call Sorabon for back-up!"

They both nod simultaneously. "Alright!"

Dot looks ahead. "Hang on tight, Tiirubon!" With that, they both take off, Tiiru yelling "WHOAAA!" until they were out of earshot.

"Now to call Sorabon for his assistance!" Tosukana tries to call Sora, but after waiting a bit, it goes to voicemail. 'Sorry, your hero is busy! Try calling again later!' He tries calling him again, same effect. "C'mon, pick up!" Third times the charm. He tried calling him a third time, once again, same result. "Why isn't he picking up?! What could he even be doing at a time like this?!" Tosukana shouts in frustration.

----

Meanwhile, Shiro and Sora were in a heated video game battle, lots of button mashing was heard, until...

"WINNER!" The video game announcer announced.

"DANG IT!" Sora bellowed as he stood up and stomped his foot. 

"I win once again kiddo." Shiro remarked.

"Grr, you cheated! Best 8 out of 10!" Sora demanded.

"Heh, you're on! Huh?" Shiro noticed Sora's phone going off on the nearby coffee table. "I think your phone's going off, Sora."

Sora glanced to his phone to see it was Tosukana trying to call him. "Tucker's calling me."

"Aren't you going to answer it?" Shiro inquired.

"Nah, he's probably calling to ask me to help him with Polka's "romantic interest" thing eugh." Sora answered.

"Ooh, Polka has feelings for someone, eh?" Questioned Shiro, very much interested.

"Yeah, but I ain't about to go into that. Romance is not my thing nor my business, it's weird and gross." Sora states, then makes a proclamation. "Back to the game! And I WILL win this time!"

----

After failing to reach him a third time, Tosukana groaned and decided to leave a voicemail. "Sorabon, we're having trouble over here, and we really could use your help right now! Please get over here as soon as possible!" 'End of message.' "Hopefully he'll get that one, but I'm not going to stand here and wait for him!" Tosukana goes off to find his mecha as well.

Via a spy camera and a portable TV monitor, the Neo Musketeers watch this all go down from the safety of behind a conveniently large boulder while munching on popcorn out of a comically large bucket. "Oooh, this is getting good!" Dandylion says before eating some more popcorn.

"C'mon, destroy her already!" Lucifer shouted, then stuffed more popcorn into his mouth.

Shian kept running away, trying to not get hit by Polka's barrage of attacks, until an explosion from a biida shot that barely missed her grazes her leg and causes her to fall forward. "WAAH! Oof!" She winces and grabs her injured leg. "Gah! Frick!" She turns her body around, wincing as she does so, to see Bolt-Striker looming over her, charging up for another attack. "PORUKABON STOP!" She screams, then makes eye-contact with him. "Look, I'm sorry, okay?! I get it, I messed up and I hurt your feelings, and I should've worded what I said better, but you shouldn't have to destroy me over this! Snap out of it, dude! Do you really think you have to kill me over this?!"

Polka stares at her silently, after what felt like a minute, he replies. "YOU DESTROYED MY HEART... NOW I'M GOING TO DESTROY YOU!" He fires the charged shot at her.

[Continued in Part 2.]