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hoodoobarbie · 3 years

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The mythology of the Siren, Mermaid, Water Spirits & Mami Wata and it’s origins within black feminity.

Today I had to listen to other another black woman rant about how mermaids/sirens/mami wata are evil low key. So this educational post was born in response.

Did you really think the divine essence of the black feminine wouldn’t protect itself ? That energy exists for a reason. Suddenly it’s evil, to have teeth and protect yourself from predators. Water is a precious resource. You will be tested to see if you are deserving of it or not. Also these spirits will defend natural resources so they don’t get fucked up by human greed.

It’s common for some places in Africa for people to offer the Sirens/Mami Wata/Water spirits or make an offerings/contracts with them in order to use the resources on their land. It also keeps the white ppl away too because they cause so much trouble.

Sirens are also associated with being the killers of children and men, but often this is completely misrepresented intentionally.

Men fear the power of the siren because she can override the patriarchy at core and can completely unravel them. The orgins of many water spirits lie in matriachal societies, temples divine feminine and motherhood. This is why temples and sacred magikal knowledge was intentionally destroyed and stolen, especially to empower the white patriarch.

Sirens are also described as thiefs of children and child killers. Sirens have been known to kidnap kids who were being abused or have were murdered near water and take them to their kingdom to restore them.

Sometimes the child returns, sometimes they are not. However in general they are big on kidnapping people, mostly women and giving them powers, if they decide to return. The idea of them eating and killing children, was a lie perpetuated by Greeks to cover up some truly horrific acts. Unfortunate these false accusations have been allowed to continue to perpetuate.

If a siren is acting in a predatory way, there is a reason why as their energy as been disturbed. Sirens are natural guardians.

So the real question is . . . what did you do ? Did you destroy their habitat ? Abuse a child or a person ? Commit an egregious act against a woman ie rape/murder etc ? Disrespect a sacred place, the land, the seas or rivers ? Steal precious resources that weren’t yours to take ?

These sacred traditions are more than just deities, spirits and our ancestors. All forms of ATR are access to our spiritual mind state as an entire community. When you move in Vodou, you can sense the whole of black consciousness and all of our problem spots, specifically areas that need healing.

Oxum-Oshun, Olokun, Yemaya, the Mami Wata, La Baliene, La Siren, Met Agwe, The Simbi - these are all spirits with a connection to waters. Water is life and has always been inherently associated feminine energy. I’m not going into detail about all these cross connections but let’s chat about La Sirene, specifically.

La Sirene, Queen of all Mermaids is more than just a powerful sorceress and queen of song/music and dreams, she is also a keeper of secrets an a guardian of sacred memories & knowledge.

Many of the souls of slaves, from the Transatlantic slave trade that were thrown off the boats into the ocean are her children, citizens and warriors now. She comforts them eternally & they live in paradise. That doesn’t mean all of these souls are at rest, plenty continuously ask their mother if they will be avenged, especially the young children. She also has a close connection with the Indigenous Taino. The isle of Hispaniola also known as Haiti (Ayiti) & the Dominican Republic is her most known domain.

Let’s not act like slavery and colonization was a cake walk. Rape was common place and mermaids, water spirits offered African and Indigenous women protection and power over men. They became demonized overtime for their hypnotic powers and killing men, who often overstepped their boundaries. Women could leave offerings to these spirits, work or commune with them and be quickly avenged or gain great power and wealth. All of this was threatening to the white patriarchal standard.

La Sirene’s presence in Haiti and other merfolk tales that float around the Caribbean/West Indies, is not without purpose. She has ties to many people and many different cultures. Her sacred symbols are global. This is why I speculate she is much older than people think. La Sirene, is a fairly young evolution. She clearly has ties to much older things. Her older names might have been lost but she has evolved, to save her self and also document other forgotten elements of history in the process. There are those who speculate that La Sirene is the embodiment of a cross mixed culture, the evolution of Indigenous & African water spirits combined, due to the excess trauma of colonization and so the Mermaid Queen was born. Others will argue that she is the Orisha Yemaya but a newer avatar of her. I hate to argue semantics but I will say this, she exists and her presence is felt to this day, all around the world.

La Sirene is often depicted as a mulatto woman with eyes like the sea but if you have been blessed to see her in dream state, she does appear sometimes as a brown or dark skinned skinned woman of possibly mixed Indigenous/African ancestry with glowing hypnotic eyes. Alot of her older depictions, deal with colorism and slavery, but as things have grown in the modern world this imagery has begun to change. However mermaids, are known for their shapeshifting powers - to truly behold her true form, is a gift reserved for the rare few.

As a keeper of the mysteries, La Sirene also access to many forgotten things in the black subconscious. The element of water is an intensely psychic sign. Water is her domain, and what is the human body 80% of? WATER! The truth does not hide from her hypnotic eyes. This sacred connection to water and her essence, also means you can track forgotten elements black history and connect to other deities/cultures who’ve had contact with her & her whole court or other black water spirits as a whole. So let’s take a short historical trip down memory lane.

The Greeks & Black women. Sirens, Aphrodite, Sibyls and other Children of Water 🧜🏾‍♀️

The deity Aphrodite/Venus is of Grecian and Roman legend.

A little known magikal fact is that Aphrodite/Venus is half siren. She is a child of the water, she was literally birthed this way after Uranus got his balls cut off & thrown into the sea. Much of her Venusian influence and powers of love and beauty come from this element. Now my Mambo doesn’t like mentioning it but Aphrodite, is tolerated by the oceanic court of sirens/mermaids. Any child of water, falls under the domain of the queen. La Sirene has a sort of strange fondness for her and so does Aphrodite for her. However this doesn’t mean they are best friends. It’s tentative friendship at best and comes with some perks. Aphrodite works quickly for children of water sirens and often will send mermaids to her devotees who misbehave. She has deliberately placed me around her people have pissed her off, to cause mischief. She’s quite petty but also very generous. I won’t go as far to dare and say she is in the queen’s court, but she does curry favor with the queen. Being born of water, her half siren/mermaid influence has definitely attributed to legends of her beauty in myth but also her treachery with men 🧜🏾‍♀️😂. She clearly also has some sort of homesickness for the world underneath the water, because many of her offerings are gifts of pearls, kisses, sea shells, beauty products etc. Anyone who serves the Mermaid Queen knows the meaning behind those gifts. If you’re a black gyal with water or siren energy and decide to work with Aphrodite, do it! If you ever irritate her, the least she’ll do is give you pimples and fuck up your skin, she won’t have the full power to completely fuck up your love life like she does with the white girls. And let me tell you, she has completely ruined some white girls lives by giving them terrible lovers or men.

The trident 🔱 is known for its connection in Greek and Hindu cultures. However La Sirene or other African water spirits are depicted carrying it, which is largely ignored in the occult world.

You can track the trident in Hinduism, with the serpent spirits, the nagas or Lord Shiva but let’s focus on it’s Grecian connection. The usage of the trident and Poseidon, even in mainstream society today is associated with him. This lets us know there is a connection between the mermaids, merfolk and La Sirene/African water spirits. Poseidon’s trident was rumored to made in Athens by the Cyclops - this is the city of Athena. So now we can track an element of black history all the way to Poseidon & Athena. Keep that in your thoughts we’ll come back to that later.

Tridents were also used ceremonially in Africa & India as well, as scepters, tribal weapons and religious symbols.

They were also associated with the sea faring people and fishing. It’s highly likely the origins of the trident are cross mixed between these two societies. Indo-African relations, go back to the Bronze age and the Indus Valley civilization. Which means traveling over by sea to reach each other was necessary. There is historical evidence of African millet being found in a Indian city Chanhudaro, including a cemetary or burial ground for African women. Maritime relations between these two groups existed before Grecian & the Egyptian Ptolemaic dynasties.

Now of course there are some deranged historians that will try to whitewash history and say the trident has its origins from the labyrs but the Ancient Greeks & Africans/Indians interacted regularly. The trident also looks nothing like a labyrs, which is quite literally a double sided axe. This is one of the more painful obvious pieces of white washing and historical revisionism.

Regardless, the trident is associated with water, ceremonial/religious purposes, fishing, battling in the coliseum and the symbol of power for a few African, Black diasporian an Hindu deities.

🧜🏾‍♀️ Oracles & Sibyls

Some sibyls/oracles were known to be African prophetesses/Mamissi to the Mami Wata/Sirens in Africa, some were stolen or captured by Greeks or Romans, sold into slavery and made to be oracles, some of whom became quite famous in legend. Their connection to these water spirits, is what gave them their gift of prophecy. Not every sibyl or oracle was African but SOME were. This lead to the sharing and theft of sacred knowledge. It’s likely these women shared this sacred information, with their colleagues, some whom may or may not have been enslaved or kept in these temple and likely this information was traded, for their freedom, power or money etc. This gave way to the usage of sacred spirits and magick being used by men. A great example of this is the snake spirits of the genii, genius spirits (not to be mistaken with genies) and which then evolved into a diluted lesser energy in Greek society being known as daemons (not to be confused with goetic demons) Instead of a woman commanding these specific energies/spirits, the patriarchs decided that these specifics powers were only worthy of being used by men. These spirits were whitewashed, adopted into their religious practices and said to only be given to men at birth. No woman was allowed to possess them anymore.

🧜🏾‍♀️ The whitewashing of Medusa & Lamia.

In mainstream society these two women stories have been white washed but also to hide a very shameful history and narrative. These two were beautiful women, in older stories of black black mythology were known to be black and they were children of water & daughters of the powerful water spirit/snake/siren divine mother/feminine goddess.

Medusa was raped by the GREECIAN GOD OF THE SEA, POSEIDON and Athena covered it up, refused to avenge her and punished her by making her ugly to everyone. It’s speculated in several magikal circles that the snakes in her hair were actually dreads, due to their lack of understanding of black hair and also allegorically might have been a reference to her devotion to the fish or water snake, great mother goddess. A child of the divine feminine, mother goddess was assaulted in a temple by a man and a woman covered it up & celebrated it.

Let’s start there ... cuz this story says a lot! It’s one of the first historical cases in myth that really documents the issues that surround the black feminine specifically and it was intentionally whitewashed. Then to add insult to injury, Athena made her hideous to all men and her chopped off her head and used as a symbol of protection but also a subtle sign of disrespect to the fullest. This still goes on to this day.

In fact ALGOL, the demon star, which is considered to be strongest protective magick talisman in the occult world today is the HEAD OF MEDUSA. The child of water! BITCH! This energy is invoked constantly and the spirit of medusa is never allowed to rest.

However these egregious acts did not come without a price. Athena at time was a goddess of fertility. However desecrating a child of water or the sirens, is seen as an attack by the divine feminine and can will cause people to be afflicted with fertility and other mental health issues as well. This is speculative but it’s also likely that after this they were constantly visited by droughts, floods or repeating issues with water sanitation & purity after this. Lowered fertility rates and miscarriages might be more prominent, for Athenians and Athena devotees & likely continues to this day.

Devotees of Athena may also develop severe issues when it to their mental health because of this connection. They completely lose touch with their feminine energy and become extremely misogynistic after continued work with her.

Not only did Athena, cause Medusa to be seen as hideous throughout the land but she celebrated when she was murdered and proudly wore Medusa’s decapitated head on her shield. From the feminist eye this virgin deity/woman was extremely male identified and adhered to the patriarchal standard. She was tested by the divine feminine and failed.

Even more strange, Athena’s birth allegorically proclaims her essential character: her wisdom is drawn from the head of a male god; the bond of affection between father and daughter; her championship of heroes and male causes, born as she was from the male, and not from a mother’s womb. A dreaded goddess of war, she remained a virgin and a servant of the patriarchal society and remains so to this day. She is the misogynistic cool girl and very asexual at the core. In fact if you explore more of her mythos, it becomes very clear she hates women. I’m bewildered at how she has become associated with lesbians and the feminine at large, when it’s been very clear that she was intent on transcending her gender from the very beginning, but never managed to escape it.

To top it off, I’ll leave you with this quote from Aeschylus’ Oresteia by Athena:

“There is no mother anywhere who gave me birth, and, but for marriage, I am always for the male with all my heart, and strongly on my father’s side. So, in a case where the wife has killed her husband, lord of the house, her death shall not mean most to me.”

Queen Lamia was a said to incredible beauty who seduced Zeus, (a literal man whore) which as made Hera jealous. Hera cursed Lamia with infertility and insomnia. She went insane and is said to have killed her own children and ate them. Zeus is said to be the one who gifted her prophecy and gave her the ability to take out her eyes, so she would not be irritated at the site of other happy mothers.

She became associated with a child eating monster who was half woman and half snake, which ties into the Libyan snake cults. She was associated with phantoms, the shapshifting laimai or empusai and the daemon spirits.

Medusa and Lamia were Libyan by heritage and came from a place in Africa where temples to the water snake mother goddess & divine feminine were common before they were destroyed by invaders intentionally. These women likely had extreme gifts of seduction, mind control and other abilities etc. It’s highly likely that Queen Lamia used her powers of seduction, at the behest of her people to save them from colonization and was demonized for it. Zeus’s temple was in Cyrene in Lybia, so this is far more than an allegorical story. This may be a real life story that was disguised in mythos. Unfortunately deeper research into this subject has turned up many dead ends for me. It’s highly likely Medusa was a priestess of the the matriarchal Mami Watas or water goddess/snake spirits and was likely raped intentionally in Athena’s temple, as a show loyalty to the rising patriarchy by descrating the symbolism of the great mother and the divine feminine. This was likely an attempt to lessen power and status of the matriachal societies that existed at the time. Rape was common war tactic amongst colonizers and news of such disgrace would likely spread like wildfire. This also solidified Athena’s place amongst the male gods and gaining her their respect. Athena and her devotees went a step further to show their allegiance to the patriarchy, by stripping Medusa of her beauty supposedly and exiling her, then parading her decapitated head on shields, when going into battle likely with Libyan enemies.

This is just a brief explanation of a few horrific acts in history, which were whitewashed & explain why the essence of the black feminine has evolved to become more protective, predatory and fierce. She learned to defend herself. Now she kills those who threaten her.

Fun history tip: Usually anytime you see a snake in Grecian mythology, just know something got whitewashed, because the truth was really fucked up, made them look really bad & a black woman was there.

🧜🏾‍♀️ The black feminine is capable of more than you know.

Yes, mermaids/sirens/snakes & the mami watas can be scary at times but that’s what stepping into mysticism of deep waters is like. Water is capable of many things, it is one of the most powerful elements on earth. It can nourish you and kill you, and that’s the beauty of it really.

We should all be grateful the black feminine is so beautiful, fierce & scares the living daylights out of everyone.

You would be dead if it wasn’t.

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lazyliars · 3 years

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The Quackity Meta: Justice without the Blindfold

[Anonymous asks: (DSMP) Somebody talk to me about Quackity and Eret’s character. I wanna talk about what Quackity’s views on power are with what he’s planning to do with Sam along with whatever he saw in the egg. I wanna talk about why Eret thinks reviving Wilbur is the best option for the sever to lead and their views on what a leader should be with them being the king of the Dream SMP. I wanna talk about Quackity planning to create a casino for the server to rise to the top. What does it mean to be king?]

[/rp. All mentions of dream smp members should be assumed as referencing the character, not the cc, unless specifically stated otherwise.]

At the heart of every conflict, if you look closely enough, you will find a similarity. Two contrasting ideals will reveal their own likeness, in the stage they play out their war – they both fight for the same result; to be known and followed and asserted, and in this they are the same. There would be no conflict if both sides shared nothing in common.

Lets talk about Quackity.

We'll gloss over a good deal of Quackity's history to get to the meat of this discussion, which involves Technoblade. But there are a a few lesser known facts about Quackity's early days on the server that are relevant to the discussion, like that Quackity joined the server because of Tommy.

Namely, he joined for The Cartel, a short-lived organization comprised of him, Tommy, Tubbo and Jack Manifold, and their aims of obtaining power over the entire server by getting a monopoly on one object, the Phantom Membrane.

(Trivia: This is why Technoblade had to strike a deal with Tommy for the membranes – Phantoms are turned off on the Dream SMP now, so their monopoly actually ended up working. (Un)fortunately, Tommy traded nearly his whole supply for the priceless act of... making Techno scream really loud and talk in a funny voice. Worth it.)

However, Tommy's interest in the Cartel waned almost immediately, to Quackity's frustration. Tommy was constantly busy with his Vice Presidential duties in L'manberg. Quackity wasn't entirely left out, and he helped Tommy on multiple occaisions, but this was back in Wilbur's L'manberg, where non-europeans were strictly banned.

Quackity would slowly come to resent Tommy for this over time. He joined the server to be with him, took his side in nearly every conflict, including the ones that were L'manberg-oriented, and yet he wasn't allowed to be a citizen of his friend's own nation.

The resentment would reach a boiling point when Quackity discovered Wilbur's bid to consolidate power by running a sham election – with a one party system. Quackity challenged him, formed Swag 2020, and the rest is history...

The takeaway here is that from the start, Quackity has been shunted aside by people in power – Tommy, Wilbur, and then later, Schlatt. This wouldn't prevent him from executing his own immoral power grabs, but that trait – the distaste for people with power holding it over him, is one that would stick around, and become even more prominent later... Quackity has more reason than most to hate tyranny.

But “Tyranny” Is a word thrown around on the SMP often enough, that it's probably up there with “betrayal” and “pop-off” in total wordcount. But few use it more commonly, or more persuasively, than Quackity and Technoblade.

This begs the question: what is Tyranny in a M/inec/raft role play, and why do Quackity and Technoblade both detest it so much while still hating each other?

Well, after a moderate amount of research, I have discovered the following:

Tyranny is complicated.

Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk.

...No, but really. Tyranny is very old concept. The words originates in, you guessed it, Ancient Greece, but conceptually, the idea goes waaaay back.

Now, that last thing I wanna do is give anyone a history lesson. I'd suck at it and I haven't done that much research. But the takeaway here is that “Tyranny” has come to be defined in fairly vague terms. We'll look at a few different ones in reference to the SMP.

Oxford dictionary defines a Tyrant as: A cruel and oppressive ruler. / a person exercising power or control in a cruel, unreasonable, or arbitrary way. / (especially in ancient Greece) a ruler who seized power without legal right.

Lets look at the first and last definitions: A cruel and oppressive ruler; (especially in ancient Greece) a ruler who seized power without legal right.

By these definitions, one could call Quackity tyrannical during his term as Tubbo's VP. He exercises the power granted to him as a government official to spearhead an operation to execute a man without trial. He violently invades the home of a citizen and then puts said man on house arrest, and to subdue the target of this operation he threatens a pet (-a vague but ostensibly severe criminal act in the terms of m/inec/raft specifically-) and then reveals to Techno that the reason he's doing this actually has nothing to do with the crime Techno was accused of, and it is instead a ploy to consolidate power.

Quackity is leveraging his position in the government to amass power, and using that power to harm individuals (Philza and Techno,) in process. As an added bonus, his position in that government came from usurping Schlatt, a legitimately elected official. Thus, Quackity is a Tyrant.

But there, in Schlatt's government is where things get complicated.

Quackity had some power in Schlatt's government. Not the same kind as he did in New L'manberg, but arguably a more unrestrained form – Quackity could basically do whatever he wanted, as long as it pleased Schlatt. In New L'manberg, Quackity needed to convince not only Tubbo, but the rest of the cabinet whenever he wanted to initiate a new project. New L'manberg, while still maintaining a ruling class, had a far more equal distribution of power than Manberg did. It was still democratic.

And while we're on the topic of Quackity as Schlatt's VP, Quackity had almost instant regret the day of the election. He was undermining Schlatt from the start, questioning him, trying to stop Tubbo from breaking the signs that read “if you break this sign, you hate your viewers” and freeing Niki when Schlatt trapped her in Jack Manifold's house and then whispering at her to run.

Quackity only fell into step with Schlatt in the aftermath of Election day, when he saw a major desire fulfilled; the tearing down of L'manberg's walls. These walls were a symbol of L'manberg's isolationist roots that prevented Quackity from joining in the first place. It was one of his biggest promises whilst campaigning.

From this point on, up until the festival, Quackity would be in support of Schlatt. The things he did try to push back on would be downplayed and ignored, if not scorned. This period of time is difficult to pick apart where Quackity's personal morals and ideals begin, and Schlatt's influence ends. The steadily worsening abusive dynamic between them doesn't help this vagueness, either.

I point this out because I've seen people conflate Quackity's abuse at the hands of Schlatt, and his willingness to participate in Schlatt's rule as being of the same root; implying that Quackity only followed Schlatt because he was in an abusive relationship with him, when the reality is far more complicated. Yes, their relationship was a major factor in Quackity's actions, but downplaying his ambition and willingness to accept Schlatt's Tyranny when it helped him realize his own goals does a disservice to the nuance of Manberg-era Quackity.

What all of this points to is an individual who has a strong, some might say defining sense of Justice, yet also a susceptibility to Temptation. Quackity’s experiences with disenfranchisement by Wilbur and Tommy, coupled with his Dark horse victory in the election paints him in a sympathetic, even heroic light. But the way he slowly relinquished more and more power to Schlatt, and ended up indulging in the fruits of tyrannical gains when they proved they could get him what he wanted.

...

So, back to the question... Is Quackity a tyrant?

The answer to that question is a solid “mmmmaaaybe??”

It comes back to what you consider Tyranny. Quackity has never held complete power – he has always, always been scrapping and struggling and fighting to get a foothold in the machinations of the truly powerful, like Dream and Wilbur. He's very much an underdog story.

On the other hand, the times that Quackity has held positions of power, he's done some questionable shit. People like to forget that, while he was deeply disturbed by it, he wasn't exactly against Tubbo's execution at the festival. Putting Phil on house arrest and executing Techno without trial also count against him.

Like most things on the SMP, it's just complicated. Quackity's motivations run deep and aren't always obvious. He doesn't seem to want to hurt people just for the sake of hurting them, or use his power in arbitrary ways, but when he can personally justify it, the sacrifice of his moral integrity gets severe sometimes.

What it looks like is that more than anything else, Quackity wants control, and to never, ever lose his own autonomy. That is also why he despises Technoblade.

...And here we are at the Technoblade part of this meta, AKA the MASSIVE BULK OF THIS ANALYSIS. Which you can read HERE, because it’s too long to fit in just this one post.

#Dream SMP #Quackity #Tommyinnit #Wilbur Soot #Jschlatt #Technoblade #Dream smp analysis #lazytext #long post

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maverick-werewolf · 3 years

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Werewolf Fact #64 - Prehistoric Werewolves

I’ve been asked before about how old werewolf legends - the belief in werewolves in general - really are. It’s a question I get quite a lot, actually. I talked about it once, in a werewolf fact, but I didn’t go into as much detail as I could have.

So let’s talk about the oldest werewolf legends.

(yeah, another lovely moon gif - I’m running out of wolf and werewolf gifs)

For starters, werewolves are a universal legend. That means that, wherever wolves lived (which is WAY more places than they live today), there was a belief in werewolves.

This was worldwide in every wolf region and across all time periods, even dating back to prehistory. Everywhere wolves lived, we have found evidence of a belief in werewolves - all of Europe, most of Asia, the Mediterranean, India, China, North America...

People have always believed in werewolves.

Even before recorded history, werewolf legends were told in cultures all across the world. Scholars often argue over what represents the “first werewolf,” since there’s no real way to know. We can’t know the exact age of the legends that get passed down to us over time or just how many rich oral legends we’ve lost.

From pre-humans to Greeks and Romans to every other known culture that shared its existence with wolves, we have at least some proof of belief in werewolves. From Greece and Rome and Scandinavia and other civilizations, of course, we have many legends, including but not limited to the berserkers, the Arcadians, King Lykaon (often argued as the “first werewolf” that we at least have the written story for, though clearly a belief in them existed long before that), and many more across many other regions.

The prehistoric werewolf takes many appearances across many cultures, spanning basically the entire world. Werewolf legends do not seem to have spread from a single source. Many cultures came up with their own werewolf legends individually, instead of picking them up from another nearby or conquering culture.

Most werewolf scholars agree, though, that werewolves can be traced back to prehistory, though unfortunately we - obviously - don’t have the actual stories. But carbon dating of cave paintings and prehistoric artifacts puts werewolf beliefs going back as far as 45,000 BP - “Before Present,” a term used by carbon dating systems. So we’re talking around early Paleolithic Age or so.

Studying werewolves, though, will inevitably lead you also to studying wolf cults and ancient beliefs in animal transformation. Many prehistoric cultures revered the ability, even ever since the days of shamanistic hunter-gatherers, who doubtlessly had their own werewolf legends. These beliefs, though, have little to no bearing on werewolves in pop culture today, though it’s interesting to look at them and realize that werewolves have much older roots than anyone gives them credit for today. You see cases of ancient peoples revering wolves and wanting to turn into them for their power and their hunting ability and the like.

You’ll hear some scholars, like Matthew Beresford, infer that the reason people believe in werewolves all across the wolf’s prehistoric range is because it would have allowed people to take the form of the animal they feared most. What he doesn’t mention, though, is the important note that yeah, they certainly feared them, but they also respected and revered them. Wolves were something to aspire to being, for savage humans. To turn into a wolf was a respected thing, because while wolves were feared, it doesn’t necessarily mean they were “hated” so much as “respected.” Today, we equate fear with hate, but that doesn’t have to be the case.

One may ask, then, who or what was the “first werewolf?” To claim that one can trace werewolf legends – many of which predate recorded history – back to the “first” one is surely a combination of arrogance and ignorance, but, today, it has become a popular notion to assert that King Lycaon, from Greek mythology, was the “first” werewolf. Other scholars claim there are other “first” werewolves, but I won’t bother going into those, because frankly most of them are immensely silly and aren’t werewolves at all. It’s reaching. And many of them are downright silly and totally irrelevant to werewolves, and scholars mention them just because there happens to be a wolf involved at some point (and for no specific reason; in the case of one legend, you can literally substitute any animal, as other legends similar to it do in later ages).

Ultimately, defining the “first werewolf” depends largely upon how exactly one wants to define a “werewolf” - which I’ve already done here as far as I’m personally concerned, on this blog - along with a willingness to acknowledge that records of whichever legend truly told of the “first werewolf” could not possibly exist.

But either way, we can certainly acknowledge that from what we have seen, a belief in werewolves does seem to predate history.

So next time someone says werewolves are “silly,” remind them that they’re just saying that because it’s in human nature to be absolutely terrified of them. And some people want to laugh at things that scare them, I suppose.

For real, though, now you know!

(If you like my werewolf blog, be sure to check out my other stuff and consider supporting me on Patreon! I need your help now more than ever. If you enjoy the blog, I would appreciate it so much if you could pitch in so I can continue to keep this running!

Patreon — Ko-fi --- Wulfgard — Werewolf Fact Masterlist — Twitter --- Vampire Fact Masterlist )

#werewolf #werewolves #werewolf fact #werewolf wednesday #werewolfwednesday #wolf man #wolf-man #wolfmen #mythology #folklore #lycanthropy #lycanthrope #lycanthropes #werewolf facts #folklore facts #folklore fact #slightly late werewolf fact

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your-brilliant-lady-m · 3 years

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Part 5 - Basic Concepts of Miraculous Ladybug: Guardians

Helloooo! Did you think I was done? No!

My PhD thesis chapters were approved last week, so have some celebratory meta. I haven't seen the latest Season 4 episodes, so do forgive me for not being up to date.

Welcome to the next part of my analysis of the basic concepts of Miraculous Ladybug. Today we are talking about Master Fu, Order of the Guardians and how little everything here makes sense. I highly recommend reading previous parts to fully understand this one, but I'll try to quote most parts of earlier posts.

Order of the Guardians

Order is an international and ancient organisation (New York Special showed us the guardian from North America and he was dressed like Su Han). Presumably, Miraculous jewels were created by these people. Guardians are responsible for the preservation of jewels and knowledge about them. They also distribute Miraculouses to worthy people around the world to combat mostly magical threats, but sometimes jewels are used against normal threats too. It's implied that Master Fu used Miraculouses during WW2 when he was in Paris. Perhaps he performed some spywork with Marianne, but the magical nature of his interferences was discovered and he was forced to flee, before returning to France many decades later.

Why does the Order need so many people to take care of a 3 Miracle Boxes? If its only purpose is to preserve knowledge, keep magical secrets and distribute Miraculous jewels then wouldn't it be more logical to have Master-Apprentice system? It's much easier to keep magic knowledge a secret and train a few people in martial arts than doing the same in the self-sufficient temple full of people, keeping in mind that a good part of them are teenagers and children, who are bad at keeping secrets. Also a single person can travel around the world much easier to give out Miraculouses. Imagine that we have a few active guardians traveling the world with Boxes. What do other people at the temple do in the meantime? They teach the next generation about the powers of each Miraculous and Mirakung Fu, but besides that?

Master-Apprentice system gives us more personal conflict between Fu and his mentor and makes his relationship with Marinette and Adrien more nuanced. In this scenario Fu accidentally caused the death of his Master at 14 because he wasn't careful. It makes sense for him to take on only 1 or 2 students if this is how things were done with Miraculous Guardians. This Wang Fu is very cautious and protective, he spent the majority of his life afraid of hurting someone else and never took an apprentice as a result. But now he is ready to try again, since he is not getting any younger and he likes these 2 kids. He wants them to succeed. Maybe Master Fu, becomes the father figure for Adrien in this situation and a guide for Marinette. Just think about it. This way writers avoid the need to develop all these extra characters (Su Han) and traditions related to the Order. All inconsistencies I mentioned before and later in this post are gone now! Hell, even memory loss and the changing of the Miracle Box shape could make more sense. We also raise the stakes post-amnesia, if it happens of course (the whole Season 3 finale didn't make sense, so stay tuned for my next meta). Marinette and Adrien are on their own now, there's no one who can give them answers. It's very fun scenario, which has potential to be brilliant. Any thoughts on that?

The existence of Order of the Guardians is not quite a secret, at least it wasn't in XIX century China. Master Fu in "Feast" says that guardianship was considered "a great honor". It implies that people who lived close to the temple of the Order knew about Miraculouses and what exactly guardians did for the greater good.

The existence of other Miracle Boxes around the world makes sense from a real-life perspective. Writers have the ability to create many stories set in the same universe and use them for merchandise and an almost unlimited amount of content. Judging by the unholy amount of specials in production, this is exactly what the creators are going to do. It probably won't go down well, but who knows?

However, it doesn't work in our main story. The main conflict is Paris-centred. Gabriel's motivations revolve around Emilie's resurrection and Season 4 gives us more reasons to suspect that Adrien's mom wasn't as wonderful as everyone says. Hawkmoth still remains the main villain of the show and most likely it's going to stay that way. There's no point in moving the main story to different places for the sake of introducing more Miracle Boxes from around the world. Ladybug and Chat Noir aren't needed to fight something halfway across the world unless Hawkmoth also changes locations.

LB and CN are centrepieces of this franchise. They brought success and money to ZAG. Creators constantly need to remind the audience that this new piece of media with new characters who will never be mentioned again is connected to Miraculous Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir. Writers have to come up with reasons to include our heroic duo into the story even if makes no sense.

New York Special had to introduce American Heroes whose names rarely come up in the fandom because people stopped caring about them or their stories shortly after the release of the Special. I barely saw any content dedicated to them. In order to bring LB and CN into the story, you have to include Hawkmoth too. Gabriel suddenly needs to get his hands on the Eagle Miraculous and goes to USA. Marinette and Adrien suddenly have a class trip to New York. Unfortunately, their presence in this story is required only to expand the world of Miraculous and attract fans of the show, so that they could keep an eye on new content related to newly introduced characters.

In the end, it's not their story. Events of the special don't affect main story of the show and the development of the love square is merely an illusion, because Adrien and Marinette are no closer than before. In season 4 LB and CN are growing apart and their test of trust in NY Special doesn't matter. Perhaps, some people don't see it that way and it's their right, but I find it hard to see NYS as a valid contribution to canon. I mean, even people in large portion of the fandom state in the tags on AO3 that "specials are not canon", "specials didn't happen" or "ignores both specials". It speaks volumes about continuity and preferences of your fandom.

Shanghai Special didn't give us more information about the Order, which is located in China, history of Miraculous jewels. We still don't know much about how Gabriel and Emilie found Peacock and Butterfly. Maybe, Marinette's family had connections to Miraculous jewels. Maybe, Adrien does some snooping and discovers research his parents made while Gabriel is away. All of these are relevant to the main story. However, we got something much different in the end.

Marinette chases Adrien across the globe and they make new friends. Fey becomes Ladydragon and now has a direct contact with Marinette through her uncle. Gabriel's desire to get his hands on the Prodigious comes out of nowhere. Apparently, he had been planning this trip for years, presumably even before Adrien was born. It probably happened at the same time as Agrestes found 2 Miraculouses. He bought bracelet-key (which is also a Miraculous apparently, but its Kwami is a Guardian of the Prodigious and they existed separately for a very long time - and let us not dwell on this mess) from some shady mafia boss, who can easily find out just who Gabriel really is (fashion designer billionaire) and use this information to blackmail him. This Special didn't answer important questions, but it gave us a new superhero character.

The real question is whether Miraculous as a project will survive long enough for writers to create content for every minor character they introduced in all specials. This is only a beginning after all.

Miraculous is not a global show and it can't be globalised in a way that makes sense, at least with Ladybug and Chat Noir in the centre of action. Case closed.

Mirakung Fu

I liked the idea of Mirakung Fu introduced in "Furious Fu". It makes sense and things rarely do in this show. Miraculous grants its holder superhuman strength, stamina, endurance and ability to fight. This means that essentially transformed heroes are guided by magic in combat. There's nothing personal in the way Miraculous holders fight. You can predict their moves and learn how to fight this magic guidance, which is what Su Han does.

However, if the holder has any special training, skills or knows any martial art in their civilian life then they become more dangerous opponents during transformation because now their fighting is a mix of magical moves and their personal knowledge, tricks and style. Therefore, Adrien and Kagami as skilful fencers have more chances of winning against someone who knows Mirakung Fu than Marinette, for example.

Memory loss

At the end of season 3, we find out several things:

apparently, now Miracle Box can change appearance to suit its guardian;

when Guardian passes down the Miracle Box to someone else, they lose memories not only about everything related to Miraculous, but also about pretty much everything in their life (Fu doesn't recognise Marianne, instead he experiences the love at first sight)

Master Fu trains Marinette to be the proper holder and next Guardian off-screen. He says that her training as the holder is complete in "Feast" and wants her to become the next Guardian. Fu told her lots of things, and yet, he never mentioned the fact that he would lose his memory after relinquishing the box, nor the fact that Marinette would lose her memory afterwards. She finds out about this from Wayzz after the battle with Miracle Queen and the letter that Master Fu gave her. That's not proper training! How on Earth do you forget to mention this memory loss? How?

Master Fu's amnesia is a convenient plot device that removes him from the narrative almost completely. That's mostly all there is to it. Why? Because it doesn't make sense.

Fu was around 7 or 8 when he started his training. The disaster at the temple happened when he was 14. He stated that his training was never complete, which means that he never passed any magical ritual, never swore an oath or was bound by some kind of spell that made him subjected to the rule of memory loss.

Miracle Boxes belonged to the order, not Fu. Their design reflected their country of origin because these Miraculous were made and kept in China. They were just standing there on the shelves not magically bound to anyone in particular. When Feast attacked, monks just tossed Wang Fu the miracle box and grimoire. No one at the temple lost their memory after Fu took the box with him (Su Han is the proof). Su Han not only remembers Fu and his mistake but everything that happened that fateful day as well. In "Furious Fu" Marinette explains Su Han that Master Fu lost his memory in the very first conversation they have. However, after Ladybug and Chat Noir fight Su Han on the roof and escape with the Miracle Box, the latter searches for Fu and attempts to take his staff from him. In this scene, Su Han acts like Fu knows very well what is going on and who he is.

Su Han should be aware of the memory loss rule as the Celestial Guardian. He remarks on the different shape of the Mother Miracle Box and calls her "incorrect", which means that Su Han should have been able to easily tell that previous Guardian lost his memory and the Miracle Box is now bound to someone else. But he doesn't say anything. Moreover, since Su Han is supposed to know about amnesia, he seemed awfully chill about forcing this 14-year-old girl in front of him to give up the box and her memories. Hell, Chat Noir wasn't on board with this. But we get zero reaction from Su Han.

During the first conversation between Marinette and Su Han, he doesn't ignore what she is trying to say, instead he actively comments on every word. Even if Su Han didn't listen when Marinette told him about Fu's memory loss, than he still should be able to understand that Fu doesn't recognise him, because of common sense and the "incorrect" shape of the box. But nothing of the sort happens. Because writers apparently forgot that "memory loss" is supposed to be known to everyone in the Order. On-screen it looks like Su Han is not aware of the "amnesia rule".

"Furious Fu" makes the concept of memory loss a plothole no matter how you look at it. Just like "Timetagger" and "Chat Blanc", as well as "Kwamibuster" this episode is not consistent within itself. It does not surprise me, however.

Grimoire and Guardian Staffs

Let's talk about the Miraculous Grimoire. Good things first.

There are no illustrations of Miraculouses in camouflage. Kwami can't read its contents, only guardians can. Certain elements are written in riddles as an additional precaution. The book contains only the information people have learned so far, which means that Miraculouses have more unexplored potential ("Mr. Pigeon 72"). It describes powers of each Miraculous, provides information about weapons, has instructions for potions that don't make sense (see previous parts).

Unfortunately, everything is about to go downhill from here.

Guardians are taught how to read the writing in this book. They can read it just like people learn to read texts in a different language. This means that one can read Grimoire like any other book (you don't need to consult some guide to decode each letter or word). Master Fu proclaimed Marinette an almost fully trained Guardian. He should have taught her how to read the Grimoire then (he doesn't know the code very well, but he knew enough to understand the general meaning and content of the book according to "Collector"). He didn't. We don't know why. He shows her powers of every Miraculous but doesn't teach her the code.

Master Fu knows that Grimoire now belongs to Gabriel Agreste. He knows that it's dangerous for someone else to have it. If they knew how to read the Grimoire, they could discover all secrets of Miraculouses and harm Ladybug, Chat Noir and other heroes. It's very important to keep the information about the code top secret because Fu is not the only one with the source material.

What does he do then? Master Fu proceeds to write a French translation of Grimoire for Marinette, a translation that he doesn't even need. He carries it with him at all times on a tablet (without any precautions) just like the Miracle box after "Feast". Naturally, it means that in "Miracle Queen", Gabriel and Nathalie easily managed to get their hands on the tablet and Miracle Box. It allows the plot to happen, sure. But it doesn't make any sense.

"Furious Fu" created another curious plot hole. It will probably be ignored, of course. Su Han has a staff with a magical compass that allows him to find any Miracle box, but not the Miraculous jewels for some reason. How does the staff work? Can it locate the box without the Miraculous? If yes, then it seems useless. What's the point in the ability to locate an empty box? If it can locate the box only with the Miraculous jewels inside, it implies that the staff can track the location of every Miraculous too. So, Su Han could just locate the Butterfly and Peacock without any problem. But he talks about reassigning Ladybug and Black Cat to adults and defeating Hawkmoth like locating the Butterfly is not possible. This situation makes the Guardian Staff a simple plot device that creates plot holes and its only purpose is to explain how Su Han found Marinette.

Also, I have a few more words to say about this. Master Fu had a Guardian Staff that was never mentioned before. I wonder why? That's because the staff didn't exist before "Furious Fu" was written. Writers just went: "Do you know what would be cool? If Fu's cane was really a secret Guardian Staff with a compass all along that he decided to keep even after he lost his memory? It would make people wonder whether Master Fu is faking amnesia, and everyone will definitely call him an awful mentor after this even though we kind of tried to make him a good and responsible person."

Fu didn't give it to Marinette and didn't mention it to her. Why? When he gave up his memory, he should have written about this in his letter at least. Why did he decide to keep it? He can't use it anyway now.

Please note how in the flashbacks Fu didn't take any staff with him when he escaped the temple. Su Han seemed to know how Fu's staff looked like. It means that Master Fu didn't make this staff himself, because it belonged to the Order.

Su Han wasn't even surprised that Marinette didn't have the staff as the current Guardian. Was she not supposed to have it? He never questioned the fact that the former Guardian without memories has the staff. Su Han actually returns this staff to Fu after he is deakumatized and Fu acts like they have never met before. Why did Su Han gave the staff back when he knows what it is and to whom it should belong (to him or to Marinette as the current Guardian)? The staff is useless in the hands of the civilian. Does Marianne know about its secret? We'll probably never find out, unfortunately.

Guardian Staff of Master Fu has a compass too and therefore this also makes it a plot device, just like Su Han's staff.

#miraculous ladybug #ml #miraculous analysis #miraculous meta #ml meta #ml analysis #miraculous critical #miraculous ladybug critical #miraculoustalesofladybugandcatnoir #mt of lb and cn #miraculous guardian #miraculous order of guardians #master fu #miraculous master fu #wang fu #miraculous su han

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writingwithcolor · 4 years

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Mixing North America with Old World Cultures in Fantasy: What Are The Issues?

So I sent in an ask several years ago that, due in no small part to your response, I have grown from and eventually led to a complete restructuring of my story. I included a measure of context in this, so if you need to skip it, my main three questions are at the bottom. I think this mostly applies to Mod Lesya.

The new setting is both inspired by and based on North America in the late 1400s where the indigenous cultures thrive and are major powers on the continent. Since there is no “Europe” in this setting the colonization and plague events never happened. Within the continent itself (since it is a fantasy setting) there are also analogous cultures that resemble Norse, Central European, Persian, Arabic, Indian, and Bengali. Although not native to the fantasy continent, there is also a high population of ‘African’ and ‘Oceanic’ peoples of many cultures, the latter usually limited to coastal cities as traders and sailors. Elves are entirely not-human, or at least evolved parallel to humans ala Neanderthals/Denisovans; they have green blood, black sclera, and skin tones that run from pale to dark.

The main national setting of the story takes great inspiration from a Byzantine/Turkish/Mississippian background, and the neighboring nations are based on the Haudenosee (Iriquois Confederacy), Numunuu (Comancheria), and the Hopi and Zuni (as the descendants of the Ancestral Puebloans) (I also know that 2 of these 3 occur much later than the 1400s, but I love the government systems and they provide excellent narrative foils for the more ‘traditional’ fantasy government that takes place in the story). The Maya inhabit the role analogous to Ancient Greece in that most writing systems on the continent descend from Maya script and all the Great Philosophers were Maya (and nobility from across the continent spend lots of money to send their children to schools in the Maya City-States or in the Triple Alliance (Aztec Empire)). There is magic with varying traditions, practices, and methods spread across the continent, some of which are kept secret from outsiders, so I would hope that this avoids the “Magical Native” trope.

Beyond the setting, I have three main questions:

When it comes to foodstuffs, I was originally planning to limit myself to Pre-Columbian cuisine from the Americas (eg the Three Sisters and potatoes) but in doing my research, Navajo fry-bread seems to be a fairly integral part of the food culture and that does require flour, which originated in the Old World. Would it be better to incorporate some of the Old World stuff that has since become traditional to indigenous groups?

For place names used in the setting and writing systems would it be better to use existing languages or writing systems or ones inspired by them? EG should I make a language that is very similar to Cherokee, complete with its own syllabary, or should I use IRL Cherokee and its extant syllabary? I ask because I feel like using the real language might step on some toes, but using the conlang might seem like erasure.

One of the main themes of this story is the harm that even a ‘benevolent’ Empire can wreak on people. The Byzantine/Turkish/Mississippian culture is the main Empire on the continent, taking cues from both western and American monarchical systems (eg the Triple Alliance (Aztec) and The Four Regions (the Inca Empire)), but when I think about it having any kind of even vaguely western ‘Empire’ spring up from the soil of a North American inspired setting might be troubling.

Thank you for your time and consideration! Do you guys have a kofi or something so I can compensate you for time spent?

I actually do remember you, and I am going to 99% disregard your questions here because you went from glaringly obvious racism to covert racism, and none of your questions ask if your basic strings of logic for assumptions you built into the setting are okay.

Since there is some extremely flawed basic logic in here, I’m going to tackle that first.

Question 1: Why did you originally title this “Pre Colombian North American Fantasy World” when you have more old world cultures than new world cultures?

A very simple, straightforward question. The actual content of the setting is what made me retitle it.

If you want to write a North American fantasy setting… why are there so many old world cultures represented here?

Old world: - Greece (as a societal myth; see next point) - Byzantine - Turkey - Norse - Central European - Persian - Arabic - Indian - Bengali - African (which, let’s be honest, should be heavily broken up into multiple peoples) - Oceana (which, again, should be heavily broken up into multiple peoples)

New world: - Mississippian - Iroquois - Numunuu - Hopi - Zuni - Maya - Aztec - Inca (maybe? not mentioned as having their own place on the continent, but one of your questions mentions them) - Navajo (maybe? See above)

To account for respecting Africa and Oceana, I’m going to make African cultures count as 3 and Oceanic cultures count as 5, and this is a purposeful lowball.

Old World: 17 New World: 9

It’s a giant discrepancy, especially if your attempt is writing an exclusively New World fantasy. And this is bare minimum old world, considering the fact I tried to limit myself to peoples who would be more likely to interact with the heavy Mediterranean/Alexander the Great’s Empire centricity.

Question 2: Why does there have to be a Greece analogue?

I haven’t spoken about this topic at length on this blog, but Greek worship in the Western world is a very carefully crafted white supremacy based mythos that was created to prop up European “Excellence” and actually erases the reality of Greece as a peoples.

Cultural evolutionism is a theory that states the (assumed-white-European) Greeks were superior because of their philosophy, their abstract art, and their mathematics. When many of these concepts were refined in Egypt (African, aka Black), or the Arab world (aka brown), but white Europeans did not want to admit any of this so they instead painted everything as coming out of their ideas of Greece lock stock and barrel.

The theory also ignored Iroquois science, Plains and Southwestern abstract art, and generally everything about North America, because the theory was designed to move the goalposts and paint North America as something it wasn’t, just to make Europeans feel okay taking it over and “bringing it to civilization.”

This theory was still taught in force up until the 1970s, and is still a major school of anthropological thought to this day (and still taught in some universities), so it is still very much influencing the Western world.

While the theory itself is only from the 1800s, it had long-growing roots in white/ noble Europe’s attempt to prop up European “Excellence” during its multiple periods of colonization, from the Crusades, onwards. You can see it in the copious amount of art produced during the Renaissance.

Europeans ignored the sheer amount of settling and travel that happened within Greece and Rome, and you’ll notice how many Renaissance paintings depict Greek philosophers as white, teaching other white people. In reality, we have no idea what their skin tone was, and they could have taught a huge variety of different skin tones. But it was appealing to European nobility to have people like them be the founders of all things great and “advanced”, so they invested huge amounts of time and money in creating this myth.

(Note: I said their nobility, not their population. People of colour existed en masse in Europe, but the nobility has been downplaying that for an exceptionally long time)

Greece took over most of the old world. It borrowed and stole from hundreds of cultures, brought it all back, and was assigned credit for it. White Europeans didn’t want to admit that the concept of 0 came from the Arabs, the pythagorean theorem came from Egypt, etc, and since Greece won, detailed records of how they were perceived and what they stole are long lost. It’s only glaring when they took from other global powers.

Question 3: Why would you pick totally different biomes to mix in here?

Turkey and the Mississippi are very, very different places when it comes to what can grow and what sort of housing is required, which makes them on the difficult side to merge together. They relied on different methods of trade, as well (boats vs roads), and generally just don’t line up.

The fact you pick such a specific European powerhouse—the Byzantine Empire—to mix into your “not European” fantasy world is… coming back to my above point about Greek (and Roman) worship in the West. Why can’t a fantasy world set in North America be enough on its own? Why does it need Europe copycats?

Question 4: Why are you missing a variety of nomads and Plains peoples?

Nomadic plains peoples were a thing across the globe, from the Cree to the Blackfoot to the Mongols. You have hyperfocused on settled peoples (with only one nomadic group named in both new and old world), which… comes across as very odd to me, because it is, again, very European sounding. That continent was about the only one without major populations that were nomadic, and if you look at European history, nomadic peoples were very highly demonized because of the aforementioned Mongols.

Cultural evolutionism also absolutely hated nomadic peoples, which is where we get the term “savage” (hunter-gatherers, nomads) and “barbarian” (horticulturalists and pastoralists, the latter nomadic); these were “lesser cultures” that needed to settle down and be brought to “civilization” (European agriculture), and nothing good could ever come out of them.

Meanwhile, in North America, nomadic peoples took up a very large portion of landmass, produced a huge amount of culture and cultural diffusion, and mostly ignoring them while trying to create a “fantasy North America” is, well, like I said: odd.

General Discussion Points

My suggestion for you is to write a fantasy Mediterranean region. Completely serious, here.

With the kinds of dynamics you are attracted to—the empires, the continental powers, the fact you keep trying to make Europe analogues in North America—you will do a much, much more respectful job by going into a really richly researched Mediterranean fantasy world than attempting to mix Europe and North America together in ways that show European traits (settled peoples, agriculture, a single empire dominating the whole culture and being viewed as superior) as the default.

I legitimately cannot see anything in here that feels like it comes from North America, or at the very least, treats non-sensationalized peoples (aka, those outside the Maya and Mississippian region) with respect.

It falls into Maya worship, which is a very sensationalized topic and is fuelled by racist fascination, assuming no Indigenous peoples could be that smart.

It falls into settled peoples worship, which is something that has cultural evolutionism roots because under such a model only settled peoples with agriculture are “civilized.”

It falls into placing Western concepts (public schools, large cities, the ilk) as the ideal, better solution, compared to methods better suited to horticulturalists, pastoralists, and hunter-gatherers and letting those teaching methods be respected.

There is no shame in writing inside Europe

The Mediterranean region contains Indigenous peoples, contains a huge diversity of skin tones, contains empires, contains democracy/a variety of governments, and in general contains every aspect of what you’re trying to create without playing god with a continent that did not evolve the way you’re trying to make it.

A Mediterranean fantasy world would still be a departure from “fantasy world 35″ as I like to call it, because it would be different from the vaguely Germanic/ French/ Norse fantasy worlds that are Tolkien ripoffs. You can dig beyond the whitewashed historical revisions and write something that actually reflects the region, and get all the fun conflicts you want.

You don’t need to go creating a European/North American blend to “be diverse.” You can perfectly respectfully write inside Europe and have as much variety in peoples as you can write in a non-European setting. Europe is not the antithesis to diversity.

North America developed a certain way for a reason. It had the required fauna, space, resources, and climate to produce what it created. The old world developed a certain way for its own reasons, based off its own factors in the same categories.

You’re not really going to get them to blend very easily, and if you did, the fact there is such a strong European way-of-life preference (by picking places that mirror European society on the surface) makes me raise an eyebrow. It’s subtle, but very much there, and the fact you are ignorant to it shows me you still need to do more work before you go writing North American Indigenous Peoples.

Writing in Europe isn’t the problem, here. Writing a whitewashed, mythologized, everyone-not-white-is-a-caricature, ahistorical “Europe” is the problem. And you cannot fix this problem by simply painting European ways of life a different skin tone when the setting isn’t European. In fact, you’re perpetuating harm by doing that, because you are recreating the cultural evolutionism that calls anything you can find in Europe “better.” Indigenous cultures were vastly different from Europe, even if they shared similar trappings.

Let North America exist without trying to shoehorn its most famous peoples into European analogues.

~ Mod Lesya

#General #Asks #submission #worldbuilding #fantasy #europe #greece #north america #Indigenous Peoples #native american #zacharandom

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antiquitiesandlabyrinths · 4 years

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Akhenaten

The name Akhenaten is rather well known as a Pharaoh of Egypt. Like Ramesses II, Hatshepsut, Cleopatra, and Tutankhamun, Akhenaten won the popularity contest of modern society through defining himself as far different from most other Pharaohs. With Akhenaten, however, he’s not even like the special Pharaohs.

Let’s look a little at his life and the history of the time period he ruled over. He was in the 18th Dynasty of the New Kingdom, from 1353-1336 BC. Like most Pharaohs there are a few different pronunciations of his name, including Akhenaton, Ikhnaton, Khuenaten, all meaning of great use to Aten, which leads into his conversion into the cult of Aten. Before the conversion his name was Amenhotep IV, son of Amenhotep III. His mother was named Tiye. Later on in life he married Queen Nefertiti, fathering two children, one from his wife Nefertiti and one from his lesser wife, Lady Kiya, having Ahnksenamun and Tutankhamun to each wife respectively.

Before we get into the whole mess of his religion and the ‘revamping’ he did of ancient Egypt, let’s recognize the other things he did for or to the country.

You’ll recognize the vastly different art style between Akhenaten’s rule and the history of most of Egypt. In art that depicts Akhenaten, he was shown as long and spindly, a style that carried into his family. Some people believe that this was because he and his family suffered from Marfan’s syndrome, a disease that caused the elongation of bones and skinniness. A more likely explanation stems from the Pharaoh’s religious beliefs, which as you know, was vastly different from other Pharaohs. This theory is a little more likely because there was no reason for the queen Nefertiti to have the same condition as her husband. Instead, it was probably because their status was far different from the other Pharaohs, as they were moved into a genuinely god-like status for their worship of Aten.

The part of Akhenaten and his rule that interests me the most is the way the royal family was presented in art, despite the style. Like many parts of Akhenaten, it’s entirely different from other Pharaohs (though, whether that’s good or bad is up to you).

Now, most Pharaohs presented themselves highly in art. They could do that, so why not? If I had the guts and the money I probably would too, but my point is that essentially all Pharaohs depicted themselves alone on stelas, engaging in hunting or other activities that strengthened the image of themselves that they wanted to show the world. Usually they were masculine tasks that could be done only by those with great strength and great riches. Akhenaten went in an entirely different direction; he depicted himself with his family. In the stele of Akhenaten, he is shown in a private way, the scene being him with his family, enjoying themselves together.

While we can’t say the definitive reason for him presenting himself as this, the most logical conclusion has to do with, again, his religious beliefs. In his mind, the Aten was held above all else, even the Pharaoh. With Aten as the highest consideration, the Pharaoh and his family enjoyed their lives under the influence of the Aten’s love and grace.

Now that we have a little insight, let’s get into the whole mess of his religion that died immediately after he did.

Akhenaten originally reigned as Amenhotep IV, a reign that lasted around five years before he switched religions. Changing his name, he converted to a cult that worshipped Amun to that of Aten, abolishing the ancient rites of those before him, and instituting what is believed as the first example of monotheism state religion in the world. His rule as Akhenaten lasted 12 years, during which he was labelled as the infamous ‘heretic king’, so that should give you some insight into how people felt about him.

Before his rule, the cult of aten was a cult like all others in Egypt. It was a bit like choosing your favorite God – find the one you like most, and join that cult. For example if I were to join a cult, I would join the cult of my favorite God, Ma’at. I mention this because before the change, the Aten was shown in inscriptions of Akhenaten (Amenhotep IV at that point), represented by the sun disk. It’s also important to note cult doesn’t carry the same meaning as it did then, and each cult shared the same goal: balance and eternal harmony.

At the time of Amenhotep IV’s rule the Amun cult (where the Aten is from) held incredible power. Their power had been growing for a long while, and by the time of his rule, they held nearly as much power and riches as the Pharaoh himself, and actually owned more land than Amenhotep IV. The fifth year of his reign he switched everything; this was when he abolished the practices of the previous religion of Egypt, and proclaimed himself the “living incarnation of a single all-powerful deity known as Aten,” (Joshua J Mark), and by the ninth year, he closed every single temple, prohibiting all the old practices and devotion to the many Gods the people of Egypt worshipped.

Around then was when he moved the royal seat of Egypt from the traditional house of Thebes to a city of his own creation, a city named Akhetaten, and with that he changed his name to Akhenaten. Here he earned the name the Heretic King, earning the ire of some historians and the admiration of others.

Despite the fact that Akhenaten’s influence completely destroyed worship of the Gods many Egyptians loved, one of the main problems with his rule was that the Old Gods of Egypt instilled harmony and order in the citizens, ultimately helping to create a country that lasted over 4,000 years. Without these Gods, things got a little wonky.

Religious tolerance was allowed with the many Gods, emphasizing peace to the point where religious intolerance wasn’t even an issue. Unfortunately, for monotheism to work, there has to be something inherently wrong with the other side, which made Akhenaten’s work a lot harder, and its’ effects much stronger. It led to the intolerance of other beliefs and some severe suppression, and if you look at the monotheistic religions of today, you can see the same sort of pattern. With intolerance comes hatred and war.

“Dating to this point in Akhenaten’s reign was a campaign to excise the name of gods other than the Aten, especially Amun, from the monuments of Egypt. This was done with violence: hieroglyphs were brutally hacked from the walls of temples and tombs. This was probably carried out, at least in part, by illiterate iconoclasts, presumably following the orders of their king. [Akhenaten] carried out a religious revolution the like of which had never been seen before in Egypt.” (Zahi Hawass, 42-43).

There were priests of Atum who attempted to hide religious artifacts, storing statuary and texts away from the soldiers ordered to destroy them. The priests, with nothing left to do, were forced to abandon their temples. In response Akhenaten either hired new priests or forced the other ones to obey him, proclaiming him and his wife once more as Gods on earth.

Now you can see how Akhenaten kind of sucks. Let’s talk about how he sucks even more.

His foreign policy.

With his ego inflated to the size of the sun, Akhenaten thought himself above interactions with foreign powers. He left his duties to spend more time on himself and his family, ultimately leading to a severe neglect.

You might be asking, “didn’t every Pharaoh have a super-inflated ego?” and yes, you’d be right, but no Pharaoh before Akhenaten had genuinely claimed themselves to be a God. As a self-proclaimed incarnated God, he must’ve thought such affairs beneath him.

Discovered through letters of the time, several (former) allies of Egypt had asked for their help several times with various affairs. At the time Egypt was wealthy, prosperous, and strong, a state that had been slowly growing before halting at Queen Hatshepsut’s reign. Hatshepsut and her successors employed a strategy of actually doing work, by working out when to approach with diplomacy, and when military action was required. Akhenaten on the other hand, ignored everything outside of his palace at Akhetaten.

The uncertainty of Akhenaten’s rule, along with letters of correspondence between the city of Amarna, the Pharaoh, and foreign nations, led to this era being called the Amarna period. These very letters were proof of the Pharaoh’s negligence. However, the letters also show his keen eye in foreign diplomacy, if the situation interested him so. It was a whole thing with the Hittites, but since this is chiefly about Akhenaten, I’ll leave that topic for later. All you really need to know is that he only tended to issues that affected him directly, and through the Amarna letters, historians can see how poor of a King he was, as well as how deeply many of his subjects disliked or despised him.

Essentially, the main reason this mess didn’t work out was because it brought about something new: exclusivity. And the Egyptians did not like that, believing that the world needed to have a balance in order to stay away from slipping into chaos. In the end monotheism didn’t last; hell, it was ended basically the second Akhenaten’s son took the throne. Tutankhamun, originally named Tutankhaten, changed his name to reflect the return to polytheism. His successors tore down the reminders of Akhenaten’s reign, removing him and his adoration for the Aten, eradicating his name from the record.

There’s no saying he didn’t affect the world – he did, a lot. Whether that affect was good or bad is up to the interpreter (personally I don’t like it all that much). By Freud’s thinking (hear me out, I know he sucks) Akhenaten’s rule inspired the ancient world, leading others to copy his ideas and theology, eventually snowballing into our modern world, where there are essentially no polytheistic religions. You have to give him credit – he was the first person of the ancient world to dream up monotheism, changing what had defined humanity for so long.

With his name stricken from the books, historians only discovered him upon finding his city Akhetaten. In the records, Horemheb is labelled as Amenhotep III’s successor, skipping over both Akhenaten and Tutankhamun’s rule. Later when Tutankhamun’s tomb was found as one of the very few graves still filled with treasure, interest spiked in Tutankhamun’s life, eventually leading back to his father Akhenaten.

#ahkenaten #ancient egypt #ancient history #egyptian history #amarna period #cult of aten

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purplerose244 · 3 years

Text

Belonging

Here again for the @toa-secret-santa of this year! So happy to participate again, I love these events! 😍😍 Hello @spellcasterdouxie, I’m your secret santa! Merry Christmas and festivities, hope you like my present! ❤

Summary: In which being stuck in New York to protect a magical being and save the world in the process is no excuse for not celebrating Christmas with your friends.

Also on AO3

So… Nari was a terrible liar.

Extremely powerful being, the purest pretty soul, but horrible at lying.

Douxie didn’t have the slightest idea of what she was plotting, granted that she used to be part of an evil congregation of wizards that wanted to take over using an ancient artifact – meh, like that was the weirdest coming from his friends –, but he was fairly sure that her claim regarding the leaking sink of the bathroom was some sort of decoy.

Did that convince him to ignore those big adorable puppy eyes?

“It looks good to me, but I’m gonna give it a double check just in case!”

“Thank you Douxie, much appreciated! Please make sure everything is working, do not overlook a single thing!” Absolutely not. He was a master wizard, not a beast.

Their little apartment was neither pretty nor particularly clean. Which considering the little money he accumulated over the years with all of his jobs back in Arcadia and given the fact that they were in New York City, was kind of a given. But it had a perfectly functional bathroom, basically a gift from above, or some kind of karma retribution from putting up with three different apocalypses in the same summer – and he had all suspicions that another one was coming, but possibly another season. That being said, he wasn’t sure why with her plant like appearance, Nari with all people was so interested into their sink. Besides maybe for spraying a bit of water over her head – one very curious and endearing scene really, like a pot plant watering itself.

Then again, he wasn’t completely sure why he was going along with it instead of asking directly what was this all about. Maybe he liked to study whatever thought somehow as peculiar as her could come up with. Maybe there was nothing else of particular interest to do while waiting for his mac and cheese to be ready… maybe that little nightmare of his from last night got him a little too down, and doing anything but think about it was a better solution than most. And it was a pretty annoying maybe, because dreams about his master were as common as breathing lately.

He thought he was over it. It was probably too soon… hopefully he was at least getting closer to the not too soon part of it.

One long silence followed, from which he was fairly sure he had heard a few whispers a little lower than Nari’s light tone. Great, what now? Was she actually plotting something?

“Is everything okay over there? Arch? Nari?”

“Fine, everything is fine! Keep checking please!”

“Are you serious?” Okay now it was ridiculous. “Nope, I’m getting over there, and you two better not be up to no good!” They were a surprisingly compatible pair, especially since his familiar had made it his mission to teach her the marvel of pranks – she wasn’t even malicious about it, that made it all even more devious somehow. Douxie left the wrench on the ground, getting out of the bathroom and towards the living room. “You all keep forgetting that I’m the master wizards here, so technically I’m in charge, so if you’re scheming something- Whoa, Mordrax’s miracles!”

The last thing he had expected, after leaving their lonely living room that was made of four faded walls with a random kitchen connected to it, was to get back to it completely transformed into a messy, happy Christmas themed little chamber.

Filled with very familiar faces.

“Merry Christmas, Teach!” Claire almost knocked him off his feet with that hug. She looked radiant, all wrapped up in one big purple sweater with ‘Feeling Wicked Sassy’ written on it – appropriate. Behind her Steve, Toby and Archie were all smiling.

“Sorry, you would not leave the house,” Nari looked all cozy and a little guilty in that big mint green sweater – with ‘Every Day is Green Day’ written on it, where did she get that? –, waving at him. “And it felt like claiming we were being attacked by Skrael and Bellroc was a bit excessive.” Thank goodness his roommate and protegee had some common sense – considering his latest adventure, more than him for sure.

Claire giggled, shrugging innocently.

“We honestly hoped you were that bad of a plumber and would give us more time…”

Douxie snickered, because this was ridiculously endearing and he loved it all already.

“Too bad I’m not completely hopeless.”

“Could’ve fooled me!” Steve, it was Steve, not even worth turning around to recognize him. But a random fist bump, that much he could concede – especially with that massive blue sweater ‘Silent Knight, Holey Knight’ he had on, like really what was even that. “Ready to have the best time of your life?”

The master wizard arched an eyebrow.

“Said from you? Should we call the firefighter in advance? Or the police?” The blonde pouted very dramatically, Claire snickered. He had really missed these two. “Wow, this place looks amazing! The landlord can’t see this or she will force me to pay more for the rent.” His wallet was already gasping enough for breath and money. “All this stuff, all the decorations… is this beef?” Ah, that was why it all felt like such a sudden change, this paradisiac scent had definitely not been here before. “It smells delicious!”

“Thank you!” Second shock of the day, but Douxie could hardly blame himself considering the most time he had spent around Jim had been during his huge troll moments – he kinda looked like a twig now in comparison. “I’m pretty well known for my festive feasts.”

“Also known as festeasts!” Toby showed one enthusiastic victory sign, pulling off his orange ‘Rockin’ This Christmas’ with plenty of little gems and stones all around – the forever geologist.

Jim rolled his eyes with a grin.

“Tobes we’re not calling them that.” The Warhammer holder frowned, only to beam when he got handed a spoon for a taste. “I made most of this from home so it’s all ready and warm, but I wanted to make something on the place while I was at it. Freshly made food tastes way better on Christmas.” Toby hummed around the spoon, smacking his lips, then he rubbed his fingers together towards the chef, who caught it as to add more salt.

Douxie couldn’t help but scoot closer, peaking inside. That looked like food. That looked like real, delicious, extremely well-made food.

“What in the world, how did you make that?” Jim snorted.

“You moved on without much of a comment from me turning into a half-troll, a full troll and then back to a human, and this surprises you?”

“My friend, there were Thai leftovers, one instant ramen, an onion and an egg left in the fridge so yes, this surprises me!” All speculations died when he was offered a taste too. “… so it turns out I know nothing of magic. I must bow to the real master wizard here.” If happiness had a flavor it had to be this one. The former trollhunter snickered, giving him a little elbow before going back over his creations. And if the most classic ‘kiss the chef’ apron on him wasn’t already extremely fitting, the cyan sweater underneath reciting ‘I’m In The…’ on the back barely left to the imagination what list was written on the front.

A very well-deserved sign, really.

“Buttsnack’s managed to make these too, take a look!” Steve waved at the little counter that was the only thing remotely looking like a table in this place. And smelling just as heavenly as everything else, there they were, mince pies, just like the ones from Camelot. “But I don’t know if they’re as good because someone slaps my hand every time I- OUCH!! I didn’t even try this time!”

Archie’s tail could be surprisingly useful as a whip, in fact.

“You were thinking about it! So don’t, these are for later.” And wow, if his most loyal companion wasn’t absolutely adorable wearing that little red sweater – ‘Santa Paws’, he was going to complain about it all day long. Douxie wished he hadn’t left his phone in the bathroom. “We’re still waiting for the tree, the last decorations and the music. But we’re almost ready.” So apparently his familiar had been behind all of this. That actually made perfect sense.

Of course this little wizard associate had known this was going to do him good. It was the kind of bond that came with being around each other for over 900 years.

Archie smiled at him, and Douxie couldn’t not grin in return.

“Can’t wait for them! Even thought I did have some when we had that travel… well technically ages ago, we were actually in Camelot, but it wasn’t- Ah forget it, time loops are too confusing.” There was a consensual groan including all of them but Toby and Nari, who just looked at each other and shrugged. “Well, this is awesome, how did you even get everything here so fast?” On second thought, that was more than just bizarre. His eyes crossed Claire’s right away. “You get so tired with transportations through the Shadow Realm usually, and you got to bring along all of these people and decorations?” The thing was, this wasn’t supposed to be possible. Another thing was, Lady Claire of house Nunez was so insanely talented it would had not surprised him.

The girl waved her hand in denial.

“I wish I was at that level, but no. Still, we did travel back and forth pretty quickly.”

“Without magic? How?”

“I should take offense from that highly questioning tone.” Third shock, his poor heart – he came back from the grave once, and he really didn’t recommend it. He was fairly sure the apartment he had rented didn’t include interdimensional portals opening in the middle of the living room. “And from the fact that you humans keep forgetting I invented a perfectly functioning wormhole generator. But please, continue with your predicaments, ignore the scientific feat I’ve accomplished!” For an alien that barely understood human sarcasm, Krel Tarron was made a whole half of it.

As he walked in from the portal, holding one edge of a box filled with Christmas balls, on the other side Zoe stepped in carrying along the rest. And between a black ‘I’m Back, Witches’ sweater and a gray ‘DJ Kleb’ one with four sleeves, it was one curious and fantastic view.

“Yeah yeah, you bent the rules of physics, congratulations!” Zoe’s tense tone implied that she must had heard that complain already. “Stop talking and get working, I’m going the extra mile here!”

“This doesn’t sound like a good time to have a walk.”

“For the love of…!” The pink haired girl let out a muffled scream, let go of her edge of the box – lucky for Krel to have four arms to catch it – and jumped over the master wizard to grab his shoulders. “I hate you so much, you left me alone dealing with all of these new knuckleheads! Like the local dummies weren’t enough!” The collective offended ‘Hey!’ coming from both the Akiridion and the village’s idiot – a marvel that Steve actually responded, fully aware of his status as knucklehead – was somehow even more endearing than funny.

Meanwhile Zoe was still wrinkling his favorite jacket, frowning aggressively at him like the fact that he was out there saving the world was unforgivable – you could say anything about this pink head, but not that she didn’t have priorities.

Douxie snickered, easing the hold onto him.

“Sorry for trying to give my friends a place to live in this crazy wild world, then!”

“… apologies accepted.” Zoe narrowed her eyes. “But only if we finally hunt for niffins and get those forsaken burgers after you did the deed. I’m calling dibs on you.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Besides, you owe me. I didn’t snitch and told that Hex Tech got annihilated and we’re in need of new personnel because someone needed to hide from the big bad villains.” Those blue gems were screaming not to mess this offer up, because it was certainly not going to come back.

Even with a pressure like that, in some way inside of him, Douxie felt freed of a little weight. Despite the distance and everything that had happened, some things stayed the same. So he quite happily held up his fist, smirking at the girl.

“Alright, as soon as this is over with. Deal.” Zoe glared at him a few more seconds. Then she nodded, and finally bumped their knuckles together.

With a thud Krel finally put the box down, sighing soundly.

“Thanks Seklos this is done. I believe we are only missing the dead tree that will be then covered in artificial garnishments as a form of apparent belittlement of nature.” He stayed still for a few seconds, mindlessly throwing a little sphere on the ground that divided in four pieces, generating a portal. “… I feel like I’m getting so accustomed with humans’ savageness that I’m even quite looking forwards to it. Especially for that useless invention called ‘tree’.” He snickered, getting inside the wormhole that disappeared as soon as he was in.

Luckily the impossible dimensional gateway appeared of not leaving any trace behind. And luckily the creature – or elf, demigod, Nari was still a bit of a mystery – most connected to the nature that had just been denigrated was way more interested in whatever chef wiz Jim Lake Jr. was preparing.

“You knubhead, I just told you not to!” Archie’s spiteful voice came along, as apparently Steve had managed to take advantage of the situation – a scientific miracle happening in front of them, fair enough – to finally get himself a mince piece. Only to get slapped to the ground. “That’s it, until these cool down you’re getting nowhere near! Douxie, out with me, we need to guard the treasure!” That was some attachment for one tray of soft and delicious little pastries.

Douxie shrugged and complied, picking up the meal under the jock’s renovated pout and heading to the balcony. The chilling air got to his nose right away, but he endured, appreciating just the tiniest breath. There was barely space for once person there.

Well, one person and his familiar. He placed the tray on the railing, making sure it didn’t fall.

“How did Jim even get the recipe?” Archie grinned.

“Well, apparently his troll friends did remember a certain meal very appreciated by humans from back then, but they have their own idea on how to make it. I don’t know the details, but I certainly know it involves socks. Plenty of socks.”

“… you want to see Steve’s reaction to them later.”

“I want to see Steve’s reaction to them later with all the others. Christmas is supposed to be a family festivity, right?” His grin disappeared right after. “So… it didn’t sound like you were sleeping too well last night.” Yep. He knew. Of course he knew. He would had even if he didn’t have to habit of sneaking into his bed to get warm. “Something you’d like to talk about?”

Douxie breathed out, gently buffing his fluffy ear.

“I’m fine Arch, not need to get all sensible on me. It was one of the usuals.” He tried a weak smile, not really feeling like keeping everything in. Not with so many people inside, on this particular day. “… you know, thinking it now, somehow it was easier celebrating Christmas on the streets back in Camelot. Getting something good to eat, have fun, that was enough. Considering how tense was everyone in the Pendragon castle it’s not much of a surprise, but still… I wonder if Merlin ever had a proper Christmas in there.” He sighed. “He certainly didn’t while I was around.” The noisy streets of Camelot overlapped NYC’s busy ones. He swallowed a lump into his throat.

That legendary town was such a faraway place right now, coming back from a single memory was a slap from reality. Douxie shivered, taking in a freezing breath, gasping when Archie jumped over his shoulder and curled all around his neck. His fur was nice and warm.

“We have no way of knowing. But one thing’s for sure, that old man got a surprising, unexpected present in any case.” Archie smiled, eyeing him softly. “One very sneaky, very foolish, very brave apprentice.” They had been there, the both of them. And in any possible way, in the good, the bad, and the best, he had found a life to call that way. The one Merlin had asked him about.

The master wizard smiled, snuggling his cheek against his loyal friend.

It didn’t take long, the winter air acted like a freezer over the little pies. But as they went back in, the place had already changed – and that was besides AAARRRGGHH!!, with one gigantic hat on his head, holding up the tree while Blinky, wearing a scarf, was reading a manual on how to decorate it, where did he even get that? –: there was a table, appeared again out of nowhere, with all the most delicious looking dishes placed all over between branches of holly and little bells. Jim and Nari were putting down the last dishes, Steve was clumsily getting the statue of a reindeer to balance over the tv, Toby was checking the lights to make sure they were functioning.

And Claire was suddenly in front of him, beaming, clearly hiding something from behind her back. It immediately grabbed everybody’s attention, like it was some sort of event.

Was it?

“We’ve organized the present exchange for after lunch, but this one you need to put it on now. So, her it is!” She uncovered the secret and- Oh. It was a sweater. It was a sweater. For him. “There you go, you’re officially part of the wool club, a Christmas-limited association only.”

“Founder of the association Nancy Domzalski, mostly because it was Nana who made them all!” Toby caressed the front of his sweater, smiling softly. “She’s that kind of grandma that thinks that everything that’s made with love can bring warmth, and I’m kind of a believer too.” He shrugged, crossing his fingers behind the back of his head. “I know this isn’t your cool punk rock wizardy style, but Nana had her midlife crisis in her own time and I’m not exactly looking forward to one before my very own eyes!” That was probably not a sight a grandchild wanted of their grandma, that was understandable.

It was. It was, right? It was getting a little hard to focus on something, anything that wasn’t a soft bundle of black and navy blue stripes, welcoming and warm, with ‘Fuzzbuckets’ written on it. It was getting weird. A little unsettling even, because he just got out in the cold but his bones weren’t freezing anymore and he felt all fuzzy inside and now his eyes were warm and-

“… oh, curse me, not the waterfalls…!” Centuries spent transitioning from hopeless bard to punk rock guitarist, only to tear up at a random surprise Christmas party.

From there, he didn’t understand much. Only Claire’s probable ‘Aww Douxie!’, Toby’s sudden ‘There’s no Christmas without the sad moment’, Steve’s surprising ‘I know what to do, come on everybody, let’s all hug it out!’. And all of the sudden he was enveloped with so many arms, so many different people he had gotten to know and had managed to befriend and appreciate. That were part of his world, his life, and what was coming for the future.

So when he managed to open his eyes, there was so much to uncover, between a pink head, a scarred eyebrow, a lock of leaves and a paw still so close to his cheek. And it hit him that perhaps there was a reason why Camelot had always felt so far away lately.

That age was over. But this, it felt like it had only begun. Douxie smiled, closing his eyes again.

Embracing how good it felt to belong again.

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allycryz · 3 years

Text

Incandesce

Explicit Fic

Thancred x Nerys (WoL) x Emet-Selch / Thancred x Nerys / Emet-Selch x Nerys / Some Thancred x Emet-Selch

When Nerys made the mistake of telling Emet-Selch to surprise her, this is not what she had in mind.

Even more astonishing: that Thancred is interested.

(A lot of other ships mentioned/discussed, primarily Nerys x Haurchefant and Nerys x Estinien x Aymeric)

Shadowbringers Spoilers

[From This Prompt List]

Prompts Used: Hot Springs in Winter / Restraints / Double Penetration Other Tags: Minor Breathplay in the water, Shaping Aether into Extra Hands, Brief Food Mention

Meta Notes:

This is currently not-canon in the general, overarching sense, but everything that happens prior to Nerys entering the hot springs is canon.

Prelude

Beneath the thickest canopy of trees, Nerys can ignore the great and terrible light above. Pretend she is in the Shroud again. There are Duskwight waiting among the Night’s Blessed for her to return with supplies and reports. Never mind that it’s a name they don’t recognize. The elves of the First separate themselves by region and family, not clan.

Many of Night’s Blessed look like the faces she grew up with. It has...been a long time since she was with such a group. Visiting her parents and Uncle Vaquelin had been lovely, but brief. And that was so long ago now. Before Doma, before Gyr Abania, before Minfilia came here with Ardbert and his companions.

The memory of that long-ago visit conjures Haurchefant, who she had brought with her. Her family loved him–how could they not? It makes her miss him all the more. Their too-brief, too-scarce meetings since her arrival are not enough.

She leaves the nostalgia and safety of the trees behind along with her brooding. People are expecting her. A truth no matter what world she lives on, whether they call her Warrior of Darkness or Light. Nerys is thankful this place doesn’t also remind her of Ishgard. Then the homesickness might turn her brooding into outright tears.

Now. Collecting reeds for the girl’s basket. They should be due south from here.

“Far be it from me to meddle…” Emet-Selch materializes beside her, as if picking up a prior conversation. “But my curiosity outweighs my desire to see where ‘the chips do fall’.”

Nerys turns her gaze toward him without breaking her stride. Last time he did this, she was picking berries and near fell over into the dirt. “Saying ‘far be it from me to meddle’ does not cancel out any subsequent meddling, you know.”

One corner of his mouth tilts up. “I expected my company to be polite enough not to mention it. More fool me.”

“What do I know about manners?” She cannot help herself. Maybe it is the pleased, attractive smirk whenever she says something diverting. Maybe she is tired of all the misfortune around them and needs levity. “I am but a simple warrior, a weapon of brute strength raised in the woods.”

“Self-deprecation does you no favors, my dear. Even when it is clear you know it’s all rubbish.” He waves a hand. “You are among the politest of my enemies.”

“Thank you?”

“Mm. I can be generous.” He lifts his shoulders in a shrug. “Now, about my query. Tell me...which suitor do you think will win out?”

That almost makes her stumble. And she can tell from his expression, he is reliving when she almost fell upon her basket of berries. A rare mishap from her that he will never, ever let her forget. “I...beg your pardon?”

“No need to beg for it, this one is free,” says Emet. His tone is insinuating as ever on that point. “You clearly carry torches for both Masters Waters and Matoya. I get the impression he was your lover at one time? The outline I have of your activities before the Exarch summoned you does not include the gritty details. As for her, only the Hrothgar moons after her more than you do.”

Nerys opens her mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. “You truly have been watching, haven’t you?”

“Oh not everything. Mortals are not so difficult to read, once you have practice. And your eyes…” He catches her chin, directing his gaze into hers. “They are terribly expressive, once you know what to look for.”

Emet-Selch wants a reaction. She puts her hands on her hips, lifting an eyebrow. Waiting for him to continue. As if his thumb isn’t stroking over her jaw, gentle as a lover. The touch as stirring as when he graces her with a particularly enticing smile.

“Now...” He does not need her permission to continue so she doesn’t give it. Clearly, this is a soliloquy he wants to perform. “I am not sure you know how many carry a torch for you, and I shan’t spoil it by telling you. But it does make things interesting. Not to mention, this Lord Haurchefant your group often mentions. Shall you abandon your noble suitor for a rogue posing as a knight? Or for a scholar of great and terrible power? Will one of the yet undeclared reveal themselves and win the hero’s heart?”

That heart thuds painfully against her chest. The way he shapes his syllables charges each provoking word. And the directness of those wine-gold eyes, a shade paler than her own but no less piercing for it.

He has gotten so much of it wrong. That does not negate how easily he has gotten so much of it right.

Nerys curls her fingers around his wrist and tugs his hand down. Emet-Selch does not resist, though when their hands are navel-level he twists just so, clasping her wrist in return, They remain locked thus, neither one letting go.

“Surely one as ancient as you, as easily bored as you,” she says. “Must know there are other options.”

“I don’t think a vow of chastity would suit you. Your eyes run too hot upon your comrades-”

“Lord Haurchefant,” she continues. “He is my lover and my beloved. Were I the marrying kind, his ring would be on my finger. That would not stop either of us from sharing physical and emotional intimacy with others.”

Emet-Selch says not a word, betrays no emotion. He does not veer into patronizing congratulations or arrogant dismissal. That same thumb begins to stroke again, over her gauntlet.

“There are others in the Source with such arrangements. I’m delighted to know it’s fairly common in the First.” Nerys cannot resist her smirk. Is this how he feels when he lectures her? “For some, it is about a variety of sexual partners. Sometimes it’s like that for us. More often...we are the kind to fall madly for someone or someones, in addition to wanting the physical parts. So whatever may happen...it is not a matter of winning.”

“Well,” he says, looking at her as if for the first time. Considering.

“Well,” he says again, with a slow smile. “You are full of surprises, my dear. I thank you for not being as boring as I expected.”

“Accuse me of many things, but never that.” Nerys takes a step back, breaking the link of their hands. “But I don’t think my expansive heart is my most unique quality.”

“On that, at least, we agree.” His enigmatic smile inflames just the right amount of curiosity in her. She resists best as she can. “Well, that puts to rest one of my little games. No reason to stay and help you...what is it again? Collecting reeds so a girl may make a basket?”

“Yes, that,” she says. “Would you like to join?”

“Oh, I am not so starved for stimulation to partake.” Purple and black aether swirls around his ankles. “Whistle for me, when you’re doing something actually worthy of a hero.”

“No need,” she says. “Somehow, I think you’ll know.”

He smirks as he disappears.

Weeks Later

"Alone at last."

In one motion: she slams the book shut, jumps up, has the knife pointed and ready. The sharp edge gleams in the lamplight, as bright as his gaze as he sighs at her.

"Really," says Emet-Selch. "I thought we were past this stage."

They were. They are. It doesn’t change that Eulmore is an ever looming spectre at their heels. That this pressure on her chest and shoulders is building. For their last few talks, Ardbert has made sure to catch her attention well before speaking.

She keeps thinking Ran’jit is about to appear and cut her down.

Nerys exhales a breath, blade staying poised for the moment. “Do you always startle trained warriors?"

“Only you, hero.” He touches the pad of his gloved finger against the dagger point. “This is not so beautiful a weapon as your lance."

"A lance is a little more difficult to keep close at all times." It is, in fact, leaning against the wall of her room. Just behind him. By the way his eyes flicker to the side and then to her, he knows it.

They are well past when she might run for it, and brandish it at him. The gaze feels so much like a challenge though, she contemplates it. He wouldn’t expect her to start a physical fight after weeks of banter.

Nerys withdraws the blade.

“It is a well-made little knife. A gift? I don't recall seeing it on you before."

"I always keep a dagger on me, one never knows when an ambush is coming." She slides it back in the sheath, touch lingering on the deep-plum leather of the hilt. "...But yes, this is new."

"I thought so. From Thancred no doubt, as he has been lavishing attention on you as of late." He steps away, spreading his arms. "He was the paramour I expected to win. At least until you explained that you don't limit yourself to just one."

His words conjure visceral memories without much effort. Her tender, still-aching reconciliation with Thancred at the start of this week. What they could have had in Ala Mhigo had the Exarch not spirited him away the day they meant to talk.

But also, the day in the Rak’tika Greatwood with Emet-Selch. His teasing about the choice she would “have” to make. Her defiant lecture. His fingers on her chin and on her wrist.

"Over Y'shtola, you mean?" She leans her back against the desk, arms crossed. "Or the other admirers you claim I have? Which are who, exactly?"

"Ah, ah, ah," he says with a wag of a finger. His pale gold eyes and wicked mouth brim with laughter. "You will have to try much harder than that to get my secrets."

“Does that mean you won’t explain what ‘alone at last’ means?”

"That one should be obvious, my dear." He remains apart from her but his gaze feel like a touch. Like a stroke of hand over her arm or cheek.

Attraction is like that. And she is adult enough to admit he is attractive–painfully so–without it needing to be a problem. It doesn’t change who they are or that one day, she may need to face him on the battlefield.

(Nerys had been able to face Estinien and Thancred both after all. Though unlike them, this man’s mind is his own. She is certain Zodiark’s pull is not the same as Lahabrea’s or Nidhogg’s.)

"I have been busy of late,” she says. “But surely there are others you might visit."

"None of your Scions will play with me the way you will," he pouts. "Even your scholarly Elezen friend will only suffer me so long."

Nerys laughs. "Who says I am willing to play with you? Or that is what we do?"

Emet-Selch’s expression reminds her of Aymeric’s cat, affronted over Nerys taking his spot upon the chaise lounge that one time. Unlike Sainte, he does not stomp away with a disgruntled noise. “I have never lied to you. Do me the favor of not lying to me.”

"Never?" She asks without real conviction. Nerys is certain he has not lied to her or anyone in their group. Omitted, yes. Likely a great deal.

“Never.” Emet-Selch crosses the space, moving close to her. The fur of his jacket brushes against the front of her gray linen gown. He leans in, leans in, his breath tickles her face and she tries not to give him the reaction he seeks.

He gets so close his lips graze her cheek and she breaks, breath hitching. And then he leans past her, reaching behind to take up the book she closed. "Collected Folk Tales of Lakeland. I admit, I expected something related to your quest."

His face is hidden but she feels his smirk as keenly as she feels the heat of his body against her. "I needed a little break and stories always cheer me. I wish the ones I heard as a child were collected somewhere."

"Ah, but they lose magic that way, don't they?" He breathes into her ear. "Some in the telling, but far more when we commit them to the page."

Don't shiver. Don't react. "Why not have the stories both ways?"

His chuckle is low. "Why not indeed. You do not like to make choices, do you?"

"It isn't that." Her arms remain folded against her chest. Still, if someone were to come in they would think something else was happening. And that would not be a full lie.

On impulse, her eyes flicker about to make sure Ardbert isn't there.

"Too many people reduce life to hard, either-or decisions," she says. "And I have found there is almost always a third or fourth or fifth way."

"An optimist. How very…" Emet-Selch pulls back to look at her. Sighs. "Very boring. I expected better, given all the pathos I have seen in your eyes."

"I'm sorry to disappoint." She turns towards the book, straightening her disrupted papers.

His hands come down on either side of her, balancing against the gentle curve of the desk edge. She is caged, with his breath upon her nape and his body a wall of flame grazing her back. Nerys has managed this session to not rise to his bait, but her resolve is weakening and this does not help.

Attraction does not have to mean anything. You have the will, to have it be a simple fact; not a catalyst or excuse.

"Come now,” he murmurs. His nose tickles the back of her neck. The skin there is extra sensitive; hair freshly trimmed to the new, shorter length. “You have a better retort than that."

"You think so? Maybe you're the optimist."

His laugh is a puff of air upon her. "Better, but still sloppy. I expect more from my playmate."

She wants to argue that point but he has already exposed her defense for the lie it is. Call it play or teasing, Nerys does enjoy these times. When she might pretend he is just a handsome man come only for banter; not...whatever they are to each other or will be.

She enjoys him.

Her eyes flicker to the window. Fading sunlight catches the light fall of snow, the first in a long time for Lakeland. It pulls at her heart for another reason: terrible homesickness for Ishgard. And the position of the sun now means-

"I have to cut this ‘play session’ short. I'm expected elsewhere." Nerys turns in the cage of his arms and gives him a gentle push. "And you're not allowed to be in my room when I am gone."

"Spoilsport. Whatever do you expect me to do? Languish in waiting?"

Her way cleared, Nerys moves past him to the bag she packed earlier. Just a small thing with the necessities for this jaunt...and if she doesn’t sleep in her room tonight. "I know you'll think of something. Surprise me."

As soon as she says it, she regrets it. Too late, his smirk is wide, his face lit with enthusiasm. “I can do that.”

He disappears in a swirl of aether. Nerys wonders if she made a fatal error.

---------

Amaros fly them to the Ostall Imperative. From there, she and Thancred walk the forest path. The creatures of the lilac-and-bone-colored forest keep their distance tonight, many hiding from the strange weather. They still need to be alert though, lest they or brigands cross the path.

Even still, she keeps having to look at him. Assure herself he is there, with her. Truly with her. Their hands brush together once, twice, three times before he at last laces their fingers together. Smiles up at her with a look that stills her breath no matter how many times it happens.

She has loved him...a long time. Grieved him in different ways for different reasons for a long time. And now here he is, having asked for another chance and she hopes this week is not a long, wishful dream.

“It’s never snowed while you’ve been here?” Nerys asks, using her free hand to dust the flakes off her shoulders. Five long years here, under the horrible light. She cannot imagine. No wonder he felt like a stranger when first they found each other in Laxan Loft.

"Not that I've seen. You've brought balance back to the place."

"We have, not just I." She squeezes his hand.

Thancred chuckles. "You should take the credit."

"So should you. And-"

He cups her cheek, tugging her down into a kiss. Deep and soft and intoxicating. All week he has caressed her like this, each time overwhelming her with the gentle sensuality of it. She can almost forgive him doing it just to win an argument. Almost, until she pulls back and sees the old familiar gleam, the old familiar smirk.

"You can't...do that every time." Nerys says, a little breathless. Hands still gripping the supple material of his coat like a lifeline.

"I would never. Only some of the time." His smirk grows. Twelve, but she missed that expression on his face. Not that she loves this new, more serious Thancred any less. Every part of him, every facet, she adores. "Though, I think I need to do it once more."

Never mind whoever waits for them. Now that she can touch him like this again, feel him like this again, she never wants to stop. And from the way his hands grip her, run over her sides and hips, he doesn't either. She presses herself close to him, lips tracing the line of his jaw to the shell of his ear.

Thancred pulls himself back, eyes hot. "If we don't start walking again, I'm going to drag you into the bushes."

She doesn't move. "That isn't incentive to walk."

"I should have known better." He holds out a hand and she takes it, surprised when he starts down the path again. “Come along.”

He must want this date to happen as planned. Thinking about it...they have not had many formal engagements like this. They were either comrades or they were lovers. Maybe there would be a trip to the market or a shared drink in Revenant’s Toll between battles and bed.

Nerys wonders if he might be inspired to poetry, like he had once with his other paramours. Not all of his couplets were groanworthy.

Bosta-Bea awaits them at Clearmelt, her smile wide and welcoming. The sign near her declares that the springs closed at sundown. That alone means Thancred put down a lot of coin for this. Bosta-Bea’s excellent humor doubly verifies it.

“I’ll be just inside if anyone tries to bother you,” she says after greetings and pleasantries are exchanged. “I doubt anyone will but just in case…”

“My thanks,” says Thancred. He hasn’t let go of her hand yet and he squeezes it while he speaks. “The changing rooms are just through there?”

“Yes, with towels to use in the bath.” Bosta-Bea ushers them through to the first room. It’s filled with large stalls that each contain shower, changing room, and locker. Everything hums with magic, likely a number of convenience charms throughout to dry hair and keep belongings safe.

In her own stall, Nerys strips away her leathers. The cool air of the new winter prickles over her skin until she can get under the hot water, rinsing the day off. She is still not used to washing shorter hair. Her hands reach for phantom length to lather with shampoo.

Nerys misses her curls. The haircut was necessary. For catharsis: chopping away locks that held memories of the past moons. For symbolism: starting again, refusing to let grief weigh her down.

And she did it in the city she calls home. Jandelaine paid a house call to the Fortemps Manor. Lord Edmont tried not to hover. Artoirel did hover, repeating questions and bringing her cups of tea and plates of orange-cardamom shortbread.

The hole in her heart began to scab over, the patch knit in tandem with her brother and second father; her friend wielding his scissors; and all Aymeric and Estinien did for her and with her the days and nights following her rescue from the Ascian in Zenos’ body.

Nerys is glad she did it.

Even still, she misses the length and the curl. Hasn’t acclimated to the change yet. Everyone has been complimentary. Thancred spent last night and the night before murmuring about her beauty as he took her apart. And Emet-Selch-

She yanks on the knob, turning off the shower and the intrusive thoughts with them.

The charms she expected are present, drawing the moisture from her skin and hair. Most don’t submerge themselves fully in these springs, never mind the new addition of cold wind and snow. Nerys wraps the soft towel around her body, slips her feet into the provided sandals. She takes her pack and lance with her. No offense to the lockers, but trouble never picks a convenient time to find her.

The first thing she sees is his gunblade propped up against one of the walls, just out of range of water but close enough to run for. She laughs and walks over, doing the same with her lance before taking the knife from her bag.

"Knifeplay?" Thancred asks. "I'm not sure I want to introduce that in this setting."

She turns to him with a snappy remark but it dissolves away.

He sprawls against the side of the bath, arms draped over the edge and head tipped back. What she can see of his muscled chest gleams with moisture in the moonlight. The light snow falls on his cheek.

“Nerys? It’s cold out.”

“It’s uncharacteristically cold tonight,” he said, standing outside her room at the Pendants. A pile of blankets in his hand. Two nights ago. Three days after they agreed to begin again, starting a slow and sometimes aching courtship.

Her chest tightened. “You had better come in then.”

“Just to deliver the blankets?” His eyes gleamed.

“Hm…” She pulled him inside. “That’s a start.”

His towel is folded, just within reach outside of the pool. Well then. Nerys lets hers fall, watching his eyes rake over her lush curves to the apex between her thighs. She takes her time walking over. A swell of pleasure rises in her gut. At the water’s edge, she bends at the waist to set towel and knife down within easy reach.

"You should come here," he says, a soft growl beneath his words. She fights the shudder wanting to rip through her.

"Just a minute." She slips out of the sandals. Dips a toe into the water, testing it. He starts to move towards her, but stops all at once when she holds up a hand. "Sit. Stay."

Thancred smirks. "You remember right? That I always repay you when you tease me."

A soft warmth incongruous to the moment floods her chest and she is helpless not to smile at him with soft eyes and a softer voice. "I have never forgotten a single moment, Thancred."

He swallows, his eyes telling the jumble of emotions roiling in him. She can see all the Thancreds she has known–the serious, protective Thancred, the closed-off and grieving Thancred. The teasing, playful Thancred who seduced her all over Mor Dhona. The attentive, caring Thancred who always knew when she needed him to take over and give her release, or when to let her hold the reins.

The loving Thancred, though neither of them have said the word yet.

"Nerys," he says, voice raw. "Come here."

She goes to him, sliding into the water and into his arms, into his lap as he embraces her. His tongue slides over her bottom lip and she opens to him, lets him plunder her mouth as his hands slide over her hips and waist. Traces her new scars, every mark she has earned since the Bloody Banquet. She finds the ones he has gained since, and where the First has failed to duplicate them. His soul is a near-perfect copy of the body in the Source, but there are small differences.

He parts from her after an eternity, gasping as he rests his forehead on her shoulder. "My plan was for a long, slow night of seduction. And yet, here we are."

“We always end up here,” she says with a laugh. Just as they had meant to take things slow, at least a few weeks before they became lovers again. Why had they ever thought that was a good idea? "Didn't you have any company, these five years?"

"Very little," he admits. "Almost none, once I took in Min-...Ryne. I couldn't exactly leave her to wait at a campsite while I lurked in a tavern looking for a companion."

"Very little," she repeats, cupping the side of his neck and the tattoo. Rubbing it gently. "You don't have to tell me details but...anyone I know?"

He smiles; a little sad, a little soft. "Despite having all the time to do so...no, I didn't make a move on either of them. By the time they got here, I was once again wrapped in my anger and grief."

Nerys sighs and kisses his forehead. "At our pace, neither of us will confess to Y'shtola before our sixtieth Nameday." As to when he might speak to Urianger, maybe before his fiftieth.

His laugh is gentle. "I forgot you were an optimist."

The word startles her in a way she can’t disguise and Thancred is alert all at once, ready to ease whatever troubles her. She shakes her head to assuage him. “Nothing. Nothing, just reminded me of a conversation I had with...someone, earlier.”

“Sweetheart.” The old endearment enfolds her in its warmth despite the slight reproof. “I can guess who from the evasion. It won’t bother me.”

"The last thing I want is to cause you more pain."

“He is not Lahabrea.” Thancred squeezes her hip. "Not that I am fond of our 'friend.' But it won't injure me to know you talk to him."

"Alright." She wraps her arms about his neck to better balance herself. The cold air and fall of snow prickle at her shoulders and chest, a sharp contrast to the heat of the water and where their skin presses together.

"And what about you?" He asks, shifting his leg just so between her thighs. No pressure against her center, not yet. "Was there anyone since I saw you? I know it wasn’t five years for you but..."

"Ah...yes." More heat rises in her. "...Estinien and Aymeric."

Thancred’s eyebrows shoot up. "Both? At the same time?"

“Mm.” Nerys finds herself ducking her head, vulnerable. Those stolen nights in Ishgard seem a dream now, all the more because she had thought it would never happen. And had made peace with that. "Estinien walked in on us and...well, they are a couple. It wasn't so odd to invite him…"

"And you’ve wanted him as long as you wanted Aymeric," says Thancred. He has that smug expression he gets sometimes. “Perhaps for longer. I wondered when it would happen.”

She huffs, scowling. "Is this what you do? Figure out who I am in love with and wait for me to say something?"

"I can't help it." He dips his head, kissing her shoulder. "I seem to have an extra sense for this sort of thing with you."

“I’m glad we found each other.” She means it teasing but again, her words come out warm with emotion. How long till she can stop feeling so much relief to have him in her arms? Sometimes she thinks she feels more than she is supposed to, with no way to stem the tide.

“So am I.” That leg moves with purpose now, nudging against her folds. He leans forward, catching her cold-stiffened nipple between his lips. She gasps, a low moan following right after. Thancred smirks and looks up at her. “Your exploits make for stirring tales.”

“Well, that answers that.”

In an instant, Nerys is up with the knife while Thancred rises, his fists raised. Their usual weapons are just far enough that blades and hands make sense for the interim.

Emet-Selch lounges on the opposite side of the bath, chest and below submerged in the water. He chuckles. "This is the second time you've aimed a blade at me today. I'm starting to think you don't like me."

Thancred growls. "You're trespassing, Ascian."

"Oh?" He shrugs. Nerys refuses to note how well-sculpted his shoulders are. "I wasn't aware you owned these natural springs, the night air…"

"You know exactly what I mean."

"Mayhaps. But I was practically invited. Isn't that right, my dear?" Emet-Selch turns his gaze to Nerys, making no secret of how his eyes sweep over her nude body, her erect nipples, the drops of water coursing down her blue-gray skin.

She is already bare and it still feels like he is undressing her with his gaze.

“What? No.” She shakes her head at Thancred’s shocked expression. “No. When I said ‘surprise me’, this is not what I meant.”

“Well, this is why being specific is important." Emet sighs, sinking deeper into the water. “Will you put that knife down? Having two things pointing at my way is rather disconcerting...though stimulating."

At that, Thancred seems to remember he is naked and erect, though the cold air is working to amend the second problem. He sinks back into the water.

Nerys stoops to set the knife down, one arm shielded over her breasts and trying keep her thighs together. It wreaks havoc on her balance and makes Emet look even more amused. She gives up–he has already seen her–and sinks back into the water without further attempts at modesty.

The Emperor was a soldier, in his way. If his immortality hadn’t made him immune to being scandalized, being in the barracks surely had. As soon as she sits, Thancred slides an anchoring arm about her waist.

"Better," says Emet. "No wonder you have been neglecting me to spend all your time with him, hero. He is rather spectacular, beneath all the scowls he sends my way."

Thancred rolls his eyes. “You got your surprise and answered your question. Whatever that was.”

“Oh, that?” Emet-Selch’s smirk unfurls, slow as honey without the sweetness. “Our Warrior told me about Lord Haurchefant, how open they are with each other. I wondered if she was so with her other paramours, talking freely about her conquests."

Thancred glances her way again. There was no reason to volunteer that information, it just...came up. When provoked, to be fair. Every other time she’s spoken about it...no she cannot say it was always to score points against Emet.

The look he gives her isn’t accusatory, she realises. It is...considering.

“And then here I find you two, comparing notes. Well, comparing notes against near celibacy. Either way, it’s very interesting.”

Nerys squeezes Thancred’s knee below the water. Rubs her thumb over the joint. “How long were you there?”

“Oh, long enough to be enjoyable but not so much to have been rude.” He slides a hand through his hair, pushing back locks damp from steam and snow. It...does things for his face, which he likely knows. “I did tell you that I like to watch.”

“Had your fill then?” Thancred asks, squeezing her hip.

"It takes much more to sate me. But it seems you two will be boring and stare at me till I leave." He sighs. "And as you are both submerged, I cannot even have something nice to look at. So, I suppose I'll go…"

No wait- She almost says.

She almost says! Twelve, Fury, whoever was listening, preserve; Nerys had actually thought of asking him to stay. This attraction is more dangerous than she thought. Clearly she is not so cool and objective about his beauty, if she is so on the verge.

Thancred goes very still beside her.

Nerys curses inwardly. Of course he catches on. This is what he does–understand what she wants before she admits it to herself. And that is all fine...until it is this man behind everything they have fought, everything that has hurt them and taken away their loved ones.

Attraction is not harmless and objective if Thancred is beside her, hurting because of it and her.

“Depends,” says Thancred, squeezing her hip again. “Are you going to sit there and make remarks, or are you going to do something useful?"

What?

She turns to Thancred, at a loss. Even at his most reckless, he wouldn’t invite an enemy to...maybe she misunderstands.

Emet-Selch is very still, the self-satisfied expression gone from his face. Thancred has surprised them both.

“Are you…” She swallows and starts again. “Are you saying…”

“You’re attracted to him, and he to you.” Thancred says, pressing lips to her temple. The soft pressure is unlike the rigid way he holds himself, tension all through his body. “And while neither of us trust him, sex doesn't have to require that.”

It doesn’t, but it always has for her. Even one night with a stranger requires someone she feels relatively safe with. More than that–he isn’t telling the whole truth. He isn’t testing her. That isn’t his way. But he has a reason she can’t guess at yet.

She does not trust Emet-Selch. He is not safe.

But. But.

If...when he strikes, it will not be while making love to them. It seems too gauche, too crude for him. There have been other times, more seemly times he might have waited for her to lower her guard. Like hours ago, when she presented her back to him and he had all but molded to it.

And she trusts Thancred.

“Okay,” she says. Not even sure that Emet will agree or if he is about to laugh at their temerity. Two sundered beings, thinking they might bring pleasure to an Ascian. “But if anyone says stop, we stop. No questions asked.”

“Agreed.” Thancred says, keeping her close to him.

Emet begins to rise until Thancred lifts a hand, gesturing for him to stay put. Clearly amused, the other man complies.

Nerys startles when Thancred lifts her into his arms and out of the water, carried like a bride through the chill air. He has always been strong but...he lifts her as if she is nothing. His muscles speak to the strength he has honed these five years but still, she hadn’t grasped the change. Not until now, cradled against his chest with her long legs dangling over his arms.

Thancred crouches, setting her into Emet’s lap with her back against the Ascian’s chest, smoothing his hands over her arms before he lets go. At once, Emet slides his hands around to palm her breasts. She gasps at the electric touch–both too much and not enough.

He is not shy. And he is not going to dismiss them.

His hands feel better than he imagined. And she can admit now: she imagined.

"I've no idea what you're trying to prove, Thancred." Emet says, breath against her ear. "But as it gives me something I want, I will examine it later."

Something in her clenches at that. “When you spoke of play...have you been flirting this whole time? Or was that just to rile me?”

“Yes.” Emet presses his lips to the side of her neck, feather light. Almost imperceptible. His hands are the opposite, purposeful as they knead her breasts, roll her dark purple nipples between his fingers until she squirms on his lap. It’s like he knew how sensitive she would be there.

Thancred’s hand reaches behind her, gripping somewhere on Emet. His shoulder? Digging into his hair? He has to lean in close to do it and Nerys takes advantage. She presses her mouth to his brown nipple, chasing a rivulet of water down his chest. Sweet, just like he can be.

"You don't put anything inside her until I say so," says Thancred. His voice is harsh but he shivers beneath her lips.

"Oh," Emet breathes. "Do you always let him boss you like that, my dear?"

He squeezes her left breast and she gasps against Thancred instead of answering. All at once he stills, waiting for her response. “S-sometimes. It depends.”

That earns her more pressure against her needful flesh, the fingers pinching just so. “Tell me.”

Nerys tries to look back at him. He frees one hand to catch her chin, directing her eyes back to Thancred who kneels before her. It almost doesn’t feel real, without seeing Emet and his smile and his pale-gold eyes. It could be anyone behind her, certainly not him of all people.

Except that voice. She would know it in the haunting light of Kholusia or in the darkest cave of the Night’s Blessed. At some point, he slipped under skin as if he was meant to be there.

Thancred watches them, running one hand up and down the outside of her thigh in slow strokes. The other is underwater, mirroring the touches on himself. He nods, giving her permission to tell their secrets.

“We...switch,” she says. “I often prefer someone to hold my reins. But...sometimes I like telling him what to do. Withholding from him until he is good. Making him beg.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.” Emet purrs, proving just how long he watched them. She frowns and puts her hand on his wrist, giving it a light squeeze.

“That’s his name for me. You need to choose your own.”

He sighs and she can feel his eyes rolling. Dramatically. “Oh, very well. I suppose I could continue calling you my dear.”

At those words, his teeth sink into her earlobe and his hands resume their kneading. His erection presses at her under the water, the thickness apparent just from the feel of him. She resists the urge to grind against it, lest it end things too soon.

"Any other orders, Thancred? Or are you content to watch me tease her until she begs for release?"

Thancred cups her face between his hands and kisses her, unhurried and deep. She grows pliant under the luxurious touch of both men. No reins desired in her hands tonight. And from the glint in his eyes when he parts from her, Thancred can tell.

“Hold her arms behind her,” he says. “And you’ll be nice for us, won’t you sweetheart? He shouldn’t have to worry about holding you back."

"I'll play nice. This time."

“Ha." He nips her jaw. "Say stop, and we stop. And if you can’t speak, go very still and I will too.”

Nerys nods. Strong hands grip her arms, arranging them to cross behind her back before locking tight upon her. Except-

Except, there are still fingers on her breast. Palms anchoring her hips tight against Emet. She looks down and sees black and purple aether in the vague shape of hands, cupping her aching chest.

Emet chuckles, low and dark. His cock twitches against her. "I have my talents."

Twelve. Growing wet is...different in hot water. But there is still a heated, slick pulse between her legs and her hips try to jerk in response to the idea of what he could do with all those hands. The heat filling her has nothing to do with the springs.

Thancred pushes the aether-hands off her chest so he can cup her breasts, drawing them up as he lowers his mouth to suckle at one. Her head tips back and Emet-Selch takes advantage, lips pressing to the side of her neck. The barest hint of teeth whispers with them.

“So sweet, so good,” murmurs Thancred. His large, callused hands slide over her as his tongue traces her nipple. "What do you want tonight?"

Nerys can barely shiver, the hold on her is so tight and strong. Emet’s fingers pulse against her, firm but not harsh on her skin. “I want you. I want you both. However you want me.”

He smiles and she readies to receive another litany of compliments. The words always flow from him when he is amorous, praising every twitch of her muscles, every way she takes him into her. Instead, he rewards her with another dizzying kiss; so intense she forgets herself and tries to throw her arms about him.

Emet tightens his grip, tutting against her neck. "And she was so well behaved until now."

“Sorry,” she murmurs against Thancred’s mouth. “I just-I need to feel you-”

“Shh, it’s alright.” Thancred hushes her, his fingers against her mouth as he moves into her space. She parts her lips and takes the tip of one, swirling her tongue about it. “Ah, I’ll give you what you need.”

He slides a hand onto the back of her neck, nudging her down while she continues lathing his finger. The many hands clutching her accommodate, till she is suspended and bent over, balanced by the arms held taut behind her, barely on Emet’s lap. Her chin dips into the hot water and she stares up through lowered lashes.

Thancred stands, sliding a hand to grip just beneath the swollen head of his cock. Not as thick as what she feels against her rump, but it has grown to its full aroused length. Emet hums appreciatively, likely at the outstanding number of ilms on display. She thinks–it is hard to think, held like this, a slip away from all of her sinking into the water, his cock before her-

She thinks there are more hands on her now, thumbs rubbing subtle, light circles into her arms and legs and ankles. Emet follows the orders; nothing is inside her yet. But oh how she wants there to be, an end to the sweet torture of the many teasing touches.

“Well?” Emet asks. “Are you going to give her what she needs? You certainly have enough of it.”

Thancred smirks over her head, slowing the pace of his stroke as he goes from root to tip. Caressing each bit of the shaft before swirling his thumb over the head, worrying at his lip when he does so. Both she and Emet make pleased sounds at the same time, hers much more needy and inelegant.

At last, Thancred slides one hand into her short locks; keeping her in place as he guides himself into her mouth. Slow at first, then pressing deep as she relaxes her mouth and throat. She cannot take him all the way but she tries, savoring the heady taste of him and spring water until her toes curl.

He fucks into her mouth, his hips jerking in quick thrusts. The water splashes up her face and she closes her eyes, the sensations heightening the moment she does. Over the splashing she hears Thancred say something. In response, two fingers plunge into her folds. In and out, pulling back as soon as she tries to grind against them.

She thinks they are Emet’s flesh hands. She cannot be sure.

Nerys squirms to free herself, needing to touch Thancred. Run her hands over his shaft where her mouth cannot possibly go. The grip on her limbs tightens, a third finger slides into her. She can feel Emet’s body move with a chuckle even though she can only hear the water splashing over her nose and closed eyelids. The threat to her breathing goads her pleasure.

Thancred’s grip in her hair tightens, the other hand joining to burrow in the violet and white strands. His fingers in her scalp send a new wave of feeling through her. She moans around him, the pressure in her building but with no outlet in sight.

His thrusts speed up and she knows what is about to happen, groans in encouragement as his release pours into her. He doesn’t let go, not until he is fully spent and the momentum gives way. She can hear him now, the running litany of praise he must have kept up the whole time. “-so good, so good you did so well…”

He drags her off him and kneels, pressing her to sit again with her back against Emet, lips brushing against hers as she swallows and catches her breath. Nerys opens her mouth to him and he follows her, tasting her more fully. Tasting himself more fully.

“Fuck,” she whispers. “I feel like I’m close but also not at all.”

“I can take care of that.” Thancred says, kissing her forehead. He takes a deep breath and submerges beneath the water. She isn’t sure what he’s about until his mouth latches onto her clit, sucking as much as he can below. The fingers inside her curl

“Fuck,” she hisses again. They’re going to eviscerate her like this.

“Look at you.” Emet says, mouthing along her shoulder. "How easily you come apart. How eager you are to obey, and he is not half so dominating as I would be."

She moans–from his fingers, Thancred’s mouth, the implicit promise in Emet’s words. Nerys answers the challenge in them instead. “I-I know he’ll make it good for me. I d-don’t need that much encouragement.”

“Implying what? You aren’t so assured of me?” He catches her chin between thumb and forefinger, turning her head back towards him until it almost hurts. The edge of pain thrills down her spine, joining the rest of the heightened feelings in her. “I think you can accurately guess the heights I could drive you to.”

His breath tickles the corner of her mouth. At last she sees his eyes and the roaring fire they contain, the undisguised need and want. She gasps, not just from the increased thrusting of his fingers, the pressure and seal of Thancred’s mouth. If he had ever shown her that look before, she would have dragged him to bed and the consequences be damned.

Thancred emerges, taking a breath at the same time he slides his hand over the one Emet has on her face. Presses his mouth over the other man’s fingers before kissing Nerys like she is the oxygen he couldn’t have underwater.

His other hand slips between her thighs, direct and purposeful on her sensitive bud. His words pour into her ears–”yes, let go, let go, I want you to come like this, just like this”–and Emet’s fingers move faster inside her. With his wonderful, knowledgeable hand at her clit and his ragged words against her cheek, it doesn’t take long for her to come with a cry.

Thancred swallows her yell, her shaking prevented by Emet’s grip. For a moment, all she sees are the brilliant stars above them in the inky sky. The snow falling on her hair. The crescent moon, reminiscent of one of Emet’s toothier smiles.

Emet lets her go all at once and she collapses against Thancred, melting into his soothing touch. Her breath is loud in her ears, near as much as her heart slamming against her ribs and his against her ear.

“Good girl.” Thancred kisses the tip of her pointed ear. “Do you know what I would do for you, if we were in a different setting?”

She shivers, feeling the cold air for the first time since he put her in Emet’s lap. “Tell me. Please.”

“I would let you take us both, together, at the same time. Get you so stretched and wet for us, so slick...” The soft growl is back in his voice and she might climax again, just from that. As maple-sugar-sweet and poetic he can be, as worshipful as he may choose to be, this is a part of him too. Hungry and demanding.

“True, we cannot prepare her easily in this setting.” Emet says. “Very well, you’ve convinced me.”

There is a soft snap.

Nerys lies in a bed–her bed, in her room at the Pendants. She is warm and dry, not a drop of water on her. Warmer still from Emet, stretched out and pressed along her side, tracing patterns into her abdomen. (Also, the bed is made. The coverlet is far too expensive to come from the inn. She touches the red material in wonder.)

“Hilarious,” Thancred says from the center of the room. Naked and sopping wet, with all their belongings beside him in a careful pile. Emet would not harm their weapons, even if he might be unkind to Thancred’s person. “You might have dried me off too.”

“Hm…” Emet pushes himself on one elbow, the other hand tapping a finger to his lips. “If you fetch the oil from her bathroom cabinet, I shall dry you off.”

For a long moment, Thancred stares him down. Eyes narrowed. But there is no real ire and with a sigh, he makes for the bathroom. The aether lights flicker on as soon as he steps inside.

“How did you know...Emet-Selch! I said you’re not allowed to be here when I’m gone.”

She starts to sit up. Quick as any hunting animal, he braces his arm on the other side of her and swings a leg across. He leans over her, caging her in on all sides without touching her. Yet. “Yes, but I never agreed to those terms. Underhanded but...my hero did request surprises.”

Nerys puts a hand flat against his shoulder with the intent to push. His skin is warm beneath her palm, the silken feel of him unexpected. It would be so easy to shove him off, storm away from the bed. Except this is the first time truly looking at him since they began and...he has her trapped. Immolating in the pale gold fire of his eyes, mesmerized in the quirk of his brow and tilt of his full lips. The longer she stares, the more neutral his expression becomes and he returns the scrutiny.

There is no buffer. No Thancred to protect her or distract her. And she is afraid-

But not of him, she realises with a start. It’s the intensity I feel when he touches me. I’m scared of how much I want him to touch me again. I’m scared at how right this seems.

She pushes herself up with one hand, the other cups the back of his neck. Pulls him down to her. Emet stills only a moment before his eyes flutter shut and he submits to her, mouth moving soft and slow over hers. His hands curl about her waist, thumbs stroking over her skin. He savors her with the slow drag of his tongue coaxing her more open, more vulnerable to his ministrations.

When they part his eyes are half-lidded, expression utterly relaxed. He’s beautiful. He’s always beautiful. But this pierces her in a new way, so lovely he could rend her heart in two with one look. And he just might.

The hands on her hips pull her forward as he leans back. She ends up in his lap, straddling his waist in one fluid motion. Nerys reaches between them to stroke him. He has been patient this whole time, the least she can do is-

Emet catches her hand and lays the attached arm upon his shoulder, then the other. She opens her mouth to protest and he interrupts her with another kiss. Just as slow and aching, one arm hooked behind her back while the other traces fingertips along her jaw. His hand is gentle as it runs over her throat, down between her breasts, stroking circles into her waist and hip.

Nerys realises it is the longest he has gone in her presence without talking. And she feels the laugh bubbling up her throat, mouth trembling with the strength of holding it back.

“Laughing at me, hero?” He murmurs against her mouth. Nips her lower lip in reprimand.

“N-no I just...felt giddy all of a sudden.” Damn her, ruining the mood like that. Just as his hand was traveling down.

“Liar.” His scolding teeth sink into the side of her neck. She gasps against him, laughter dissolving into a breathy sound. “Better. Let’s see what other preferable sounds we can draw from you.”

“You’re getting close,” she says. Now her smile is irrepressible. “A little lower and to my left…”

“Dear, dear, dear,” he sighs. “And you were so obedient before. Do I bring out the minx in you so much?”

“I thought that was part of why you always came back to talk.”

Instead of a verbal riposte, his hand moves down and to her left. Circling her center, finding the clit and pressing down upon it. As if he has brought her to pleasure a thousand times and knows just where to touch.

Nerys buries her face in his shoulder, shuddering until his strokes are too much and she has to moan against him.

“What delicious noises you make, my dear.” He says, continuing to circle. Continuing to scrape his teeth over her skin. “Thancred was a fool to ever let you go.”

“I was.”

Nerys opens her eyes. (When did she close them?) Thancred stands a few paces from the bed, glass bottle in hand. Both of Emet’s hands splay against her back, pressing her close against him. She feels his fingers snap against her, drying Thancred in an instant.

“At least you admit it,” says Emet.

Nerys has to push a moment before he lets her lean back, getting a better view of Thancred. Shakes her head. “It wasn’t as simple as all that, or one person’s fault.”

As mad as she still is at the Exarch...she might have spoken to Thancred a dozen times before this week. Taken the aetheryte to Mor Dhona to see him, pull him aside when he joined their party in Gyr Abania. Or called him over linkpearl, as she did the night they almost lost Y’shtola.

He pushed her away after they found him in Dravania, even more after Minfilia. But she squandered opportunities, each a bright and alarming memory in hindsight.

Before Thancred can respond, Emet puts a hand to her cheek and makes her look at him. His free hand raises, wagging a finger in her face before tapping her nose. “Ah ah ah, don’t let him off so easy. Not when he is doing his best to make it up to you now…”

Nerys sees the moment a thought takes hold, curling the ends of his mouth upward, drawing his brows down. He flicks a glance over his shoulder. “Oh, is that it? Why you asked me to join?”

Thancred cloaks the soft, warm expression at Nerys with a scowl at Emet. “Don’t pretend to understand my motives.”

Emet clicks his tongue in mock scandalization. “Presumptuous of you, thinking you’re allowed to gift wrap and present me as an apology present.”

Oh.

Nerys extricates herself from his lap, climbing off the bed in a hurry. Walking to Thancred. Searching his closed-off expression for a hint. “Is...is that true?”

Thancred reaches out and takes her hand. Lifts it to his mouth. For all the things these two men have done tonight, for all the things they might still do; these soft touches disarm her the most. And then he removes the facade for her, showing the hope and wariness and the mocking little smile. One she knows is always meant for himself, not anyone else.

He sighs “He’s not wrong, but he’s also not right.” Thancred peers behind her at the bed. “But if Emet-Selch feels used, he is free to leave at any time.”

That last part doesn’t sound angry or annoyed as much as...challenging. She watches him smirk and quirk a brow. Daring the other man.

“Naughty boy,” Emet murmurs. “No, I won’t leave. This has proven to be an interesting night indeed and I am not satisfied yet.”

Nerys touches Thancred’s cheek, drawing his gaze back up to her. Looks him dead in the eye. “You don’t have to do this. Your feelings matter to me and-”

“I could have let him leave, and given you a memorable night without him. I decided I wanted to give you this instead.” The old roguish smirk grows on his lips. “And besides, he has a nice prick.”

She exhales slow, deep, making herself relax. Banishing the anxious tension in her neck and shoulders. “Okay. I believe you.”

“You always can.” Thancred draws her face down and she follows, sinking into his embrace. He still holds the bottle and it’s cool against her back as she presses against the delicious heat of his body and the hard planes of his chest. As he moves, so does she until the backs of her legs hit the mattress. Down, down, she goes until she is sprawled with her head and shoulders in Emet’s lap, Thancred holding himself above her.

“That last part,” Emet says, taking the glass bottle. “You couldn’t see my ‘nice prick’ in the water.”

“But I can see it now.” Thancred shifts his balance to one hand, the other sinking between Emet’s thighs. Sliding a hand over the long-neglected length and this time, Emet doesn’t forestall his own pleasure but lifts his hips. His full lips part and he sighs with relief.

Nerys tilts her head to look up at Thancred, who gives her an expectant look. This old game then. They haven’t played this one since the Spring Festival in Mor Dhona. She meets the challenge with a grin of her own and adjusts her position to better participate.

His fingers return to the root of Emet’s cock and slide upward. She chases them with her tongue along the velvet underside. The scents she associates with him–petrichor and ice and stone–are less here. He could be anyone she might bed.

Emet gasps and slides his hand into her hair. Guiding her as much as Thancred. The steady, near-painful pleasure is unlike many men she has taken to bed for a single night. Who often keep distance and treat her like glass. He is unlike anyone else.

The fingers twist over the swollen head and slip away for her to do the same, mimicking the motion with her swirling tongue. Emet increases pressure on her until he slides between her lips. Nerys bobs up and down without further incentive. That his grip remains insistent only makes this sweeter.

He is nearly as thick as Haurchefant, sure to make her jaw ache.

Another hand–Thancred’s–grips the back of her neck and nudges her down, down, her eyes watering as Emet fucks into her throat. Her nose meets the prickling thatch of auburn curls. Emet lets loose a more desperate sound, the groan raw as he pulls her off of him, fingers still digging into her scalp.

“Good girl,” murmurs Thancred.

“And good boy.” The hands in her hair twists, angling her to watch Emet take hold of Thancred and kiss him with teeth and tongue and heat. Arousal pulses through her at the sight. They’re beautiful. They’re beautiful and tonight they are both hers.

Nerys rises up, sliding into their tangle and they open for her, mouths and hands worshipping at her skin. She wants to be at the center of this. She wants to be selfish and feel them attend to every inch of her before they fuck her. She wants them to burn her until she is naught but ash and pleasure.

“I need you,” she says to them both. “Please don’t stop touching me.”

“Oh, my dear.” Emet catches her chin, sliding his thumb between her lips. “As if I-we could. You are a feast laid out for us and we are but beggars.”

She sucks on it, watching desire flare in his eyes. Emet sighs as if resigned, sliding his hand down so that he can kiss her again. The gentleness of it has her arms and neck prickling with awareness, her breath catching. Everything about him screams danger and yet–yet he coaxes her with lips and tongue, courting her instead of simply taking.

As if sensing her thoughts and needing to disprove her assumption, he turns her about in his arms. Bites down on the juncture between her neck and shoulder. Nerys gasps and Thancred is there to catch her, soothing her even as his own teeth drag over her pulse. Behind her is rustling and the soft pop of a bottle uncorked. She can hear Emet moving his hands together, warming his palms.

Thancred has not forgotten her request. As his mouth travels over her, his hands move in long strokes over arms and waist, hips and legs, neck and cheek. A dizzying perusal of caresses, maintaining the contact she needs.

She startles when Emet squeezes her rear, shivers when one oil slicked hand slides towards the tight ring of muscle. When the first finger begins to circle, Thancred kisses her shoulder. As it slides in to the knuckle, he strokes her sides.

“That’s it,” Thancred murmurs. “You’re doing so good. Look how wet you already are, ready for me to slide deep into you. And I will, as soon as he’s done preparing you.”

“My,” Emet says, kissing behind her ear. “He is a chatty one.”

“He is one to talk.”

“He must feel lost without some narration. Or is the talk for your benefit? Do you need me to tell you how good you’re swallowing me, how tight, how perfectly made for my fingers and my prick you are…”

Nerys means to laugh but a moan comes out instead. Digs her fingers into Thancred’s ivory locks and urges his lips downward. “I-I don’t need it but I like it.” She could have them talk to her like this for hours.

“Impatient,” Thancred mutters at her insistent pushing. He puts up a resistance, sliding his tongue over her stomach all the same.

“I don’t see you stopping me.” Nerys smiles down at him. “Unless you plan on making me pay?”

Teeth sink into her other shoulder as Emet adds a second finger. She wriggles against the sensation, tugging at Thancred’s hair in response. Quick, as if this is a battle–and maybe it is–Thancred grabs her wrists and pins them down on either side of her. Nerys grips at the unfamiliar coverlet, meeting his smirk with a scowl.

She tries to lift herself up, presenting herself for his mouth. He ignores the offering, attending to her breasts instead. Dipping down and then back up as soon as she thinks he might taste her. His grip is iron when she pushes against it, squeezing in warning when she does it again.

“Two strikes…” He says.

Now she has to know. Nerys tries a third time and finds herself dragged to lie on her back, his shoulders shoving under her thighs until they press against her stomach. Emet's slick hands leave her and she moans at the loss.

"You'll have him back in a moment." Thancred says. He glances up, has a wordless conversation with Emet behind her. Takes hold of her arms and lifts them, passing them over. Her wrists are shoved down, captured in the harsh grip of one hand pinning above her head.

It should be worrying that they are cooperating this well to make her writhe. Instead, she feels giddy and like she might dissolve from the force of anticipation..

She tests the restraint and finds no give, not even with her two hands to his one. Emet looks down at her, pitiless and expression bright with desire. And then her eyes shut because Thancred devours her. No mercy, no restraint, his hands gripping her thighs so tight they might bruise. He pushes her higher and higher until he thighs shake and she can see the edge-

And then he pulls back completely.

"Please," she gasps. "That's not fair. I need you-"

Emet’s face is upside-down above her, but he finds a way to slot his mouth against hers. She pours her frustration into the kiss, demanding release with a bite to his lip. He only chuckles against her mouth, his slow reprimand becoming something fierce. Engulfing.

When he parts from her, his lips but an ilm from hers, his eyes are unfocused and his breath ragged. She tastes his blood on her tongue. Licks her lips.

"Not yet," says Emet. "Not after we went through all the trouble of preparing you."

His hand is unyielding against her. Nerys tries to move her hips and legs instead and Thancred presses further, going the small distance needed to bend her in half. "I could come again after-"

“Listen.” Emet nips her shoulder. "We’ve staked a claim upon your pleasure. You’re going to have it...when we’re ready. Yes?”

Fuck. His words, his lowered voice...She would rub her thighs together if she could, if Thancred wasn't between them. Instead, she feels herself growing wetter, hotter. Thancred’s fingers slide over her but for all the lewd noises he draws out, he does not touch anywhere that might bring her release.

"Answer him, sweetheart,” says Thancred. "For once he is making sense."

“Yes,” she murmurs.

“What was that?”

“Yes. Yes, I’ll do what you want me to.”

"Good girl," Emet says, the two of them moving her to sit up between them again. "That deserves a reward."

"Please tell me the reward is your cocks," she says, leaning back against him. "Otherwise, I don't think I'll make it."

"Impatient." Emet mutters but he drips more oil into her cleft, the three fingers returning to open her, stretch her. She braces herself against Thancred, half slumped over and cheek pressed against his heart. If she tries to touch herself, he will stop her but she considers it. Dares one hand down against her stomach. He grabs at it, kissing her as he does.

Nerys groans, rocking back against the fingers stretching her. Grasping for the peak Thancred almost brought her to.

"She's ready," says Emet at last, his voice rough. His hands dig into her cheeks, squeezing as he parts them. "Needy creature. Who knew you had it in you to desire so much?"

"I knew." Thancred kisses her shoulder. "He'll learn, sweetheart."

"That you think you can teach me anything…" Emet mutters. "Mortals. And their arrogance."

"Please," Nerys begs, her voice taut with need. She clutches at Thancred as an anchor against the sweet torture they’re putting her through. "You can lecture us all you want but first give me your-"

At that, his head presses against her. Rocks a moment before sliding into her oil-slicked passage, his hands stroking circles to soothe her as he enters slow and steady. When her breath hitches and the ache is almost too much, he stops and kisses her nape and spine until she relaxes again.

She’s trembling in his arms, overwhelmed at the fullness, the sensation of him deep in her, wrapped around her. His aether seems to sink into her, embracing her as if he has re-manifested all those phantom hands again. But it is just him, just a barrier taken down between them.

When she beds someone with strong aether...those times were just a shade of this. This is beyond anything she has ever experienced.

Emet skims his hands over her muscular thighs, hosting her close until his chin rests on her shoulder. She opens her eyes as he eases them back, watching the view trade Thancred for the ceiling and instinctively reaches out for balance. And then Emet kisses her neck and soothes her skin and she relaxes again.

"Well?" He says, holding her legs open. "She wants you too, Thancred.”

Thancred crouches between her thighs, running a hand over his cock. It has returned to its full aroused length, a tantalizing bead of moisture at the head. His refractory period is always impressive, and they have taken their time since the hot springs. Teasing her until she feels ready to burst.

"I wonder if you'll even physically be able to take it all." Emet says in her ear. "Stuffed as you already are."

He rocks his hips just so and she whimpers at the feel of him. It is true–she is already full to bursting. It is also true–she wants to take as much of them as she can. All of them if she is able.

“If it’s too much…” Thancred leans over her. Presses his cock against her folds as he lines himself up. “Look at me.”

She looks at him, into the warm depths of his eyes. Into the need and heat. Nerys lifts her hips in invitation and Emet is there to slide them back down, groaning softly.

“You know how to stop things, sweetheart. If it gets too much.”

“If it gets too much,” she repeats, licking her lips. “Thancred please fu-”

He slides into her without resistance, slick and ready as she is. It is almost too much and he isn't even half-way seated inside of her. She bites her lip so she doesn't say the word because she wants more, she wants to be utterly lost-

Emet bites the back of her neck and she cries out, but her body relaxes. Thancred slides deeper inside her, bracing his forearms on either side of them. Tension furrows between his brows.

“Alright?” He asks, more breath than sound.

“Yes,” she whimpers. “Please-please-”

"How sweetly you beg." Emet curls one hand around her breast, the other sliding down her stomach. Dragging to where Thancred is buried inside her and her swollen nub waits succor. He traces outside it, slow and taunting. "It almost makes me want to see how long we can keep you just shy of climaxing."

Thancred smirks. Some of the tension eases in his face. "Keep talking like that, it's making her clench around me."

"Bastards," she moans, reaching for Thancred. Resting arms on his shoulders as he begins to move, his slow, vexing strokes in rhythm with the lift of Emet's hips.

"Oh, do be nice," Emet continues as his fingers brush against her core. "I have only ever admired you. And here you are, exceeding all my expectations. You, who shine brighter than most mortals, you're almost radiant now-"

Nerys cannot think enough to string a response together. Sex is often a release for her, a way to center herself. This feels like...being remade. Like the tandem motion of their bodies strips everything away until there is only the pleasure and the ache. Even the growing cramp in her calves cannot compare with the ecstasy coursing through her.

They are both talking, dropping praise upon her but now she cannot hold onto their meaning. Only the feeling of them sliding in and out of her, the ache and stretch of her body, the slap of their skin on hers. Especially as the pace picks up, both men pushing each other to a greater tempo, snapping hips to drive her back and forth between raging fire and raging fire.

The fingers at her clit press down. The edge is in sight and she sobs aloud for them to keep going. To keep moving. Not to stop again, not when she is so close.

Thancred kisses her. Lips press against her nape and she can feel Emet's smile, his breath as he mouths words into her skin that she cannot hear and cannot parse. They move faster inside her, the finger circling, teeth on her flesh-

Nerys screams as her pleasure rips through her, clutching at whatever she can as her mind enters the strange place of release–a mind so focused on one thing as to feel almost blank, a mind so overcome with feeling that there is nothing but relief and pleasure and not a single thought. She gasps and arches and sobs as they work her through it, the frenzied rhythm milking every onze of pleasure from her

Emet gasps and she feels the final, desperate thrusts of his release. And Thancred, Thancred keeps going, keeps moving in her and moving her against Emet until they are both sensitive and depleted and keening and then, and then Thancred lets himself go.

Nerys is nothing but ash and pleasure, smoldering between them.

Emet moves first, lips pressing to her back as his hand traces patterns into her skin. Idle, swirling loops and flourishes that guide her back to the land of the living. She follows their trail without hesitation, her hand sliding over his as she follows.

She opens her eyes just as fingers slides over her cheek. Thancred leans over her, forehead pressed to hers. Studying her as if he has never seen her before. Maybe he hasn't. Maybe she is someone else on the other side of what they shared.

Maybe they all are.

He slides out of her and she whimpers at the loss, both of him and the heady sense of being filled completely. But he returns to her, resting his cheek against her the swell of her chest while the rest of him lies flush against her.

Nerys strokes his hair and finds the energy to speak. “Okay?”

"Okay," says Thancred. Smiles a little. "I don't ever want to move again."

A soft snort behind her. "Your time is short as is."

"Hush," she says. "You're not going anywhere either."

"Oh?" Emet kisses her shoulder. "Bold of you to-"

Despite what he just said, Thancred moves. Slides up and nudges Nerys just so until he is able to press his lips against Emet's. The Ascian hums in response, submitting to the delightful reprimand.

At last Thancred pulls away with a sigh. "Much better."

Emet chuckles. "So, you two plan on keeping me here tonight. Well, I put myself at your mercy...provided you let me lead the figure at some point."

"If you're good," Nerys teases, and then gasps as Emet rolls his hips against her.

“My dear,” says Emet. His hands slide up her stomach, cupping her breasts. She can tell from Thancred’s expression, they’re sharing a conspiratorial look. Anticipation and wonder sing through her. “Let me prove just how good a playmate I can be."

#nerys eluned #emet-selch #thancred waters #thancred x wol x emet-selch #thancred x wol #emet-selch x wol #thancred x emet-selch #ffxiv #duskwight warrior of light #dragoon warrior of light #elezen #water cw #ally writes

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sttheorycraft · 3 years

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What do you think El’s storyline will be like?

I don't know if you mean in S4 or just in general for the rest of the show. Since this new framing is so new to me, I'll put it aside for now and answer based on my older viewpoint. I'll be basing it partially on leaked info from fan updates, so if you're sensitive to spoilers, maybe skip this one!

Okay, so what do we know from S3? Eleven's moved away from Hawkins after the events at Starcourt. She lost Hopper, made friends with Max but is leaving her behind, split with Mike and never seemed to get back together for months? For some reason? But is going to stay in touch with him with Cerebro, and he'll come visit periodically. She's moving in with Joyce, Jonathan, and Will - but there's another question on that shortly so more on that later. And she lost her powers, and had that weird bite from the Mind Flayer. That's the canon stuff we know, possible S4 spoilers incoming.

Right. So there are various theories/speculation about what could happen in S4 from leaked photos, possible scripts, auditions, etc. These could turn out to be bogus, but based on those and my own judgment, here are things we can reasonably expect to happen with El next season:

1) She's going to have a shit-ass time at school, although there's a question on that coming too, so I'll leave it at that for now.

2) The Mind Flayer's bite is going to come back with a vengeance. I don't know if she'll actually end up being possessed, though I kinda hope she does because it would be freaking terrifying.

3) There's going to be someone (the new military general guy I think) tracking El down, possibly from footage from when she went to Starcourt Mall before it burned down (or maybe even during the actual battle). This person will get to Owens, who will sell her out. El will be taken away and back to Brenner - this will happen while everyone is still in Lenora Hills, and may be the motivation for the Surfer Boy Pizza Gang's road trip to Hawkins (they'll be trying to rescue El).

4) There could be some explosion in Hawkins that leaves El (at least) injured, from some suspicious video leaks that happened a while back.

5) It's not accidental that Chernobyl happens at the end of S4. El's involvement seems more likely than not (maybe 60%? Hopper is the other likely candidate). Motivations could include Byler jealousy, as she's been foreshadowed to be jealous and possessive of Mike. Though there are other possible explanations, it's just worth including here.

If you mean the rest of the show: ahhh the DID stuff is throwing me. Even without going that far, there is clearly some theme going on in the subtext about splitting something into parts that have to be recombined for a happy ending. The Dark Crystal is referenced a lot and is a great example: a race is split into a good and an evil race which have to be recombined. There's an X-Men comic that's mentioned where Rogue and Captain Marvel get mentally coupled and one has to be killed or both will die. Then if you look into the Demogorgon in D&D culture: it actually has two heads, which are constantly fighting. I don't know exactly what it means yet. Under the DID theory, certain personalities need to reintegrate to become whole, fine. Ignoring that possibility, we still could have that El is Will's feminine side, some alternate self he wished he was so he could be with Mike and have it be socially acceptable. Or what about the fact that El might come from the Upside Down, she might've been created at the split, and the Mind Flayer might be her evil side? Or something. Not fully thought out. But it feels super-relevant to Eleven.

I will say: I ship Byler, and I dig the idea of Dark El as an enemy for a season (for its awesomeness factor), but I also like El. I hope whatever form things end up taking, she ends up with a happy ending. But it feels unlikely that the series will end with her life looking the way it did in the beginning of S3, or more "normal" than that.

And if El is E.T., well, E.T. eventually goes home. And as I posted about earlier, the Mind Flayer is said in S2 to be "so ancient it doesn't even remember its true home," and El is constantly told in that season that she's "home"... Feel like at the end she's going to walk into the Upside Down, say she's "home," and something epic will happen.

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dawfsaf · 3 years

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moviemunchies · 3 years

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It was very popular in the fandom to hate these movies, and despite Rick Riordan’s supposed ambivalence upon the first film’s release, he’s come out fairly strongly in recent years about how much he hates these movies. Which was a weird turnabout, if you ask me.

Also I don’t think these movies are that bad. If anything, they are, at worst, mediocre.

So.

We’re talking about the business of adaptation, so let’s take it from the top: Percy Jackson and the Olympians is a five-book series by Rick Riordan aimed at middle school kids about a preteen who discovers that he’s a demigod in modern day America, because the Greek gods move around based on the ‘heart of Western Civilization’ or whichever country is the dominant power in the West. Or something. The series in its earlier installments is pretty reminiscent of the Harry Potter series, just with demigods instead of wizards, and a camp instead of Hogwarts, and cabins instead of houses, and all of that jazz.

[Although I will fight people who argue that Annabeth is just a copied and pasted Hermione. Their similarities are… they are female main characters that are smart. Yeah, I see the influence, but from the get-go she’s her own character with a different role in the story.]

By the third book in the series I hold that it really stuck out as a more original work, distinct from the obvious influence of Harry Potter. The series is also really, really good? What makes it stick out as one of the best children’s book serieses that I’ve ever seen is that it applies the archetypes of Greek mythology to modern day to show how these archetypes still exist in modern day. Ares manifesting as a biker isn’t for a cheap gag--although it is amusing--it’s to show that the kind of personality he displayed in mythology still fits in a stereotype that exists in American culture today. It’s a notably deep and precise take on mythology that many other authors, of children’s and adult’s fiction, really don’t get, and I’d argue that even Riordan himself drops the ball

The movie… does not do this. The Greek gods and places are in modern day America for reasons that are never actually explained, and as far as we know they just do their own thing because they feel like it. In fact many things that are clear in the book aren’t explained in the movie. And I get that an adaptation can’t include everything, especially lengthy exposition, but it probably only would have taken a couple of lines to say something like, “The Big Three made an oath to not sire anymore demigod children because they were too powerful.”

So what you get instead of a well-thought-out movie starring preteens about how ancient archetypes are still part of the culture of the United States, we get a movie of attempted witty one-liners that relies on fairly standard pop cultural depictions of Greek mythology rather. Look, I said this movie wasn’t that bad, but it sure as heck isn’t smart. In fact, it’s pretty dumb. The bulk of the movie is them trying to find these three pearls to use to escape the Underworld, one for each of them, when the three of them are planning a rescue mission for a fourth. And then get surprised that they have to make a choice on who to leave behind.

Also something I loved about the book was the way that Hades is played closer to the myths rather than the supervillain that popular culture tends to make him? An interpretation that this movie just...ignores and makes him appear as a Balrog-like demon because that’s what audiences expect, right?

In short, the books have wit, cleverness, and a deep understanding of the source material underneath its middle school humor and drama, and the movie completely lacks that. The characters aren’t very smart, the Plot isn’t that tight, and the jokes are a lot more in your face. I think it’s pretty obvious that this movie was an attempt to try to make the story aimed at teenagers rather than the book’s audience of middle-schoolers--with the more in-your-face pop culture references, the aged up characters, and the sense of humor skewing a bit older than what Riordan was going for.

[The in-your-face pop culture references, sadly, is something that Riordan ended up falling back on much more heavily in his later books. But that’s another essay.]

Mind you, this movie is also miles ahead of the older version of the script that leaked on the Internet. The only saving grace of that one is that Kronos actually gets hinted at as a future Big Bad. Much of that script made it into the finished movie, but many of the worst bits, like the suggestion that Poseidon and Athena’s rivalry is due to unresolved sexual tension, were excised in the final product. And thank goodness for that.

If you’re a hardcore fan of the book, you probably will not like this movie. Most fans did not. I didn’t mind because I was at the point in my life where I never had much expectation for book-to-movie adaptations. If you haven’t read the books, or you can detach yourself from expecting a good adaptation, you’ll probably think it’s an enjoyable but not very memorable movie.

#The Lightning Thief #PJO #Movie Munchies #Percy Jackson

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snidgetwidgeon · 3 years

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Insurrection Recollections Series: Royal Etiquette & Funding

Zelda sighed and began distracting herself with the clouds rolling by through the large windows of the Reception Hall. About a quarter of the size of the Great Hall, it was filled with amenities for entertaining delegates, courtiers, and their guests. At ten in the morning on Mondays, however- when nothing social was ever scheduled- Governess Beatrice utilized the space to teach young ladies from the upper and middle classes in Castle Town, as well as the noble families across Hyrule, about etiquette. She was currently standing at the head of the table, which was draped decoratively in neutral linens, and decked out with just about every dish, glass and piece of silverware one could imagine; including those that featured on the tables of all the races in Hyrule. Eye-catching pops of color were provided by the matching table runner and napkins, all in complementary shades of red, but to Zelda, it seemed frilly and way over the top.

Governess Beatrice must have known, or planned herself what the display was going to look like today, because she matched it perfectly. She wore a deep crimson gown over a cream chemise with long sleeves trailing from her elbow. In her hand, she held a fan which Zelda could swear was permanently attached to her body if it weren’t for the fact that it always changed to align with her elaborate ensembles. She was also partial to big hair and small hats.

As she droned on, Zelda went further into her daydream and thought she could see the Royal Crest in the clouds. Perhaps it was a sign from Hylia. Maybe if she prayed now, the power would come to her. What if she didn’t even need her robe, heirloom jewelry, or to be penitent before Hylia’s statue? Maybe she just needed to be open to celestial signs in the clouds. She clasped her hands under the table and moved her lips silently in prayer, eyes locked on the crest that had already begun to morph out of shape.

“Princess Zelda? Princess, may I have your attention please?” After no answer, Beatrice smacked her fan on the edge of the table. “Princess Zelda! Pray tell, what is so important that you are ignoring my class?”

Zelda snapped out of her focus and looked sadly at her instructor, “I thought I had received a sign from the Goddess.” She looked down at her hands, “But she has not answered my prayer.”

Beatrice was taken aback, reprimands dying on her tongue. “I see.” She did feel somewhat sympathetic, though still frustrated. When Zelda had first joined her classes, she been instructed to allow the Princess to seek the divine if she felt naturally inclined. After recalling the directive, Beatrice opened the fan with the flick of her wrist and offered graciously, “Perhaps your Highness would like to retire to the chapel to continue communing with Hylia?”

Zelda closed her eyes and nodded wistfully.

“Very well then, you may be excused.” Beatrice clipped.

Zelda stood and elegantly held her hands in front of her the way she knew Governess Beatrice liked. When she stepped away from the table, an attendant skillfully blending into the wall nearby, approached to push her vacated chair back in. They immediately returned to their position of observation.

Before she made her way out, she made a request. “Governess Beatrice, could Lady Agitha please accompany me?”

The two were inseparable, Beatrice noted, and the lesson was nearly done so she couldn’t see too much harm in it. “Lady Agitha, you may join the Princess. I expect you both to be diligent and learn from your peers what you’ve missed. Perhaps you can invite some of them to tea before Thursday.”

Agitha had leapt from her chair and practically scurried over to Zelda. She hadn’t yet grasped the finer points of subversion.

Beatrice clapped her hands, “Ah, ah! Girls... decorum.”

Zelda gave Agitha a look to ‘cut-it-out’ and took her friend’s arm in her own. They departed, Zelda’s steady steps guiding Agitha’s giddy ones.

~~~

It had been a few months of constant tedium and Zelda found that she could not always sealshit her way out of it. Twice a week, they learned how to speak, walk, stand, sit, breath, and exist as a lady. If it had to be done, there was a proper way to do everything, even blow your nose. But no one ever dared break wind. As far as Governess Beatrice was concerned, ladies did not poot.

Zelda’s eleventh birthday was approaching and Beatrice was using the event as a reason for the girls to begin perfecting their curtsies. First, they began by learning basic form. Once the general sweep of the leg, the dip of the head, and suspension of the arm was well practiced, she started to demonstrate the different levels one observed for varying degrees of rank. Zelda had been exposed to this all her life but Governess Beatrice was exceptionally exacting and expected nothing less than perfect preciseness. She thought of attempting escape again but she’d already done it twice this month. Anything more would surely attract suspicion.

Just as she started to feel a brain melt coming on after the fiftieth-odd curtsy, the Governess called an end to their lesson for that day. She entreated them to practice before later in the week when they would continue, and her excitement was practically terrifying when she announced they’d be presented with a varied wardrobe to study with. The morning was sure to be overflowing with petticoats, laces and frills.

Zelda wondered if she could play sick, or hide in the library. She much preferred it there, and recently she had managed to make a friend with an acquaintance of the Head Librarian Laslin. Her name was Impa and she had come to Castle Town recently with her older sister from Kakariko Village up in the Necluda mountains. They were here to research Ancient Sheikah Technology and were apparently already well informed on the subject. Zelda didn’t know much beyond the fact that the Astral Observatory was Sheikah. She adored that part of the castle and held dear a few faint, but very warm memories of her mother teaching her about the constellations.

“I’ll say it one more time ladies. You’d do well to practice on your own because we will be staying on this until you have all transformed into elegant herons.” She finished in the sing song voice that she thought made her seem nice, but really just grated on everyone’s nerves.

Zelda’s legs were so sore the following week after the extra curtsy lessons that it reminded her of the time she had tried ballet. The stiffness of her thighs made everything difficult, even using the lavatory; especially in her court dress. She smoothed the skirts and made sure everything was back in place before returning to the high tea being held in the courtyards. She was hoping she could get away with doing nothing more than sit and look pleasant for the rest of the afternoon, but just as she made herself comfortable under the pavilion, Governess Beatrice announced that they would be taking a stroll through the gardens.

Zelda sighed and rolled her eyes, which her friend Agitha had seen and giggled. She came to join Zelda as the sore Princess got up again and took her arm. “It’s better if you keep walking around you know,” she imparted as if she was full of infinite wisdom.

“How do you know that?” Zelda asked skeptically.

“Because my older brother told me. He goes on lots of adventures.” She paused as they both received parasols upon entry to the gardens, and ignored Beatrice’s spiel extolling the virtues of parasols. “He gets to do all the fun things with father while I have to stay here ‘because it’s tradition’,” she quoted her mother in a mocking voice.

“I thought brothers were no-good troublemakers.” Zelda stated with an air of query.

“Mine’s ok... most of the time.” Agitha laughed at her own joke while Zelda smiled, then continued, “When we’re both at home he helps me to find the best bugs.”

Zelda halted in shock and pulled Agitha to the side of the path so the other girls could pass. She whispered excitedly, “You like hunting for bugs!?”

Agitha dropped her parasol over their heads to whisper back, “I have a collection! I haven’t been able to add to it for a while though. Too much lady stuff to do,” she spat out with a scrunched face.

“I know the best rocks to look under, follow me!”

They were suddenly a flurry of giggles disappearing around the corner of a hedged bush. The other girls rolled their eyes and the teacher’s pet of the bunch took it upon herself to go and inform the Governess that there had been a break of rank in there very serious garden stroll.

Zelda dropped her parasol to the ground carelessly when they arrived in her old hunting grounds. There was a garden bed separated from the gravel path by a curved line of medium sized stones. She dropped to her knees and began turning them over one by one, inspecting the microcosm under each. Agitha joined her on the ground after folding and leaning her parasol against a bush with slightly more decorum, but once she was into the bugs, all sense of propriety was forgotten. They dirtied their dresses in the upturned soil and Agitha stood back up to hold out a layer of her skirts to make a receptacle. She directed Zelda which bugs to throw in and they devolved into fits of giggles as they rediscovered one of their beloved childhood activities. When they were found, Governess Beatrice was beside herself at their display of unladylike behavior.

All the other girls had followed to see what the commotion was about and were entertained beyond measure that the Princess of Hyrule was in trouble. They stood in their pristine, high tea finery, with slightly agape mouths hidden by dainty gloved fingers.

“Lady Agitha! Princess Zelda!” Beatrice’s head kept jerking back and forth between the two of them as if she couldn’t decide whom to admonish first. She decided on the royalty. “Princess Zelda, stand up at once! You have completely dirtied yourself!”

Zelda stood and brushed some of the dirt off the fabric over her knees. She started to tip the rocks back to rights with her foot while Beatrice turned her frustration to Agitha.

“And- Lady Agitha!” she admonished while straightening her back.

Agitha clutched her skirt closed around her waist and started to feel distraught that she would lose her new friends.

“What in Hyrule are you doing? It is very improper to be showing your petticoats in public. Put them to rights this instant,” she demanded. When Agitha hesitated, she became cross. She snapped her fan and came closer in an effort to appear more intimidating. “I said fix your dress, girl. You look like a harlot!”

Zelda glared daggers at the woman and vowed to get her back somehow, but Agitha took care of it herself.

Fear gave way to anger and she decided to unleash her new army upon Beatrice in frustration for not being allowed to be who she was any more. She hated growing up. With a dramatic cry of, “Have them, then!” she flung her dress open and the bugs were hurled in her direction.

The woman proceeded to scream, throwing up her parasol and flapping her fan all over to get the critters away. As she carried on, all the young ladies started laughing... and Agitha curtsied.

~~~

Four Years Later

Agitha kept moving restlessly from the parlor table to the tall balcony windows, peering out at the long and empty road leading up to the Windvane Manor.

After hearing her sigh for the umpteenth time, her older brother Theudric drawled, “At this rate, you’ll dull the marble. Why don’t you busy yourself and go check on the refreshments?” He was draped on the chaise lounge reading and when she came back over to scowl at him, he smirked.

“And miss her arrival? Absolutely not!” Her hip bounced a little and she admitted, “Though I do need to powder my nose.”

Just as her dress swished around the corner and out of the room, Theudric yelled, “Agitha! She’s here!”

“Finally!” She came peeling back round, almost slipping on the polished floors, and raced to the window only to find the same empty cobblestones. She heard her brother snickering behind his book and stomped over with a withering glare. “You remember the last time?” she threatened. “What ended up in your bed?”

His eyes went wide and he fell silent, burying his face in the book again, but his shoulders were still bouncing slightly.

It was still another three quarters of an hour before their guest arrived. Zelda appeared bright and cheerful, too excited to be tired from her journey, and refused offers of an afternoon’s repose. The opportunities to spend time with her friend were dwindling far too much so she wanted to take advantage of all the limited time they’d have. If she could give up sleep she would.

Agitha held her for an age in a warm embrace and then brought her to the parlor where they could all have luncheon. The moment they entered, Theudric snapped his book shut and stood ramrod straight, a slight color entering his cheeks.

“Zelda, you remember my brother, Theudric?”

Zelda smiled as he approached and gave a curt bow. “Princess Zelda, it is my pleasure to receive you to the manor. Lord and Lady Windvane send their apologies since they are away on business.”

“Thank you, and please give them my regards when they return,” she performed a small curtsy.

“Right,” Agitha announced. “Are we done with the pleasantries? Let’s eat! I’m famished.”

They gathered around the table and Theudric jumped to Zelda’s side to pull out her chair. “If you’ll allow me one more pleasantry.”

“Oh, thank you.”

Agitha stood near her own chair watching the lingering interaction and then cleared her throat.

Theudric shook his head a little in exasperation, “Oh, of course. Let me get that for you Aggi.”

They caught up while they ate and shared their latest interests. Agitha declared that she had a lovely surprise for Zelda in the lower storerooms of the house and Zelda spoke about her obsession with ancient Sheikah technology after the Divine Beasts had been discovered. A new friend, Dr. Purah, had lead the excavation for the last one in Eldin about two years prior and her younger sister Impa had begun advising the King on the subject. Zelda had since signed on to help where she could.

As she continued regaling her company with anecdotes about her translation work, Theudric sat riveted; he was so impressed with her academic achievements. A lot of people held the incorrect assumption that the Princess frittered away her time in court. She did make appearances in court- he had seen her himself on a few occasions when he went to the castle with his father on business- but she hardly wasted her time there. In fact, it seemed to him that she stayed the bare minimum that was acceptable. He vowed from then on that he would defend her honor and brilliance to anyone who stated anything to the contrary.

When he joined in the conversation and spoke of what their parents were up to lately, Agitha put on her most irksome, bored face. “Theu, that’s not interesting in the slightest- Zelda, have you had enough?” she interrupted herself to change the subject. “I can’t wait any longer to show you my new collection.”

Zelda laughed and regarded Theudric with a look of apology. “Forgive me Master Theudric, I appear to be summoned to the bowels of the house. Will you be joining us?” she asked as she stood.

He rose with her out of respect and opened his mouth but Agitha cut in, “He will not. He told me earlier that the day was so lovely he might go riding, and it’s about time I got you all to myself.”

Theudric put on mock dramatics, “I’m afraid I can’t join your Highness as I have a previous engagement with my horse. Missing an appointment with her would be a most egregious offense.” He bowed deeply. “Please forgive my absence.”

Agitha rolled her eyes and Zelda smiled bemusedly. She heard pandering like this all the time but it was much more palatable when delivered in jest rather than earnestly. It could become very tiring when people tried too hard and spoke only to her rank instead of to her person. It was why these less frequent opportunities to visit her friend away from the castle had become all the more important. She could relax and be herself out here, especially with Agitha. The only other respite she had was Gerudo Town and a trip there was even harder to wrangle as her responsibilities grew with each passing year.

“That’s quite understandable,” Zelda related. “My Rune also gets temperamental if I don’t visit him regularly.” She dipped her head and took one more little triangle egg sandwich from the table as Agitha dragged her off. “Enjoy your ride!”

Agitha led Zelda downstairs to one of the cooler, stone-lined basement store rooms. Behind the heavy wooden door that Agitha held open for her, Zelda’s breath was taken away by all of the glass terrariums lit by a plethora of lanterns. Each one had a manicured ecosystem and held from one, to many different species of bugs. Zelda bounced from one to the next as Agitha stood back, pleased with her reaction.

“This is wonderful Agitha! How did you manage to curate this?”

“Mother finally caved and said I could pursue my entomology hobby as long as it ‘doesn’t interfere with my other obligations’,” she quoted, exaggerating her mother’s shrill voice.

“I’m so happy for you. Oh! What’s this one? It doesn’t have a sign yet.”

Agitha approached to get a closer look. “Ah, that’s one of the rainy beauties, a Thunderwing Butterfly. Mother had a cow when I went to collect it because I was running around the meadow in a downpour.” She sighed, “Honestly, I’m so glad when she goes away because then I can just do my thing without her fretting over me.”

In a soft voice that sounded wistfully sad, Zelda offered a different perspective. “I’m sure that whatever she does, she does it out of love.”

Agitha was about to argue but when she noticed Zelda’s face after turning her attention away from the butterfly, she understood what she’d done. “Yeah... I’m sure you’re right.”

~~~

The next morning, Theudric found himself in front of the mirror trying to make himself look extra spiffy. He’d already asked his valet to put out one of his smartest ensembles. It included a red vest with gold buttons, brown trousers and calf-high boots. He was about to second guess if it was too fancy when he got distracted by his hair and proceeded to fiddle with it for a good twenty minutes. There were only so many things he could do with a short brown mop so finally, he just slicked it back and finished with a spritz of cologne.

He came downstairs, ready to entertain but he couldn’t see the girls anywhere. Their breakfast was half eaten and in his curiosity to find out where they could have gone, he gulped a bit of apple juice and grabbed a boiled egg to eat on his way out.

He wasn’t expecting to run right into them after turning the corner of the garden hedge, so he covered his mouth unceremoniously as he chewed quickly, the pasty egg yolk clinging to his teeth and tongue.

Zelda looked up and smiled radiantly under her sun hat. "Good morning Master Theudric." She was bent over the rim of a new large terrarium on a table, carefully placing a bit of hollow log inside to add to the habitat.

“Yes,” he finished swallowing his breakfast, “it is indeed a very beautiful morning. What are you ladies up to?”

Agitha gave him a withering stare. “What does it look like, genius?”

“Give me a break, I haven’t even been able to have my coffee,” he defended himself. “Had to come looking for you instead, didn’t I.”

“And just in time too. This one’s almost finished,” she said as she placed seedlings in pre-prepared holes in the soil at the bottom. “You can help us carry it downstairs.”

“Oh! Ah, I just remembered,” he started with a pained look on his face. “I have this thing.” He started to retreat and Agitha produced a flat and unamused expression that made him chuckle. “I’m just kidding Aggi. Are we carrying it or is it heavy enough that I need to get Genly?

“Mmmm, yes. I think Genly would be a good idea. I saw him in the stables earlier when I went to get some manure.”

“Wow, you aren’t messing around,” he said with a mix of curiosity and disgust.

“Only the best for my babies,” she answered.

His brow raised skeptically. “Riiiight... I’ll just go fetch Genly, then,” he stated while letting his gaze linger on Zelda as she brushed her hands together to remove the soil.

He had just turned away when she looked up to speak, the thought of allowing some self indulgence crossing her mind. “Master Theudric, do you mind if I join you? I’d love to meet the mare that stole you away from us yesterday.” Of course all three of them had known it was a pretense, but she enjoyed keeping up the ruse.

Theudric curtly bowed at the waist and gestured toward the stables. “Absolutely, your Highness. Posy would be enchanted.”

“She’s enchanted by hydromelons and if you visit her without them she’ll be a right little piece of twatittude,” Agitha warned. “I’m going to water this in. Don’t take too long.”

While Zelda bribed her way into Posy’s affections, Theudric searched the stables for Genly and found him organizing in the tack room. He was a kindly, middle aged man who’d worked for the Windvane family since he was about fifteen. His family ran the Highland Stable down south but rather than taking on the business and starting a family as he would have been expected to do when he got older, he decided to make his own way and live quietly alone in a little house on the grounds.

“Ah, Master Theudric,” Genly greeted him with a smile under his bushy mustache, tipping his hat. “Going for a ride this fine morning?”

“Morning Genly. Not at the moment.” He was about to continue with his request when an idea occurred to him. “Though maybe a bit later. I’m afraid I’m just after assistance with some heavy lifting. Aggi needs a new tank taken downstairs to her lair.”

“Righto,” Genly said as he laid some rope on the table to return to later. “Always happy to help; point the way.”

Zelda opted to continue making Posy’s acquaintance. She was entertained by the fact that the temperamental mare was pacified by hydromelons. They weren’t the usual fare at the castle stables and she thought perhaps she should acquire some for Rune to try. Maybe it would help them to bond better.

Theudric wasn’t long in returning and Genly, who was in tow to head back to what he’d initially been doing, took one look at them and steered clear out the other end of the stables to do something else. He tipped his hat as he passed by, “Your Highness.”

She smiled and nodded, then regarded Theudric with a hand on Posy’s muzzle. “Well, shall we get back? Agitha will certainly be getting restless by now.”

He leaned against the gate of Posy’s enclosure and smoothed his hair back with one hand before saying, “Actually, I’m wondering if you’d be willing to humor me for awhile. I’d love to hear more about the ancient Sheikah research you’re into.” His face was all keen interest.

“I’d be wary of that if I were you,” she warned. “Once you get me going on the subject, I’ll forget the time and talk you to exhaustion, I’m sure!”

His lips turned up into a dashing smile. “Try me.”

She seemed reticent but still in good humor, so he pursued a different tactic. “How about a deal then?”

She forgot her manners and snorted derisively, accidentally startling Posy. “Of what sort- oh, sorry Posy, I’ll leave you to the rest of your melon,” she said as she put the remaining pieces in her feed trough.

“A hobby for a hobby. You tell me all about yours while I escort you to mine. That way, there will be mutually assured boredom.”

She enjoyed his company. He seemed to not judge her natural proclivities and she appreciated that. “I really can’t fault your logic, Master Theudric.”

“Please, call me Theu,” he requested earnestly.

Agitha had just arrived on the scene to find out what had been keeping them and rolled her eyes so hard her whole body teetered to one side. “Uuugh, you’re not taking her to the Collie, are you?”

“Why not? If we take the horses, it will be a fun, midday outing. We can take a lunch.”

“What’s going on at the Coliseum?” Zelda asked, unable to hide her curiosity.

Theudric began to speak but Agitha cut him off again, “Only his pet project which daddy is sooo proud of.”

Before Agitha could continue teasing, Zelda said earnestly, “It’s a wonderful thing to have a father’s approval. I think I’d like to see the hobby that garnered such a thing. Maybe I can get some tips so father can see the value in my hobby as well.”

Theudric’s ears perked up and he asked, “Are you short of funding?”

“Honestly, I can’t complain. The research has been well funded, but it has grown to the point where we need a second location. There is an energy source that must be tapped if we want to progress as quickly as possible.”

“Sounds very interesting.”

“You say that, but there’s a catch. It’s almost as far east as you can get, near the Village of Hateno.”

“Ahh, the boonies. Father calls it bum ffff- never mind,” he caught himself from almost being incredibly uncouth in front of the Princess of Hyrule and straightened his posture. He just found her so easy to be around. Quite a different flavor from other young ladies he’d socialized with.

She suppressed a chuckle and caught Agitha’s bored expression from where she was sitting on a bale of hay, twirling pieces in her hand and waiting. “Agitha, are you going to join us? I think a ride with lunch sounds lovely.”

“It’s ok. You two go on ahead.” She stood up and stretched. “I’m going to finish the habitat for the second tank. I’ll send something from the kitchen while the horses get tacked up.”

Theudric looked incredulous. “Thanks Aggi.”

She left the stables and just as he was about to continue his conversation with Zelda, she poked her head around the corner. “Don’t take all day, you hear?!”

Zelda waved cheerfully and had a look at the other horses in their stalls. “So Theu, who shall I get ready to ride today?”

“Oh! Um...” he quickly turned away from her so he could hide the warmth he felt on his cheeks, no doubt manifesting as a full on blush at hearing his nickname as he’d requested. He led her to a brown and white spotted mare about three stalls down. “We’ll have to take Daisy because she’s the only one that Posy likes hanging around with.”

“Daisy and Posy, hm? All we need is another flower and we’ll be on our way to a bouquet,” Zelda joked.

And she made silly jokes. He was a goner.

Theudric led Daisy out to introduce them and laughed nervously. “Actually, you’re not far off. All the horses have been bred at my Uncle Talon’s farm on the other side of the field and he’s a... a quirky one. Names all his horses after flowers.” He leaned over to look past Zelda outside, “I’ll just find Genly to tack up.”

As he brushed past, she touched his arm, “It’s ok, I like doing it myself. Besides, that way Daisy can get to know me better before we go. Isn’t that right, beautiful girl?” she cooed, gently stroking Daisy’s face.

Theudric felt rude for letting his surprise show but she was paying more attention to Daisy anyhow. “Alright then, let’s get ready.”

He collected saddles and reins from the tack room and they got to work. She asked him about his project but he only touched on it briefly, wanting to share the full story during their outing when he could show as well as tell. He did let on that it was his innovation to combine the annual Kingdom Games with a harvest market. It would be a whirlwind fortnight of competition and bartering, boosting trade in the region for smaller, local farmers, and trades people. It was also ideally situated to receive the quality gem crafts and fabrics coming out of Gerudo Desert.

Zelda sat astride her mount first and was glad she brought her hat as she rode out into the clear summer day. Genly came past with another tip of his hat and handed her a packed lunch. “This came from the big house. I hope you enjoy your ride, your Highness. I’ll take care of the girls when you get back.”

“Thank you, Genly,” she beamed.

He shrugged shyly over the Princess of Hyrule remembering his name and passed Theudric’s lunch to him as he emerged next from the stables astride Posy. The two horses nibbled at each other and snorted, but otherwise got on.

“Well, then. Shall we?” Theudric asked.

Zelda clicked her heels and set off at a cantor. “We shall!”

~~~

The moment Zelda pulled away and the last of her small retinue were out of earshot, Agitha turned on her brother with a look of disdain. "I hardly get to see Zelda anymore. I'd appreciate you not stealing her from me next time she visits."

He finished waving and rolled his eyes at her as he turned to go back in the house.

When he didn't say anything, she kept on. "Theu! Seriously, you used to pay us no mind whatsoever. Why are you butting in?"

He kept walking through the vaulted foyer and answered nonchalantly, "I like her."

She froze in a silent gasp but recovered from the shock quickly, catching up to him in a flurry of clicking steps that reverberated off the polished floor. "Well- then-," she struggled to retain the argument after such a bombshell. "Then go see her on your own time and-"

He whirled on her, having become slightly annoyed at her petulance, "Honestly, I don't know why you're so upset. If she likes me back, you two could end up being sisters, and then you can spend as much time with her as you like."

A loud and deep gasp filled the room this time, as if she'd inhaled all the available air in the house, "YOU'RE RIGHT!"

She then left him with a bemused expression as she made a mad dash to her writing desk upstairs. She'd begin matchmaking right away, starting with a letter to Zelda. Subtle hints, not too overt. She'd have to gauge if he was even on her radar. Probably not, all she talked about was ancient Sheikah tech...

She giggled as she wrote, imagining the day when they could be sisters.

#breath of the wild #fanfiction #writing #Royal Etiquette & Funding #Insurrection Recollections Series #snidgetwidgeon scribbles

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politicaltheatre · 3 years

Text

Empathy, pt.3

Let’s start with this: Jamal Kashshoggi was a man.

Do you remember him? He was a man, a human being, and like any of us he had hopes and dreams and memories.

He was also a journalist. After years of supporting the Saudi royal family and their authoritarian regime, he was murdered in 2018 for writing and speaking out against their abuses and, eventually, their war in Yemen. That was the version of him who fled Saudi Arabia, and the one who was marked for death by the Saudi crown prince he had once called a friend.

Last fall, the Saudi regime commuted the death sentences of the men it offered up as his murderers. Three months ago, an investigation confirmed that it was the Saudi Crown Prince, Mohammed bin Salman, who had ordered his death.

We’re forgetting him. Even now, reading this, we are already forgetting. We can’t help it. At least, we tell ourselves we can’t.

In many ways, Kashshoggi was a lot like Alexei Novalny. Novalny hasn’t left the news quite yet. Like Kashshoggi, he supported the corrupt, authoritarian regime in his country, Russia, before turning against it. The attempt on his life, by poison, failed. Barely. He’s still alive, locked up in a Russian prison, a cautionary tale for those daring to oppose Vladimir Putin.

How long before we’ve forgotten him, too?

It’s a lot to ask of ourselves, remembering everyone around us. Sure, in some abstract way most of us try, “Good will towards men,” and all that, but we have the luxury of looking away and of not having to commit ourselves to thinking of others the way those two men did.

For each of them, it was an inescapable empathy for the suffering of they saw around them that compelled them to risk their lives to draw attention to it. They did so knowing the cost.

That cost - personal loss, imprisonment, death - is enough to keep most of us looking away. So much of what we do is to enable us to look away, to keep unpleasant reality at a distance. When others are already physically far away, it only makes it that much harder for us to do the right thing.

Looking out past our borders, the world today is filled with men, women, and children suffering, more than a few at the hands of authoritarian regimes, and of them far too many paying that cost for standing up against abuse.

The most present case this past week, because videos on social media have made it impossible to ignore in ways that it has been, has been that of the Palestinians.

The facts of this latest series of abuses against them should not be in doubt. During the last days of Ramadan, Israelis began forcing Palestinians out of their homes in the Sheikh Jarrah district in East Jerusalem. This was followed in quick succession by Israeli troops occupying the Al-Aqsa mosque following a confrontation between Palestinians at the mosque for Friday prayers and Israelis celebrating the capture of the mosque in 1967.

This was all a deliberate provocation, beyond the aggressive offense of what the Israelis were doing. The timing of it, during the Muslim holy month while right wing Benjamin Netanyahu struggles to cling to power, was intended to add insult to injury.

It worked. Clearly.

Hamas, ever eager for an excuse to be violent and to be seen to be violent, gave an ultimatum that would make Netanyahu’s regime look weak if accepted, Netanyahu gratefully rejected it, and Hamas began firing rockets, knowing that Israel would escalate and retaliate with a kind of brutality that can only be described as criminal.

The unpleasant reality is that both political powers rely on perpetuating the conflict between them, doing so at the expense of the people they claim to want to serve and protect. And those people pay the cost of it.

Note, please, how I have avoided referring to those instigating these atrocities as Muslims or Jews. That they use their religions and their histories as justification for violence and abuse should not be taken as representative of either religion. If anything, it should be taken as a kind of cruel irony, or perhaps an insight into how the abused, as individuals or groups, can become abusers themselves.

Zionism is not Judaism. It never was and never will be. It grew out of two things: the technology-driven late 19th century belief by Europeans, and their North American “cousins”, in their right to colonial domination of non-Europeans; and the centuries-old, routine and systematic attacks on Jews - pogroms - especially in Central and Eastern Europe that led millions of Jews to flee for their lives, many of them to the United States.

The establishment of Israel in 1948 followed the same pattern: that same, late 19th century belief in the right to claim or assign ownership of others’ land - no matter that it had once belonged to your ancestors; and the routine and systematic attempted genocide of all Jews in Europe - the Holocaust - by Europeans who chose to believe Jews not to be Europeans but some other, lesser race from West Asia.

That, of course, has been the assigned role for Jews the world over: they are accepted as insiders when times are good and scapegoated as outsiders when times are bad. To be Jewish - I am - is to understand that this never quite goes away. There’s always somebody having a bad day, always a big lie ready for justification.

Technically, it is true that Jews are Asian, in the way that Palestinians are also Asian, and that Egyptians are, too, but also African because different people have had different maps which they used for different purposes at different times.

Also true is that these things are only true due to the arbitrary drawing of continental lines on maps made by Europeans, from the ancient Greeks to those carving up the “New World” in the century after Columbus to the 1885 conference in Berlin carving up Africa for colonial exploitation.

This is not, strictly speaking, a European thing. Every culture has a tendency to see themselves as the center of the world. Just ask those living in China, or as they call it, Zhongguo, the “Middle Kingdom”.

The difference here is that modern day Israel was carved out of Palestine, a colonial “protectorate” which was itself carved out of the Ottoman Empire and awarded to the British following World War I. As a spoil of war, formerly-Ottoman Iraq, with its vast oil reserves, had greater value to the British. Palestine had ports on the Mediterranean - “the center of the world” - but was otherwise an afterthought.

Not, however, to the Jews fleeing Nazi Germany. We must remember that the rest of the world didn’t want them. Jews attempting to flee the atrocity they and everyone else couldn’t help but see coming were turned away by everyone else, including the United States.

This in no way justifies what was done in Palestine in the 1930s and 40s, it’s just to place it in context. By turning Jews away, by attempting to forget them and their suffering, the world gave weight and power to right wing groups within the refugees.

Starting in the 1930s, those groups began to engage in terrorism against Arabs to force their position into Palestine and against the British to force them out. Irgun Zvai Leumi (National Military Organization) and later the Stern Gang carried out assassinations and killed hundreds of Arabs and British with bombs.

After what the Nazis did to the Jews in Europe, memorialized in newsreels for all the world to see, who would take the Arabs’ side? Who could? The British were in no position to hold onto their colonial possessions anywhere, so they gave up and pulled out and in 1948 the state of Israel was born. Palestinian Arabs were forced from their homes and stripped of rights they had held under the Ottomans and even the British.

Again, this was not Judaism. As the name “Irgun” suggests, those terrorists were a right wing, nationalist militia doing what right wing, nationalist militias have done before and since, using an ethnic or religious identity to justify committing atrocities to take land and property.

After standing by and allowing the Nazis to do what they did, the world vowed never to forget; part of the price they were willing to pay - that they were willing to allow the Palestinian Arabs to pay - was to forget what Irgun and the Stern Gang had done, and to turn a blind eye to anything the Israelis did going forward.

There was a racist element to it, to be sure. This is part of the pattern of colonial withdrawal, negotiating a partition of land and possessions among the colonized groups, pitting them against each other, and then letting them fend for themselves. Nothing like creating a power vacuum to draw out the worst of us.

The British did the same thing in South Asia in 1947, pitting Muslim and Hindu groups against each other, erupting in spasms of violence before settling into a Cold War, complete with nuclear weapons. Even in their most secular eras, religious nationalism has defined the politics and leadership of each nation.

The result of this, naturally, has been an increasingly corrupt leadership exploiting religious hatred and mistrust to gain more power and wealth for themselves. It should be noted, yet again, that the political entities of Pakistan and India, though led by religious nationalists, do not represent Islam or Hinduism.

Their actions and failures do not represent those religions in any way. They are the actions and failures of men and women seeking power, seeking to acquire it and seeking to hold onto it. They are no different than the Netanyahu regime or Hamas, or our own right wing leaders in the United States.

For all of them, it is in their interest to cling to memory of conflict as a means of manipulation; in Israel and Palestine, nationalist leaders preach as if 1948 or 1967 are now; in India and Pakistan, it’s still 1947; and for America’s white nationalists, it’s either 1865 or 1965, take your pick. For the Serbs slaughtering thousands of Muslims in Srebrenica twenty-six years ago, it was 1389, the year the Ottomans conquered the Balkans.

The wars, cold or hot, can never end because time is never allowed to change. This, again, is a function of proximity. By freezing themselves in the increasingly distant past, the leaders and those choosing to follow them do not have to accept the changes facing them in the present. Their fantasy is to return to that idyllic, earlier time, when they possessed everything and did not have to be accountable to anyone.

And they will all fail for the same reason: in the present or near future, we will have reached a point at which we can no longer allow ourselves to ignore those suffering and in doing so forget them.

That is what we have done to the Palestinians. What has been done and what is being done now is in no small part because we forget them, routinely and systematically and purposefully.

The videos sent from Gaza of children being pulled from rubble should help us remember. They should. Ideally, they will have the same effect as those of last year’s Black Live Matter protests, but the people of Gaza remain far away. For many of us, it will be enough that the missiles and rockets have stopped.

Videos sent from India’s emergency rooms and crematoria should help us remember, but they, too, remain far away. Already, we’re starting to put India’s crisis behind us.

Will we remember either of them a month from now? Two? Or will they fade into the background, as the imprisoned Hong Kong democracy protesters have, or those dying of Covid-19 in Brazil, or those shot down in the streets fighting police brutality in Columbia, or those caught between warring factions in Ethiopia’s Tigray region? Or, for that matter, those half a century ago in Argentina who were simply “disappeared”?

What about the coup in Myanmar? Remember that? How about the ethnic cleansing of the Muslim Rohingya people, supported by the now-deposed and jailed regime of fallen-hero Aung San Suu Kyi? What was done to them was no different than what was done to the Armenians in what is now eastern Turkey by the Ottoman Empire in 1915. That genocide was recently recognized by President Biden, an act of official, international recognition that took over a century and which itself is already being forgotten. The Rohingya may have to wait as long to be remembered themselves, or longer.

The point of all this isn’t that we forget, try as we might, but that despite it we find ways to remember. That Biden recognized the Armenians came because they did not forget and did not allow that crime to be forgotten.

If this sounds like what nationalists all claim to do themselves - always demanding that everyone remember this date or that insult - remember that actual justice never seems to be their goal.

Justice requires memory, full memory. For us to remember anything fully, we must take the good with the bad. We must recognize the good and bad in each of us and in each group and in each series of actions. We must understand that for the worst act done by anyone in the name of any group or religion, there remain those within those groups and religions who stand against it.

So, let’s end with this: George Floyd

George Floyd was a man, a human being, and like any of us he had hopes and dreams and memories. He died one year ago today in no small part because we forgot him.

We remember now, today especially, because of what was done to him on this date, but we should recognize the role that forgetting him and people like him played in the events that led to his murder. We as a society have looked away from the suffering of minorities in this country, and from the violence done to certain groups within our society.

The easiest thing to say, certainly as we watched that video and the countless videos of police brutalizing non-violent protesters all last summer, was that “all cops are bad”. They aren’t. Hard as it may be to hear, they aren’t.

They are, however, led by men and women who push an adversarial culture, who encourage violence and racism, who are corrupt, and who thrive on the failure of reform. And most of them, far, far too many, stand by in silence as men and women are murdered in that culture’s name. In that silence, they have failed us all.

If we want to change that culture, we need those who would stand for justice to stand up and speak. They are there, just as they are in Israel and Palestine, and in Pakistan and India and elsewhere: intimidated, ostracized, and struggling to be heard.

Of course, May 25th, 2020 wasn’t just any other day in America. It was Memorial Day. That is a cruel irony. Another is how little we do to honor that day. It was created to honor those who died for this country, to remember not only them but what they did and what they supposedly did it for. Instead, we grill meats and drink beer and forget our troubles for just one day.

Few deaths may have the lasting impact on this country that George Floyd’s has had and will have, and he died in no small part because he, too, had been forgotten. This coming Memorial Day, let us take a moment to remember him and all of the others everywhere in this world who have died and deserve to be remembered.

- Daniel Ward

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