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subpar-ghoulfriend · 3 years

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Live In Nanny

Villain!All Might x Reader

All Might raising baby Deku but is in desperate need of a nanny.

TW: Yandere themes, breeding kink (our villain is ready to make the reader a mommy), dub con

AN: literally just took Hero All Might and flipped him upside down. So baseline form is big buff boi and villain form is lanky but retains the strength.

Single father with a nine month old child, seeking live in nanny services. Negotiable pay. Negotiable time off/vacation days.

Toshinori was impressed with your interview. You had over 8 years of experience working with children between babysitting and working at a day care. Plus Izuku took to you immediately. It was just a bonus that you were easy on the eyes.

You agreed to begin immediately, trying not to let on that you were in desperate need of money and a place to stay. You didn't have much to move in. And, in comparison to the huge room you had been given, it seemed like you owned even less. You figured your new boss must get paid well. His house was huge, the largest you'd ever been in.

Your room was next to baby Izuku's. Settling in to a routine with the baby was easy. You weren't sure exactly what your employer did for a living, his schedule was sporadic, he would be in and out throughout the day. Whenever he was available he would stop by to love on the infant. It was clear that he was doing his best as a single parent, but house keeping wasn't his strong suit. You tried your best to help out with the chores and grocery shopping, after all he was paying you graciously and giving you a roof over your head.

The only bump in the road so far has been getting Toshinori's permission to take the little one on walks through the nearby park. According to the father, errands were one thing but what was the point of going to park? Izuku can't even walk, there wouldn't be any benefit. Eventually you convinced him, after rambling about how good it is for babies to be exposed to different levels of stimulation. You could show Izuku the ducks and dogs, plus he could see all the pretty spring time flowers.

The older man was worried, he feared that his child, and you for that matter, would be targeted by his enemies. Plenty of low life's would love to make a move against the notorious villain. But you wore down his resolve. So long as you would tell him before you went. Thankfully he could play it off as being a bit of a helicopter dad. He always has a spare crony he could send out there to watch over you two.

---

"What are you both doing," your bosses laugh filled the air.

You were in a very flattering position, palms on the floor stretching through your hips, ass hiked up with a tempting arch to your back. Then you pushed yourself forward, giving the giggling baby raspberries before returning to your original position.

"Baby yoga!" You smiled, oblivious to the growing bulge in the villains pants. "Right now we're doing downward facing dog and cobra."

He watched you cycle through the motions, hypnotized by your movements.

You took such good care of him and his baby. Ever since you got here you went above and beyond (very plus ultra of you). You even packed his meals to go when he had to rush off to a job. And you did it all with a smile and his kid bouncing away at your feet. The man allowed his mind to drift to the thought of you with his babies, Izuku on your hip and your round belly ready to pop.

You made an amazing nanny but you would make an even better housewife.

---

It wasn't until a week after Izuku's birthday that you learned about your bosses occupation. You were at the park and a stranger approached you to coo over Izuku.

"Such a little cutie, this is Toshi's kid, right?"

That caught you off guard, how did this person know Toshinori? You knew he was a protective dad and there something about this woman felt off.

"Well, either way, this is for you," she smiled as she passed you a manila envelope. "A little birdie wants you to have it."

You skeptically eyed the parcel as the woman disappeared through the park. You shoved it into Izuku's diaper bag before rushing back home.

You decided to peek into the envelope after settling 'Zuku down for the night. You curled onto the chair in his nursery, using his nightlight too sift through the documents. Various photos of Toshinori, your employer, amongst high profile criminals. Photos of the most terrifying villain among his infamous exploits. And finally a piece of paper with a single web address and access code. This was the most damning piece of evidence, All Might - the villain himself - joking amongst his companions before transforming into the man you knew as Izuku's father. Without this video you would have never even guessed. All Might was known for his unassuming nature, his slender frame concealing his god-like strength. Still he looked terrifying, like make children cry type terrifying. Toshinori on the other hand was massive but his sunny attitude made him approachable. For all these months you had been working for a criminal. A criminal with a child. You had been living with him, laughing and raising a baby, taking care of him and his family. Oh god, your late night fantasies of your boss, a total DILF, were fantasies of a sadistic monster.

The betrayal and shame brought you to tears. You should call the cops. Take Izuku far away from this place, from being exposed to his fathers atrocities. But you were torn, he was a good dad, he always put his son first and provided him with only the best. He would tear the world apart for Izuku even if he had to put a target on your back. You shook as you muffled your cries, trying not to wake the baby you cared so much for. Eventually you wrote yourself out, falling asleep in the nursery.

By the time Toshinori made it home it was close to two in the morning. As usual he tip toed into his sons room, shocked to find you curled up in the rocker asleep. He was quiet, surprisingly more so than in his slender form. As you made his way to wake you he was surprised to see your phone still unlocked, you had fallen to sleep with that video on loop. Underneath your phone was the envelope, he didn't need to look to know what was inside. He hadn’t woken either of you, managing to shut off your phone and pick you up with or so much as a peep. He decided rather quickly that he would wait for you to make the first move. At least in the mean time he could pretend you didn't care about his lifestyle and that you wouldn't try to leave him or his son.

"Toshinori," you mumbled as he was about to settle you into your bed. You were half asleep and groggy from crying.

"Go back to sleep, darling, it's late," he paused to sway with you, just like he did when putting down 'Zuku for a nap. He was shocked that it worked and finally escaped your room. You let him lull you back to sleep, further affirming his belief that you would stay.

---

The next morning you creeped downstairs. Izuku wasn't in his crib, meaning Toshinori was him. You found them both in the kitchen. The sight of the pair would usually warm your body but now shivers radiated down your spine.

"Look who's up, buddy, say good morning," he bounced the child, beaming like the happiest father.

Taking a deep breath you decided to rip off the band aid. "Mr Toshinori, I have to resign."

His pause was so long you wondered if he heard you.

"Did the video upset her that much, Zuzu?"

He looked at you with the same warmth he always did. "There's no need to be formal, you were fine calling me Toshi just the other day. Take a seat, I made pancakes, just like you like'em."

You complied, his unchanged demeanor intimidating you into submission.

"There's no need for you to quit," he started. "Nothing has changed aside from your level of awareness."

"I can't work for you knowing that you hurt people."

At that his smile faltered, "Darling, if you truly felt that way, you wouldn't be here. You would've slipped out early this morning."

You were silent. He was right, in a way. Trapped between what was right and what was best for Izuku. You'd never be able to do anything about your boss's criminal activity, even if you did and All Might was locked away, Izuku would suffer the most.

"Give yourself a few days to adjust, okay? If you still want to quit after that, we can reassess."

There's was a glint in his eyes that hinted he wasn't asking.

---

"I'll be back this evening," Toshinori told you a as he kissed Izuku's forehead. He was uncomfortably close as he returned the baby to your lap. "There's plenty of groceries so you don't need to go out today. I have a coworker out front, so don’t worry if you see someone outside."

"What are they doing?"

He placed a hand on the top of your hair, petting you like some cat.

"He'll just keep an eye on things. I need someone to make sure you stay put."

---

A week flew by with your employer pushing off the discussion of your resignation. He wouldn’t leave you unsupervised so just walking away wasn’t an option, besides could you really leave Izuku?

Then the child came down with some type of bug and was absolutely miserable for several days. You couldn’t get much sleep as a result, even if his father was home for most of the day.

---

Izuku finally fell asleep around three in the morning. You napped beside his crib out of fear he would wake up if you so much as changed positions.

Then you woke in Toshi's arms as he carried you down the hall.

"Where are we going," You whined, anxious to be away from the child.

"I told you to rest, instead I find you in the nursery."

"'Zuku is sick-"

"But he's asleep, there are baby monitors, not that he won't wake the whole city up with his cries. You've been up for nearly two days with him, time for bed."

But he wasn't taking you to your room. Instead he dropped you on to his bed.

"What are you doing?" You snapped.

"I don't need you sneaking back. I can keep an eye on you here. I'll take care of him if he starts crying." He rolled in next to you.

The bed was huge but so was your boss. "Stop wiggling."

"Well I can't get comfortable."

“Fine,” he said and pulled you into him, “now stop it and get some sleep.”

You burned with embarrassment, turning silent after several attempts at protest. Just as you began to drift off, Toshinori's hand moved to beneath your shorts. You shut your eyes, pretending not to notice. He probably didn't even realize what he was doing. Then his fingers grazed the spot where your skin met your panties.

"I know you aren't asleep yet, darling."

You didn't respond, opting to keep up the façade.

"Mmm, are we playing pretend? I don't mind."

You gasped, pushing at his hand, "I'm trying to sleep."

"I can see that," he chuckled. "I'm just helping you wear yourself out. You've been taking such good care of the baby, let me return the favor."

He jerked your hips, pressing you tightly against his bulge.

"You've been such a good mommy."

God the way you could feel your body responding made you hate that he was a villain.

"'M not-" You gasped as he did his fingers into your thighs. "His mom."

"You sure about that? I know how much you care about him. Always rushing to him when he’s cranky, never taking any days off. You make sure he's a happy little baby and you take such good care of his daddy. Isn't that's what mommies do?"

A moan slipped through your lips, "Stop."

"Are you sure? It seems like your having such a good time," he teased, sliding his hand to find your wetness.

Your body jerked involuntarily. He wasted no time tearing off your layers. Your determination quickly fading.

"I'm gonna take such good care of you," he pushed a finger in to your warmth.

You shivered at the sensation. Before you could register his actions there was another digit. He skillfully maneuvered his fingers to prep walls.

"What a tight like cunt," The man cooed. "So perfect and pretty. Just waiting for me to claim."

You gasped as he curled his fingers in you. Tears of pleasure pricking your eyes.

"Atta girl, I think you're ready to take daddy's cock."

You shouldn't be surprised when you saw how absolutely hung your boss is. There was no way the whole thing would fit inside of you.

Without hesitation All Might slowly began to press inside of you. The head of his cock already made it feel like you were tearing.

"Wait wait wait," You cried. "Too big."

He paused, reassuring you, "I know you can do it baby. You're okay."

You shook your head violently.

With a sloppy squelch he withdrew. He disappeared momentarily, give you much need time to breathe. Then he was back and you felt a cool, slick fluid rub against you. He applied a generous amount of lube knowing full well that if he played his cards right you'd happily be his forever.

Regardless there was still a painful pressure as he forced himself deeper.

"You're doing so good, taking me so well."

He was slowly increasing the speed off his hips. All you could manage was incoherent whines as his momentum bounced you back and forth.

"Toshi, Toshi," You panted.

"I don't think so baby girl," he slapped your thigh. "You know what I want to hear."

You couldn't be rational, not when he was pounding into you. All you knew was pleasure in this moment. How could you not give the man what he wanted when he was fucking you dumb.

"Mmm daddy, hurts so good."

"Ah- fuck yeah. I knew you were a little pain slut. You want me to fuck you like a whore and then treat you like my little princess?"

You nodded, gasping for air.

"You've been such a good little mommy, I think you deserve this little treat huh?"

You didn't respond, stubbornly refusing to tell the man what he was desperate to hear.

He shifted to a painfully slow pace as he would pull almost completely out just to slam back into your abused whole.

"And here I thought you wanted to cum, I can always stop here, finish myself later-"

"No! No no no, don't stop."

"Then repeat after me: I'm such a good mommy."

As you stayed silent until he began to move at a snails pace. So close to losing your high.

"O-kay, okay, I-I've been a good mom-mommy," You cried tried to buck against the giant.

And just like that your boss was pushing you back to the edge of an orgasm. You were sobbing from pleasure and frustration.

"I know,” He growled. “Fucking good girl, taking care of our baby while daddy's working. You're gonna look so pretty knocked up. All glowing and swollen. Bet your tits are gonna look so pretty when they get full. Gotta keep you stuffed with my cum so our little boy can have a sibling."

#bnha yandere #yandere #yandere x reader #mha yandere #smut #all might x reader #villain all might #all smite #toshinori yagi x reader

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simstomaggie · 2 years

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Castle Swanburg, Grantbury, Sunday Morning

Footman: Her Majesty, the Queen Marie of Caxony.

Queen Marie: (to ladies-in-waiting) I wish to be alone with my nieces.

Princess Charlotte: You must have had quite the journey, Aunt Marie.

Queen Marie: I believe it is not as exciting as it is made out to be. The weather on the sea was just too tumultuous, and I was discouraged from traveling. So I waited at my house in Saint Uinen until I was allowed to get on the ship. And unfortunately I could not send a message either, so... I hope you did not worry too much, especially you, little one.

Lady Lilian: I was worried... but now I am glad you are here.

Princess Juliet: Now that we have telegraphs, we should be able to communicate more easily in the future. I doubt we should have to rely on letters for much longer.

Queen Marie: Perhaps. I don't understand the technology, but I should talk to my son.

Princess Charlotte: We should have a nice week together, Aunt Marie. The ball is tonight, and after that there will be a dinner in your honor, but other than that, there are only minor events in the diary. We should have a grand old time.

Queen Marie: I'm sure of it, as it is so lovely to be with you all here. And perhaps we will also get to celebrate an engagement? Juliet?

Princess Juliet: How do you know?!

Queen Marie: My maid said it was the main topic in the servant's hall, that there would be an official announcement any day?

Princess Juliet: ...

Princess Valeria: They pretend they don't have an understanding, but everyone knows it is going to happen. Quite pathetic honestly. Just admit to it already.

Princess Charlotte: Now, now... We don't need to be unkind.

Princess Valeria: Unkind!? They're treating us as if we were blind!

Queen Marie: I am sure that is not the intention here. And sit up straight, Valeria, don't slouch, you look like a peasant's daughter!

Princess Valeria: Forgive me, Aunt. (mumbles) a peasant's daughter is still a peasant...

Princess Juliet: Charles and I are not engaged, Aunt Marie, but... perhaps he might propose soon, I am not sure. It is difficult to know what he thinks.

Princess Charlotte: I believe the way that he seeks you out in a crowded room is already a sign that he must be madly in love with you; before the war he usually kept to the shadows, or sat and growled at everyone.

Lady Lilian: I think it's romantic, him coming home from the war and falling in love...

Queen Marie: Has he spoken to your father yet? To ask permission?

Princess Juliet: Not to my knowledge, but I should not think it matters. I'm not promised to anyone else, and Papa thinks highly of Charles. And this way, I could stay here in Anland and could be close to our families.

Queen Marie: I see... well my darlings, let me give you some advice. You are still so young. And you are right at the limbo between coming of age and starting your life in society and being married. You should do your very best to make this time one of joy. The friendships you make now could last a lifetime, you have the opportunity to meet the most interesting people of our lifetime of course! But don't forget to behave properly either... Rumors about impropriety can also follow you until your deathbed. Would you not agree, Valeria?

Princess Valeria: Why would you tell me this, Aunt?

Queen Marie: All I will say is this: the servant's hall is apparently also full of your exploits, dearest.

Princess Valeria: What?!

Queen Marie: I do not wish to discuss the matter, but let this be a tale of caution for you.

Princess Juliet: Would you approve of it thought? If it came through, that is?

Queen Marie: Of what?

Princess Juliet: This... match. If he did propose, would you approve of it?

Queen Marie: Of course, my child. As long as it is what you truly want.

Previous | Beginning | Prequel | Next

#ada #a daydream away #the sims #the sims 4 #ts4 #the sims 4 story #the sims 4 storytelling #simblr #royal simblr #sims story #sims 4 storytelling #historical sim #sims 4 victorian #victorian sims #simstomaggie #ts4 story #ts4 screenshots

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outofangband · 3 years

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warnings for distorted familiar terms between the Valar (ie, Oromë calling Tulkas his brother, etc), Melkor being himself

this is not a typical piece for me! Yes, it does involve Melkor being creepy but it’s not about Maedhros and it’s well before he was even born!

this is my interpretation of this scene!! Because I’ve been utterly obsessed with it. How far would Manwë have let Melkor go? Where would he have drawn the line? How far would Tulkas have played along if Melkor hadn’t angered him so much by insulting Manwë? How would the other Valar react?

I haven’t been able to decide on answers to these questions but hopefully this will be the start of something more!

masterlist

as this is a rare non Maedhros piece I wasn’t sure if I should tag the people I usually do?

“Patience, my friend.” Aulë tried and failed to hide a smile as Tulkas pounded a fist against the gate and drew back for a second. There too in his eyes was a glint of anticipation.

“No blame I hold the both of you in for desiring hasty action!” Manwë says, “But to do battle here with Melko would only damage this land further. We must attempt first to speak with him. Use guile if we must.” Aulë didn’t argue though neither did he attempt to soothe those of his kin who appeared dissatisfied with this. Oromë approached his king, shaking his head.

“I second Tulukhastāz” he says stoutly, “The time has gone beyond words for the words of Melko shall give us nought but deceit.”

Manwë stood lost in thought as a pillar crumbled by Tulkas’s touch. He did not shy away from Oromë’s anger.

“Deceit, I believe you right. But should we encroach by force now will he not merely flee? We know of the many tunnels he has constructed beneath.”

Manwë then called out to Melkor and reluctantly Tulkas stopped kicking at the pieces of the pillar. Oromë had never before seen his brother so agitated.

“Let the demon flee,” he says coldly, “I shall hunt him as I do any other monster.” The words were bold even from him but the king did not appear ruffled.

“Arômêz,” he merely says gently, “We do not want him to flee. We need him constrained.”

“Aye,” Aulë says and gestures to the Maiar who have accompanied them to hold the great chain, “Tis a waste to use such a force.” Oromë gave a low chuckle and Manwë looked for a moment as though he would say something but then fell silent. There is an unease through the host at the distinct lack of sounds from within. Tulkas is closest to the gates and spots the messenger first. He grabs Oromë’s arm even as he gestures to his king

“My lord!” He calls and Manwë turns.

“Lord Melko is pleased to know the Gods have found his abode,” speaks the oily voice of the servant, Langon.

“He should gladly entertain you,” the servant says with the faintest trace of a sneer, “But he finds himself far too busy to keep His abode in fit state for such venerable guests. Should two enter he shall speak with thee. But! Neither Mânawenûz nor Tulukhastāz should enter. That is his word.”

Tulkas felt a flash of anger at this. He was hardly surprised that coward would refuse him entry but the nerve of him to refuse Lord Manwë when the king was the only one who fought to end this peacefully for both sides?

“Melko’s fear of you, My Lord and of Tulukastāz? Could we not use this to our advantage? He clearly wants you not in his halls. Should we enter peacefully with you an upper hand might be ours.” Aulë suggests.

Manwë seems to fade away as he thinks. But his voice is perfectly level. “Yes,” he says slowly, “Yes, you are right. Loath am I to employ deceit in turn, let alone against one who has so mastered it, a ruse is perhaps our only chance.” He beckons to his servant and dictates a letter.

"A message from Mânawenûz ! The Valar have come to ask the forgiveness of thee for they have known thy fury and seek to amend what they have done in their foolishness and haste. In Valinor we have asked what best way to amend and alas! Without Lord Melko himself among us we might not right our wrongs against him! For he is the greatest among us and surely Valinor suffers for his absence! In truth, Tulkas would not assent but I, Manwë ordered him constrained with violence so we might come to thee now and plead for thy pardon!"

They do not speak as they await the return of the servant. Oromë sends Nahar off into the woods and Tulkas stacks rocks. But they do not have to wait in the uncomfortable silence for long.

The answer returned is hasty and Manwë practically feels the excitement that exudes from the material. Whether or not he had bought the ruse, the offer of the chance to humiliate them had been enough to persuade him. He then sees the conditions that Melkor has laid out and turns to his kin, handing it first to Ulmo simply as he stood closest. Manwë watched the atmosphere become more and more agitated as they took in the response.

"You are agreeing to this?!" Oromë snapped, “You wish for my brother to what…?”

“Enter in chains,” Ulmo says bluntly as Manwë silently rereads the response from Melkor. He’s gone through it several times already but looks as focused as the first, as though this time he is sure he will spot some new, secret information to aid them.

“Tis not a terrible plan,” Aulë says slowly, “Indeed I could not devise on such short notice another way to ensure that Angaino is brought in without arising suspicion at once.”

“And what precisely is Melko to do with him?!” Oromë said angrily. Tulkas looked uncharacteristically quiet.

“A3ûlêz is right. We must bring Angaino and we will have no other weapons! If Lord Manwë agrees I shall go as described. Fear not, brother. Melko shall have neither chance nor allowance to do harm to me. A blow or two will do me no injury.”

Oromë does not appear satisfied at this. Nessa sways on her feet, looking from one to the other.

“Is it merely that which he wants?” she asks softly, “To strike you? Tis far too close to equal retribution for his taste.”

“We will not find out what he wants but should he speak it,” Aulë says firmly, “We shall not allow him to act upon it.” Manwë looks troubled.

“Constrained with violence,” repeats Ulmo, “A3ûlêz, do you require my aid in this?”

“In what?” Nessa and Aulë speak at the same time.

“Melko will not believe we have constrained Tulukastāz by words alone,” the Lord of Waters says. Tulkas nods in agreement.

“If I did not know better I would proclaim thee far too eager to land blows to me,” Tulkas makes a brave attempt at a smile. Ulmo’s expression softens for but a moment as Aulë has his Maiar bring forth the great chain.

Nessa shakes her head, every bit of her seeming to burst with restless energy so her very form flashes.

“I am sorry, brother,” Aulë mutters as the others cast their weapons aside.

“Bold of thee to presume that thy beating shall cause me any pain,” Tulkas teases lightly as he holds out his arms. Aulë clapped his shoulder in approval. “Good.”

Manwë watches with distant eyes as the youngest of their kin is struck several times. He falls to his knees though only because he allows himself to. Aulë tightens the chains around his arms and neck so his tunic is torn in many places. The lord of the forges murmurs an apology and receives a small but sincere laugh.

“Should I care more for my clothing than the prospect of a peaceful land for the Children, I would not have come with thee.”

(an important note is that not only did Manwë agree to this in the text but it was his idea for Tulkas to be given to “Melko’s power and pleasure”. I have to admit this almost coolly pragmatic side of Manwë is utterly fascinating to me, this Manwë who might not understand the depths of evil but knows enough to exploit his brother’s sadism in such a way. And I want so badly to know how far it would have gone had Melkor not made Tulkas angry enough with his insult to Manwë. Can you all just imagine, the other Valar having to watch as Tulkas is what....tortured? Humiliated? We can only speculate what “Melko’s power and pleasure” entails. And they have to pretend they were in favor of this? Sneaking glimpses at Manwë to try and discern where he might draw the line? ahhhh way too many thoughts....)

#Manwë #Melkor #morgoth #Tulkas #The Silmarillion #BoLT #blind you be Morgoth Bauglir #short writings

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an-apocalypse-of-magpies · 3 years

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Asterix and the Legacy of the Original Authors

So I finally saw Asterix and the Secret of the Magic Potion (2018). Significantly, this is the first Asterix story I’ve experienced since the retirement of Albert Uderzo, the original co-creator of the characters and creative lead follower the death of Rene Goscinny.

And it was brilliant.

The plot, simply summarised, is that Getafix (Panoramix in the original French), venerable and wise village druid, slips and falls out of a tree for the first time in his long career. He begins to worry that he’s getting too old for this (indeed, Getafix’s age has always been ambiguous, but he’s easily the oldest recurring character after the appropiately named Geriatrix/Agecanonix, who’s certainly over 80), and that he needs to find a successor, not least of which because only he knows the formula for his legendary magic potion that gives the Gauls the super strength needed to hold off the Roman invasion (the film makes a running joke that druids never write things down). While on the search, an old rival of Getafix’s, Sulfurix (dubbed Demonix in the Canadian English dub, in case it wasn’t clear that he’s evil) is desperately trying to steal the formula, seeking to liberate the Gaulish lands from the Romans and not merely one village. Along with Asterix, Obelix and tagalong kid Pectin(/e), the heroes must find a successor, but is there a Gaulish druid worthy of this most sacred knowledge?

The animation is excellent, as it was in the previous animated outing Asterix and the Mansions of the Gods (2014), really capturing the look and feel of the comic albums. I feel like too much cartoon media these days is afraid to really exploit squash-and-stretch for expressive and dynamic purposes, and with Asterix’s trademark slapstick being Roman soldiers clobbered so hard their torsos sail off into the air before their feet have entirely realised what happened, it was necessary for this. The film is bright and crisp, and the light effects suitably dramatic (and with many a magical zip and zap, it’s crucial to have good lighting).

The story has many of the familiar beats. Alexandre Astier is clearly playing it a little bit safe, but considering he’s writing his own Asterix story, it’s safer to stick with that than to try and push it too far and risk alienating the audience. A crisis emerges, Asterix and Obelix and miscellaneous tagalongs leave the village, shenanigans happen, Asterix and Obelix have a falling out and become separated temporarily, there’s an ominous moment when the magic potion runs out, Romans attack the village, everyone gets back in time to save the day, Romans get punched a bit, big feast under the stars. What I liked, though, is how this story tried to do something interesting with the side characters. While Getafix is a very important character for the story, he rarely gets involved in the actual plot, so it’s nice to see more of him and in particular his character flaws - namely his stubbornness and attempts to do everything himself, even to the detriment of those around him. Even being confined to a primitive wheelchair for a lot of the film due to an injured ankle doesn’t stop him from taking a part, and it’s nice to see more of him than merely ‘wise wizardly old man, keeps calm and lectures people’. Unhygenix the fishmonger (Ordralfabetix) gets an amusing background arc where he believes that he could be Getafix’s successor and tries dabbling with druidcraft in the background, with amusing results. For once, his role isn’t just ‘gets in a fight with Fulliautomatix the blacksmith (Cetautomatix)’, and we get to see that he’s an interesting combination of surprisingly intelligent and thick as two short rocks. Fulliautomatix himself gets to have some humorous musing at his alchemical antics, and at one point the requisite Unhygenix/Fulliautomatix fight is successfully quelled, with Fulliautomatix admitting that he has a short temper and that this was unnecessary aggression on his part. Vitalstatistix (Abraracourcix) leads the village men (apart from the perennially unpopular bard Cacofonix (Assurancetourix)) to accompany Getafix halfway through, leaving the womenfolk to defend the village with a backup supply of potion. Happily, this means we also get to see more of the village women - headed up by Impedimenta (Bonnemine), Mrs Geriatrix (Geriatrix’s unnamed but incredibly young wife) and Bacteria (Ielosubmarine) - than just ‘being someone’s wife’ - Impedimenta plays a vital role in corralling the women for war and appears to be keeper of the potion reserves, while the others get more speaking roles and are able to participate in fights. It’s not much, but in a world of Gaulish men, the women tend to fall by the wayside unless they get to be a sex symbol or someone’s harridan wife. Cacofonix himself gets to play at being a chief, where his cowardly nature makes for an amusing contrast Impedimenta’s more no-nonsense practicality. We also get to see some of the Gaulish children for once! They make fun of their elders and play around with stolen Roman warrior stuff. When the going gets tough, though, the first thing the village defence team do is make sure the kids get somewhere safe, and Cacofonix gets a slightly tender moment where he tries to assure them that he’s going to be okay ... with a long winded speech rather than just getting on with it.

The real star of the film (well, alongside Asterix, Obelix and Getafix) is Pectin. Pectin is a scrappy little girl from the village who’s into inventing and engineering, and her establishing scene is ignoring the other kids playfighting so that she can finishing what seems to bee some kind of automatic watering machine. She’s smart, creative, appropriately afraid of the dangers that crop up but wants to do right by Getafix, whose wisdom she deeply admires. It’s fairly clear even from the outset what her role will be. Eventually, in the darkest moments, Getafix teaches Pectin the secret recipe - including Getafix’s secret ingredient - in order to save the village. She assures Getafix later that she will try to forget the recipe, so that she won’t accidentally reveal it to the wrong sort, but just as the credits roll, Getafix muses what we’re all thinking - that this girl might be worthy to be his successor. Pectin’s important because of the series’ ... shaky history with feminism. The film sets out that only men can become druids, and women are even forbidden from the woods where they meet. When taking Getafix to the meet, Pectin has to wear a hood and hike her dress up to look more like a boy appropriately. To allow Pectin to become a druid would defy ... well, some lofty ideal that only men can become druids. Like so many old sexist tropes, the reason has become ‘... well, they just don’t’. So it’s good that this is addressing that, as well as forcing more female characters into the limelight. The most prominent female character in all of Asterix is Impedimenta, followed maybe by the heartthrob and Obelix’s crush Panacea. I’ve elaborated above the problems there. In Asterix classic, women are to be desired or to be overbearing wives to henpecked husbands. It’s likely that Goscinny and Uderzo meant no malice by this writing; they were two French men writing a humour comic, and played on the popular tropes accordingly. But they (or rather, Uderzo) did attempt to tackle feminism in this comic before. It was ... well, it was a bit clunky.

Asterix and the Secret Weapon (1991) was a rather dated and fearmonger-y take on feminism, having a feminist activist outsider called Bravura comes to the village, encourages the women to rise up against their husbands (the men, out of chivalry and hen-peckedness, do not resist), seizing control of the village. Asterix, being both a bachelor and bit of a firebrand at perceived injustice, confronts Bravura, whereupon she flirts with him to try and seduce him into marrying her, whereupon he (shock horror) strikes her out of reflex. But Gaulish men do not hit women! Asterix is banished to the nearby forest for his insolence, eventually joined by the other men, fed up with the overbearing women. When the Romans (knowing that Gaulish men will not attack a women) send a detachment of female soldiers to the village, the women have turned it into a primitive shopping centre, where the female soldiers can shop and get their hair and make up done and forget all about attacking the village. Yeah. Feminists are salacious witches who would enthrall men and subjugate them, women love nothing more than shopping and beauty, it’s ... it’s bad. Secrot of the Magic Potion at least attempts to fix this by questioning male dominance in a role without being so weird about it, and having the women be just as much proud, organised village defenders as the men, arguably more so, given they lacked the weapons or numbers they normally had with the men around. (I know that the most recent album, Asterix and the Chieftain’s Daughter (2019), kinda deals with this too, but I haven’t yet read that one)

Putting aside the feminist rant, the key theme of this film seems to be the passing of the torch, clinging to past glory, and stepping up to take responsibility. Getafix isn’t getting any younger, and as much as might hurt his pride, he needs to train someone to take his place. The other elder druids, it transpires, are foolish, complacent and irresponsible, getting too used to just messing around and partying. They’re getting senile too, shamefully admitting to keeping crib sheets to remember which apprentice druids are any good. Druids not writing things down seems to be a metaphor for old masters, well versed in their craft, who know it all so well that they don’t need notes ... and then struggle to teach others, so they keep doing it all themselves. Sulfurix is bitter that, despite his magic fire being useful, Getafix is held up as the better druid. Way back when, they were finallists in a druidcraft competition, and being able to conjure flame from nothing is certainly a useful talent that won out over Getafix’s useless but dramatic and very complex magic. Getafix is implied never to have held a grudge over this, especially given that he would eventually develop the magic potion that makes his people so formidable. Sulfurix, meanwhile, found his ‘useful’ parlour trick get weaker and less reliable over time, and he seems to have very few tricks under his belt by the present, so fixated was he on this one thing. His Villain Rant at Getafix at the end is pure projection - he’s become irrelevant, because his one thing became all he was known for. Finally, with Cacofonix being acting Chief, the women defending the village, and Cholerix (Teleferix) the apprentice druid and later Pectin striving to create the magic potion and fill Getafix’s footsteps, there is a theme of people, even wildly unprepared people, stepping up to take responsibility because it’s what needs to be done, be it for the sake of a legacy or simply because this operation won’t run itself. Such a theme rings loud in, I remind you, the first original Asterix story on film since the death or retirement of both of the original creators. They’re on their own now, with a great and beloved legacy to continue, and I think they’ve done a wonderful job. The film was not perfect by any means - the English dub lip-flaps weren’t that well aligned (my DVD didn’t have French language options), the story’s quite formulaic if you’re a fan of the series, and Sulfurix is ... not subtle as the villain - but if you like Asterix, you’ll like this. And if you don’t care for Asterix, it’s still enjoyable.

#asterix #asterix and the secret of the magic potion #not often a film makes me want to immediately write a review

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revlyncox · 2 years

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What Is Hope

This Platform Address is about finding hope in the midst of struggle, especially struggle for liberation. It was written for the Washington Ethical Society by the Rev. Lyn Cox and delivered on December 12, 2021. This Platform Address, in part, prepares the people of WES for a Moral Monday assembly the following day.

In this morning’s reading, we heard about “hope” as a transitive verb from the Rev. Dr. William J. Barber II. Bishop Barber has been a force in movement building for justice for a long time now. While I’m not a full-time movement builder myself, I have been present for a few of the actions of the Poor Peoples Campaign, and before that with Repairers of the Breach. I have been inspired by the capacity for hope in all of the organizers and witnesses who come together to declare a new vision of who we can be as a community, as a society, as a country, as a world.

Sometimes I have the strength and energy to participate in an embodied way, and sometimes I don’t. Each one of us can be a wave that goes in and out with the tide, as long as we keep being an ocean of acceptance, gathering to send energy to each new wave going in, and to lift up with potential energy the waves returning.

I’d like to speak about hope today. Some of us need to draw from hope to hold out a vision of the world that can yet be. Some of us need hope to sustain the relationships, the communities, and the institutions that are holding people together during these difficult times. Some of us need hope to get through the day, to care for ourselves and the people we love in a personal way. I’ll be drawing from examples of justice making, and I want to be clear that hope is for all of us. You do not have to earn your inherent worth. Your path to creating a world where love and justice cross all borders might be caregiving, or science, or statistics, or direct service, or mutual aid, or actually physically creating the infrastructure our community needs, or something else. We can respect each other’s paths, and not beat ourselves up for failing to travel every path at the same time. Hope is for everybody.

When we seek change in coalition, we collaborate with people of many different faiths and no faith, each one speaking out of their own tradition about what moves them to be part of the movement. We each need to reach down to the roots of who we are and what our mission is in this life, because the status quo is not set up for this work, and the energy has to come from somewhere. Dr. Barber speaks eloquently from his tradition, but hearing him does not mean we have to draw from the same roots. Instead, it can inspire us to look to our own and answer in response based on the legacies and communities that energize us as Humanists.

For instance, when Dr. Barber speaks of hope, he might bring up a story from the Biblical book of Zechariah, comforting and energizing his people who were trying to put the pieces of themselves back together after a time of oppression; or from theologians like Walter Brueggemann or Reinhold Niebuhr, who speak about faith and realism. Those stories and essays can help illuminate points in our own philosophy, even if the texts that Dr. Barber references aren’t part of our own canon.

As Humanists, we act based on the philosophy that people are ends in themselves. People should not be used as means to an end. Each human has inherent worth and dignity. Part of our work is to humanize the spaces we go out into, to create spaces where inherent worth becomes more evident. In humanizing the spaces we inhabit, we help dismantle obstacles to human thriving like racism and other forms of oppression. An economic system that exploits the many to increase the wealth of the few is a system that uses people as a means to an end and is unacceptable in Humanist philosophy.

Therefore, if we declare ourselves to be Humanists, we have some responsibility for helping to make that philosophy a reality, to call attention to the places where human dignity is being disrespected and to increase the momentum of the world of interdependence and justice that we know can be.

When we look back at the first generation of Ethical Culture, and admire the institutions that were founded in that period that showed respect and care for people who had been previously regarded by the upper class as disposable, the point is not to rest on our laurels and brag about our ancestors. The point is to remember that the supreme ethical rule was never meant to be exclusively about individual interactions. Act in such a way as to bring out the best in others, and thereby in yourself. Yes, certainly, treat individuals you meet with care and respect and curiosity to bring out their best. And also realize that bringing out the best in people on a large scale requires that our society be built upon justice and compassion. Nobody can bring out their best in a situation of oppression, poverty, war, coercion, or environmental devastation. And so those who declare—as an axiom—the worth of human beings have a responsibility to bring a just and compassionate society closer to fruition. Again, there are many paths for doing that, political activism is only one, and we need to coordinate those paths and see ourselves as part of something larger.

This is where hope becomes difficult. As Humanists, we are also a people of data. We are a people who respect concrete research; we aspire to take an unflinching look at the world as it is. We don’t rely on promises or predictions or fantasies, but that doesn’t mean we can’t have a vision for a different future. Felix Adler exhorted us to sing, to “Hail the Glorious, Golden City,” to imagine a gleaming society where justice reigns, where wonders abound, where people collaborate in unity of purpose. It is OK to have an imagination. And, yet, if we unveil the depth of suffering and injustice at work in the world as it currently is, and compare the data with that vision, we can easily become discouraged. True hope—the hope of staying the course, the hope of refusing to let dehumanization win even when we know what we are up against, active hope—is not easy.

So let’s be sure we’re framing hope consistently. Hope is not wishful thinking. Hope is not pretending things are OK. Hope is not glossing over the grief and pain around us and within us. Quite the opposite. Hope is strengthened when we can bear witness to suffering, to be in companionship with one another in the midst of pain and setbacks, and to keep doing the right thing anyway. Hope is staying committed to the values we have declared in our Statement of Purpose, acting on those values even when we cannot be assured that our vision will prevail in the short term. Dr. Cornel West puts it this way:

This hope is not the same as optimism. Optimism adopts the role of the spectator who surveys the evidence in order to infer that things are going to get better. Yet we know that the evidence does not look good. The dominant tendencies of our day are unregulated global capitalism, racial balkanization, social breakdown, and individual depression. Hope enacts the stance of the participant who actively struggles against the evidence in order to change the deadly tides of wealth inequality, group xenophobia, and personal despair. Only a new wave of vision, courage, and hope can keep us sane-and preserve the decency and dignity requisite to revitalize our organizational energy for the work to be done. To live is to wrestle with despair yet never to allow despair to have the last word.

Dr. West and others refer to being “prisoners of hope,” people who can do no other except the next, right thing in pursuit of justice. He is speaking of a commitment to act toward justice, to be held by ancestors and promises and community. It’s partially a Biblical reference, and even if we do not share the same relationship with that source, I hope we can identify with the strength of a commitment to values held in our community yesterday, today, and tomorrow. It’s a hope based in action, not speculation.

If we do not have assurances, and we don’t have illusions, our hope has to come from somewhere else. And one of the places it comes from is our interdependence. We get that hope from each other, and from the world of relationships we inhabit. That’s not as simple as trading platitudes with one another. It means caring for one another and the earth as best we can. In the reading we heard earlier from Dr. Barber, the practice of community care both spread hope among the people and energized the sharers of hope. When we create practices and spaces of humanization, places where those who are despised by the dominant society are treated as worthy and capable agents in their own lives; when we learn and perpetuate practices of respect and care, we are creating pocket universes that can grow into aspects of the glorious, golden city.

Our Pastoral Care Associates create hope by being present, by being peer listeners. Our Welcome Team and Zoom Ushers create hope in the way they hold us in community and hospitality. Our Tech Team creates hope in the unbelievable feats of science and engineering that allow us to weave our community together across time and space. Our Earth Ethics Team creates hope in holding out a different way to be in relationship with each other and the planet. Our Immigration Justice Team, Afghan Welcome Team, and Global Connections Team create hope in their border-crossing practices of love, support, and empowerment. Our Widening the Anti Racism Lens team creates hope by reminding us that we can humanize this space as we un-learn and dismantle the white supremacy culture we’re swimming in. Members of our Board of Trustees create hope by doing the unglamorous work, day in and day out, of creating and sustaining the container of this community, a place where we can meet to seek the highest. Our education staff and volunteers create hope by conveying this vision and these values to a new generation of Humanists. All of this is part of the work of humanizing, of opening up new pocket universes that connect to the glorious golden city. All of these aspects of hope link us together as part of something larger than our individual selves, larger than this community, larger even than the Humanist movement.

There are many paths in the practice of hope. If your hope-making activity is caregiving, teaching, caring for institutions like WES, or simply surviving when the world tells you your survival is inconsequential, your hope-making is vital. And. If you have energy for social change, there are plenty of hope-making opportunities there. Activities aimed at social change—direct action, public witness, electoral organizing, policy work, union organizing, and other forms of social justice—encompass some of the practices for hope.

If you have been by the Meeting House on 16th Street, you may have noticed the return of the immigration justice banner in front of the building. Even with regime change, there is still a need to advocate for human rights in immigration policy. We know that reproductive justice is under threat. And we know that any goals we have for justice and for the wellbeing of the people of this country rest on voting rights, which are also under threat. So-called labor shortages and supply-chain issues are being used as excuses to roll back labor protections, living wage initiatives, and environmental protections. Passing the Build Back Better act in the Senate, before Senators leave for a recess, would be a first step to addressing some of these issues, along with the For The People Act and restoring the Voting Rights Act. For all of these reasons - environmental justice, economic justice, voting rights, immigration justice - the Poor Peoples Campaign is calling those who are able to come to Capitol Hill tomorrow. UUA President Susan Frederick Gray will be there. Our friends from UUSJ will be there. I’ll be there. Our contingent is meeting up at 10:45, and the main event is at noon. If you would like to come along, sign up at SideWithLove.org. And if you can’t make it, but you want to know what else is coming up to address these issues, go to SideWithLove.org and sign up on the Action Center.

We may not achieve our goals. Short term success would be nice, but that’s not the deepest well from which we can draw hope. We increase the strength of our hope by showing up for each other, in whatever way is possible for us in our own time and place. Being at Capitol Hill tomorrow or watching the livestream is creating hope because it is demonstrating to the other people involved that we are not alone. All of the ways we humanize the spaces we inhabit are practices of creating hope. We might not win. But we might. And, even if we don’t achieve our legislative goals in the short term, we’ll be building a movement for the long term. Dr. Barber reminds us:

Dr. King said we are called to be thermostats that change the temperature, not thermometers that merely measure the temperature. Gandhi said first they ignore you, then they ridicule you, then they fight you, and then you win. And the truth is, every movement that has ever changed America began when electoral politics, the majority, and even the law were antagonistic. The abolition movement didn’t have the majority with it, or the politics, when it bagan. The women’s suffrage movement didn’t have the majority when it bagan. The fight against legalized lynching didn’t have it. The fight for Social Security the battle to end segregation and Jim Crow, the campaign in Birmingham, the Greensboro sit-ins, Selma, the 1964 Civil Rights Act, the 1965 Voting Rights Act, none of these efforts was popular. None of these efforts had the Gallup poll with them. None of these efforts had political sway with them. But what changes the country and what changes the world is not just electoral politics, but moral movements that change the atmosphere in which electoral politics have to exist.

(Revive Us Again, p. 77)

I don’t know what will happen legislatively in the short term. I do know that my own resources for hope are increased when I can stay in touch with the network of relationships that sustain me, keep me rooted in my values, and help put my hope in context with the inspiration of the past and the future people and planet to whom I am responsible. I know that when I practice gratitude for communities like this one, where we are surrounded by people practicing hope-making activities, it’s a little easier to do the next, right thing. I know that I am not alone in holding a vision of a world of love and justice, a world where the inherent worth of people and our relationship with the planet are both evident in the fabric of society. Humanizing the spaces we inhabit is a hope-making activity. Let us be Humanists for hope. May it be so.

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politicalprof · 4 years

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On the safety of mail-in and in-person voting ...

For the first time ever, I posted a piece on voting as a supplement to my students. It’s below:

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Many, if not all, of you are facing the prospect of voting in your first presidential election. Presidential election years are always tense in some way or other. This one is much, much stranger than most.

Because it is a strange year, and because so many of you are entering the voting system for the first time ever, I am writing this note to comment on, and hopefully reassure you about, how voting works in America. There is a lot of very, very bad “information” being hyped up online, in the media, and from the White House. I am writing to let you know what the facts of the matter are rather than the amplified claims of conspiracy theorists seeking to undermine the election for their narrow partisan interests.

On mail-in voting

As you probably know, there has been a great deal of commotion recently claiming that mail-in ballots are dangerous, fraudulent, and a risk to democracy. Unfortunately, a great many of these comments have come out of President Trump’s mouth as well as from his Twitter feed. As a few examples, let me offer the following. (There are LOTS of these; this is only a sample.)

· “Unsolicited Ballots are uncontrollable, totally open to ELECTION INTERFERENCE by foreign countries, and will lead to massive chaos and confusion!” (September 15, 2020).https://apnews.com/article/virus-outbreak-election-2020-ap-fact-check-elections-voting-fraud-and-irregularities-8c5db90960815f91f39fe115579570b4

· “They’re sending out tens of millions of ballots to everybody, people that didn’t expect them. People are getting inundated with ballots, they’ll be showered with ballots.” (September 18, 2020). https://www.foxnews.com/politics/trump-calls-mail-in-voting-a-scam-says-democrats-are-teeing-up-a-mess

· “There is NO WAY (ZERO!) that Mail-In Ballots will be anything less than substantially fraudulent. Mail boxes will be robbed, ballots will be forged & even illegally printed out & fraudulently signed. The Governor of California is sending Ballots to millions of people, anyone..... ....living in the state, no matter who they are or how they got there, will get one. That will be followed up with professionals telling all of these people, many of whom have never even thought of voting before, how, and for whom, to vote. This will be a Rigged Election. No way!” May 20, 2020 https://twitter.com/realDonaldTrump/status/1265255845358645254

These claims are false. They are utterly, completely, absolutely, demonstrably false.

· Ballots ARE NOT sent willy-nilly to whoever for whatever reasons.

· There are states that are sending out ballots in conformity with existing state laws. https://www.reuters.com/article/uk-factcheck-80-million-unsolicited-ball/fact-check-clarifying-trumps-80-million-unsolicited-ballots-claim-idUSKBN2622SZ

· Other states, like Illinois, require mail-in ballot applications: (https://abc7chicago.com/politics/how-to-request-an-illinois-mail-in-ballot/6378131/). This is done in accord with state law, and ballots that are returned by mail are subject to checks just like other ballots.

· In case you don’t know, several states have been doing all mail-in voting for many years. Colorado, Hawaii, Oregon, Utah, and Washington have been conducting their elections by mail for multiple election cycles. They do not have problems with systematic mail-in voting fraud.

Importantly, there is NO evidence that foreign powers or others are trying to steal or have stolen ballots, marked them, and turned them in. https://www.nbcnews.com/politics/donald-trump/ridiculous-claim-trump-pushes-baseless-conspiracy-about-foreign-interference-mail-n1231722

For your reference, there have been several academic and journalistic investigations examining whether there is systematic voting fraud in mail-in elections — including one by the Trump administration. There is no evidence of such fraud. (Occasionally there are specific cases of fraud, but there is no evidence of systematic voting fraud by mail-in voting.) You can find an excellent reference guide to these studies here: https://www.brennancenter.org/our-work/research-reports/resources-voter-fraud-claims Not even the Trump administration has found systematic mail-in voting fraud.

By the way, if you or anyone you know has voted absentee, such votes are conducted by mail — and have been for decades. Mail-in voting is not new, new-fangled, or a departure from US electoral norms and practices.

Ballots cast by mail are legitimate, safe, and important. If you plan to vote by mail, your vote is valid, as are those of your fellow citizens who vote by mail. There is no systematic mail-in voting fraud in the United States.

That said, there ARE RISKS in mail-in voting. In particular, at least two come to mind: the postal service’s delivery problems that were widely reported earlier this summer, and politically motivated claims that counting mail-in ballots, many of which will not be counted until after the November 3 election, is somehow itself a fraudulent act.

· The issue with delays in the postal service’s delivery of ballots are simple: all states have deadlines that indicate when the election authority has to receive ballots in order for them to count. (In Alaska, for example, that deadline is 10 days after the election. In Illinois, it’s 14 days.) If the mail is too slow, some ballots might not be counted. That’s why the postal delivery issue matters so much.

· The issue with the politically motivated claims of fraud are more nuanced, and more subtle. Precisely because various states accept ballots after the election date – to accommodate delays in mail delivery, for example – it is entirely possible that the outcome of the presidential election will not be decided on November 3. We might not know the outcome for a week. (I know – crazy, huh?) This is mostly because so-called “swing states” – the ones where the presidential election is close – are ALSO likely to be the ones where all the absentee and mail-in ballots really, really need to be counted. Unfortunately, it is quite possible that numerous groups and actors will amp up the tensions during this period by claiming that ballots are being counted illegally, that illegal ballots are being counted, etc. Some claims seem likely to come from the Trump campaign; many others may well emerge from Russian internet trolls seeking to promote maximum chaos in the United States by exploiting the weaknesses in our election system and the social and political tensions that inflame our society.

Notably, neither of these concerns has anything to do with the security of mail-in ballots. Instead, they are the result of our haphazard voting system, as well as of politically motivated responses to it.

ALL claims to the contrary are lies. Repetition does not make them true.

On in-person voting

While it has been forgotten in the current environment, in which there are incessant claims that mail-in voting is inherently fraudulent, we should note that President Trump and his supporters used to claim that in-person voting was also fraudulent. (Again, these are only a few of the many examples):

· “In addition to winning the Electoral College in a landslide, I won the popular vote if you deduct the millions of people who voted illegally.” — Donald J. Trump (@realDonaldTrump) November 27, 2016 https://twitter.com/realDonaldTrump/status/802972944532209664

· “Look forward to seeing final results of VoteStand. Gregg Phillips and crew say at least 3,000,000 votes were illegal. We must do better!” — Donald J. Trump (@realDonaldTrump) January 27, 2017 https://twitter.com/realdonaldtrump/status/824968416486387713?lang=en

· "In many places, like California, the same person votes many times — you've probably heard about that…. They always like to say 'oh that's a conspiracy theory' — not a conspiracy theory folks. Millions and millions of people." https://www.npr.org/2018/04/05/599868312/fact-check-trump-repeats-voter-fraud-claim-about-california

· “Serious voter fraud in Virginia, New Hampshire and California - so why isn't the media reporting on this? Serious bias - big problem!” — Donald J. Trump (@realDonaldTrump) November 28, 2016 https://twitter.com/realdonaldtrump/status/803033642545115140?lang=en

These claims are false. They are utterly, completely, absolutely, demonstrably false.

· One recent study found only 31 cases of in-person voting fraud in a period of 14 years: https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/wonk/wp/2014/08/06/a-comprehensive-investigation-of-voter-impersonation-finds-31-credible-incidents-out-of-one-billion-ballots-cast/?arc404=true

· The study previously referenced, https://www.brennancenter.org/our-work/research-reports/resources-voter-fraud-claims, also addresses in-person voting fraud if you’d like to explore further for yourselves.

· And, as was the case with mail-in voting, even a Trump administration investigation of alleged in-person voting fraud found no systematic in-person voter fraud in the United States. https://apnews.com/article/f5f6a73b2af546ee97816bb35e82c18d

In-person voting fraud happens extremely rarely. It does not happen anywhere near the level President Trump claims.

That said, there ARE risks of in-person voting. At least two come to mind: a reduction in polling places nationwide, and the way delays in voting may stimulate political fights on election night.

There are fewer polling places and fewer poll workers this year than there usually are as fewer people have volunteered to work at polling stations for fear of COVID-19. This may slow voting on election day and may lead to reduced early voting in many places. It is entirely possible that there will be long lines on election day as more people try to vote in fewer locations.

Lines and technical issues at the polling places may also lead to delays in reporting election results since not everyone will necessarily be done voting at the “closing” time for polls. Unfortunately, it may well be the case that people begin claiming such voting delays are the result of corruption or other problems. Even worse, it may well be the case that such claims are generated not only by candidates and their campaigns, but by Russian internet trolls as well – again, seeking to exploit the weaknesses of our election system and the divisions that exist in the United States today.

Notably, neither of these concerns is related to the security of in-person ballots. Instead, they are the result of our haphazard voting system — as well as our sometimes politically motivated response to it.

ALL claims to the contrary are lies. Repetition does not make them true.

Final thoughts

I have been teaching this class in one form or another since 1988. This means I have taught this class, in one form or another, during eight presidential election cycles. 2020 is my ninth such cycle. I have never posted a comment like this to any of my previous classes.

To be clear:

Mail-in voting is safe. It is not prone to corruption or fraud. If you want to vote by mail, please do so, preferably as early as you feel comfortable in order to guarantee your vote has time to be delivered to the appropriate location for counting.

In-person voting is safe. It is not prone to corruption or fraud. If you wish to vote in-person, be assured that your vote will count and that no secret, corrupt storehouse of fraudulent ballots exists that will wipe out its value or importance.

Personally, I plan to vote in-person but early. I plan to do this to reduce pressure on the voting system. I will miss the energy and excitement of voting on election day, but I think it is important to not overtax the voting system on election day proper. But that’s my choice. Others are perfectly valid — and each is fundamentally safe, secure and appropriate.

We’re going to have to be patient and thoughtful on election night. I wish I could offer you better news, but between the problems inherent in our election system, the added stress of COVID-19, and the ways that President Trump has sought to delegitimate our elections system as such, this is going to be a long election night – indeed, at least a long election week.

I realize many of you may have people in your lives who will challenge or reject the points I have raised in this memo. They may insist that all the journalists and academics who have investigated these issues for decades are lying, or are biased, or are manipulating the truth to serve a partisan agenda. Unfortunately, I can’t offer you any way to reassure such people. If someone is dead set on believing that thousands of people who have studied issues for decades are lying about their work, that person is not interested in engaging in a discussion of the facts and the evidence. They are seeking only to confirm their existing point of view. No convincing is possible because nothing can shake their conviction that they are right, and all the professional analysts are wrong. That’s sad, but there is nothing anyone can do about it, at least in the short term.

Instead, I would encourage you to think about the issue this way: If someone claims that mail-in voting is inherently fraudulent, they are telling you, or at least implying, that you shouldn’t vote by mail. If someone claims that in-person voting is inherently fraudulent, they are telling you, or at least implying, that you shouldn’t vote in-person.

In other words, they’re suggesting you just shouldn’t vote.

Don’t listen to them. Failure to vote will NOT fix the problems I have outlined. Neither will just hoping these problems go away. Instead, if you can, you should vote for the candidates you prefer by whatever means you find most appropriate and most convenient.

Vote.

108 notes · View notes

inventors-fair · 4 years

Text

“Surprise Me” commentary: Return to Innocence

Look, I’m not going to lie to you (unless it’s convenient for me or unless you’re about to find the body). Every time we open up a contest, we have preconceived notions about what people will send in and the kind of entries that we want to have. Every judge, all the time, even the ones I’m speaking for who disagree with me and my megalomania.

For this particular contest? I wanted to get rid of that entirely. I didn’t want to experience what I thought would be surprising, because that destroys that notion entirely, doesn’t it? I wanted something new.

I’d say that for most of you, that came across pretty well. I particularly enjoyed the return to custom mechanics, even if some of them... Well, let’s just talk about them, shall we?

@abzanhero — Simikiel, Due Vengeance

What I like: Well, it certainly feels like a WBR angel in the vein of its predecessors. The RW activation combined with the black drain does feel coherent in a way that I enjoy. Stats are good, wording’s fine. I think that this card is interesting because people will be looking for a way to combo out with this even though land sacrifice like Goblin Trenches will do just fine when the activated ability doesn’t pan out. Desolation (italicize!) is an interesting reverse-Morbid in a way.

What we can improve: I’m not personally invested in this card. I see that you made this for a custom set, but this feels entirely like a Commander card, and reactive abilities might not be what Commanders want. Yes, sometimes it’s about control, and I can see where you’re coming from. It might be the fact that because it’s a control-y card it makes it hard to want to build around as a commander. If you’re intending this for drafting and limited? Well, that’s another story, and I feel I’d have to see the context of the set. Desolation is...weird. There would have to be a lot of noncreature destruction for that, and I don’t exactly know how you’d make that happen without, well, a constructed environment. The card feels at odds with itself.

Baked Beans — Mutagenic Slime

What I like: Firstly, uh, sorry about that namesake? If you have a name you’d rather go by, then you’re free to specify in your submissions. Secondly, there’s a lot to love about this card. It does pretty much everything you would want out of a UG ooze for sure. I think it’s interesting how you retained the mana costs of the card and abilities with color weight.

What we can improve: In short, I got very confused by this card. After some discussion in the modhouse, I was surprised to learn that this actually works fairly well, considering the fact that copy effects are notorious for being frustrating to template correctly, and Mutavault-animation-copying is a whole other weird kettle of fish. I suppose that confusion is my fault, and I initially judged this card too harshly. I honestly don’t know if it needs the first ability, considering holy cow that’s powerful, but the rest of it, honestly? Not as egregious as I thought. I guess this is one of those things where my personal confusion initially got in the way — a lesson for me.

@chungus-supreme — Myriad Sliver

What I like: Well, it’s easy to see where you started and what you like. I think that Slivers were a great first tribe for a lot of people. A callback to the MH Slivers is pretty cool.

What we can improve: There’re a lot of strategies that could possibly use this card, but it feels immensely “win-more” when it comes to Slivers already. Why would this card need to exist? What interactions would it have that Slivers don’t already have with each other and with weird tribal cards? Someone would be happy with this card, but it wouldn’t be Sliver players. Minor note on presentation, too? Reminder text should be italicized following the rules, but I understand limitations on card creators. The lack of flavor text and context is just a little too weird. What possible circumstances could lead the Slivers to learning that they were every creature type? Frankly, what’s the story point? There’s a massive clash between flavor identity and reasonable storytelling.

@corporalotherbear — Pleasure in Pain

What I like: Alternate win-cons are always a nice addition to the game. I can see the sadistic side of black and the “at any cost” combo style that this card seeks to emulate. Personally, too, I’m a fan of conflicting rules text like the trigger and the static on this card. A new player might think they don’t work, and well, that’s just how new players work. And this card isn’t for them, it’s definitely for advanced Johnny players.

What we can improve: I still don’t exactly know how to make this card work. There don’t seem to be that many combos that could work well with it considering the mana cost. Ad Nauseam already does what it does, so that’s something, but I mean, I’d like to see what deck you would make with this card first because frankly, I don’t see it. Paying life doesn’t work if you don’t have life to pay, losing life is hard as heck, the whole shebang. Damage could work? Yeah, either I’m really dumb, or I don’t see the obvious exploitative combo you were envisioning outside of Ad Nauseam.

@dabudder — Perplexing Pact

What I like: Nice flavor, I think. I don’t know much about Davriel but I can totally see how it works out. It’s appropriately mythic considering how people would treat combat damage and the like, so that’s all well and good. Props for the reminder text, and for what I think is a fairly appropriate use of hybrid.

What we can improve: Where would this card exist? What kind of set would it belong to? I can’t contextualize it outside of just ‘a custom card for custom card’s sake’ and that feels frustrating to me. Ravnica mythic, perhaps? Sure, but what would the rest of the set look like? Could there be two alternate win-con effects i the same set? It’s actually kinda weird that the Guilds block had five across three sets, but still, they were different enough. I also feel that this is pretty easy to exploit with cards like the Pacts, turning this into a four-mana “at the beginning of your upkeep you win the game” effect. Not sure how I feel about that.

@deafeningsandwichpeach — Roaring Stompodon

What I like: This card was almost a runner-up! It’s a fantastic and powerful use of hybrid, it feels like a dinosaur, it’s fast and furious and chompy, and the only real questionable part is the redness of it. Could red get ETB fight like this, is the question? I feel that for this card in the right set that it honestly wouldn’t be too bad. I also feel that that’s more my heart than my head thinking here. I’m a weird control player who also happens to love fast and furious dinosaurs, what can I say.

What we can improve: Hm. Actually, the more I think about it, the more I’m worried. If you take off the “may” on the fight then it’s a little better, but whoo boy, imagining this in RDW with a slightly higher curve than usual? There’s something scary about that. I feel that erring on the side of caution would be best here. As a custom card I love it. I don’t know how printable it would be. Also, flavor text is good but retreading old ground. Consider something sillier, perhaps? Sillier or scarier, either or.

@deg99 — Azor I, Parun

What I like: Yup, it’s a callback to the quintessential Azorius namesake. With the mana cost like that, I can tell that you were shooting for a significant and austere commander for the guild, someone who requires many proper resources.

What we can improve: The problem with a card being quintessential is that everything that it’s doing has been done before. This card does not surprise me in the least. The fact that Azor creates The Immortal Sun on this card is about as expected as can be. Detaining is fine, and the draw is fine, but that’s it; they’re retreading expected ground. The mana cost doesn’t mechanically need the color weight, and as a custom Commander, this card just doesn’t seem fun. I would rather have seen you attempt to make something from the ground-up that was new rather than submit an old design that hasn’t been changed since inception.

@evscfa1 — Scales of Pitiless Justice

What I like: Pretty metal name, pretty rad.

What we can improve: Let’s...slow down a second.

There doesn’t seem to be a reason for the mana cost to be weighted like that. Without any context for the world, set or flavor, it feels arbitrary.

Speaking of arbitrary, why does this need to have both enchantment and artifact subtypes? I don’t understand how that helps mechanically.

This card does not need indestructible OR shroud. Full stop. “Bypassing any interaction” is not the same as “difficult to remove.”

Mana burn was removed from the game for a reason. It simply is not fun.

The “if” ability should be a trigger: “Whenever a player draw a card [etc], that player discards that card unless they pay 2 life.”

The last ability should say “casts” instead of “would cast.”

And in the end, I understand your frustrations with green and blue that you might see in your personal playgroup or whatever, and I understand what might be happening in standard and all the junk with that. Godmodding isn’t the answer. This contest was about seeing more of what you love, not destroying what you hate. In that context this card is antithetical to the approach we were hoping for. I would strongly consider putting love into cards that you submit rather than trying to force the pendulum in another direction.

@fractured-infinity — Sygg, Heir to Mornigtide // Sygg of the Razorfin

What I like: Sygg! Okay, so this is a... I’m envisioning this as a potential Esper DFC mer-legend in a limited return to Lorwyn, which is — aight? Shoot, the thing is, I love each side as they are. With a couple exceptions. I will say that I was both surprised and delighted to see a mythic Syggy-boy.

What we can improve: You have three set-unique abilities on a single DFC, and my friend, that’s confusing as heck. Daybreak and Moonrise just don’t seem like great mechanics, because if you need one and not the other, and you’re stuck on certain places, how are you gonna turn it? If they changed the seasons upon casting, that would be cool, right? What about that? I would maybe keep Aurora or something, and change your set’s mechanics (are you making one?) so that sorcery effects can change whether or not it’s Sunny or Moony on Lorwyn. Keep this idea, just narrow it down. A LOT.

Small note: “MorNINGtide.” Double-check your spelling. I’ve made that mistake once or a hundred times.

@ghost31415926535 — Piece of Mind

What I like: Well, it’s one way for white to interact with graveyards and the like. My favorite part of this is the flavor text. I don’t know much about Chulane but I do like the prospect of this teller having to forget a painful story from the past.

What we can improve: The first ability doesn’t get rid of replacement effects like Leyline of the Void and Rest in Peace. Honestly, I think for the sake of all custom designers, graveyard hate effect shouldn’t be hated out themselves. It becomes a mechanical arms race. That last ability, though... Nope. Nooooope. That’s insane. Mono-white draw so many cards? Four mana? Even as a one-time effect it’s absolutely bonkers and out of pie. UW mill means that you can draw three new hands by the time this is activated. And, for this contest, I can’t say that I was entirely surprised by this card. It’s doing what so many custom card designers have done before.

@gollumni — Ihren, Master of the Deep

What I like: This feels like one of those cards where it makes sense in-world and then when you put it on a card it’s like “oh, my goodness, is that the story we’re telling?” And I like that aspect! I’m imagining a happy Giant wrangling a squid the size of a bus and loving every second of it. I can say with certainty that I didn’t expect “tentacle farmer archetype” in these submissions.

What we can improve: But it’s so, so much of a “win-more” again. You get sea monsters with your giants, and then giants with your sea monsters? To what end? What’s the point of casting all these massive creatures that require you to have more massive creatures, when just the massive creatures alone could win you the game? Quest for Ula’s Temple was awesome because for one mana you were eventually able to summon the giant monsters. This card, well, it’s big for big’s sake.

@haru-n-harkel — Ozalii, Apex of Evolution

What I like: I can fully say that I didn’t expect a mutate card for this contest. Did people like mutate? I can tell one of you did! Five-color true mutate legend, yeah, that’s a niche that could have used a spot. Y’know what, props, credit where credit’s due. I like the concept.

What we can improve: I feel that the abilities should say “this creature” instead of the name, right? Isn’t that how all mutate cards work? This may just be me being lukewarm on mutate for this whole thing, honestly. Past that, I understand that this card is good, but Mutate was just so parasitic. I don’t know, this may be one of those unfortunate biases. So don’t take this the wrong way, and please do put this in a custom Mutate-filled cube if you have it.

@ignorantturtlegaming — O’Jaru, Kavu Arisen

What I like: You and Kavu. Meme all I want, but yep, that’s a kind of gaming love I can get behind. It’s a big creature, it’s a beast, it’s powerful, it’s got a strong cost, and Panharmonicon on a creature? Oh lord. OH LORD. This would be an intensely powerful commander for that alone.

What we can improve: ...except for the fact that it triggers itself. It’ll be on the battlefield, so, well, you’ll have to return four other creatures if you want this thing to stick. Hate to say it, but that’s a massive drawback, so massive that I don’t know if it would really stick. However, this is an easy fix. All you need to do is change “If a permanent” to “If another permanent” in that first part. Solved!

@macaroni-and-squeez — The Breathing Past

What I like: I can absolutely commend you for trying something new. This feels like a card where a lot of background understanding is needed, and that’s not always a bad thing.

What we can improve: That doesn’t change the fact that I don’t understand the process behind this card’s creation. In short, I don’t know why sagas and creatures should be combined aside from the fact that it’s new, and that doesn’t feel like a great precedent. The card would have worked fine as a saga (ish) and actually great as a horror. But both makes it feel messy and unintuitive. What story is being told? I don’t know. What kind of character/incarnation is this legend? I still don’t know. Clarify, simplify, and revise.

@milkandraspberry — Importation étrangère

Silver-border is not the problem here. I don’t speak French. Was that the joke? What possible set would this card appear in, and why? I think based on this card alone, cards with non-English rules text are hereby not eligible for submission from this point forward. There may be a joke, but it wasn’t even explained in the submission, so I don’t really know what I’m supposed to do here. Google Translate? To what end? If the gist of the card is that it’s supposed to not be understood, then that’s a sign already that you should consider revising your idea. Most importantly, the judges can’t give you fair critique, and that’s not fair to you either.

@misterstingyjack — Slobad, Selfless Scrapper

What I like: Planeswalker iterations are always cool. Thank you for explaining the story to me, because I think that I vaguely remembered the name but couldn’t remember the context. And man, this is an interesting card. Red artifact/planeswalker matters planeswalker? It’s narrow, but shoot, it also feels appropriate for rare. I think I’m warming up to this kind of specific concept more than I was originally.

What we can improve: Still, he doesn’t exactly feel like a planeswalker and more like a new card type entirely. ... Maybe that isn’t a bad thing. Maybe this new design space could be way more interesting than I’m giving credit for. I would have to see what the environment looked like, because wow, this would have to be balanced properly, else we end up with War of the Spark Horizon Masters of Mirrodin broken. For wording: Second ability could just be ‘Create a _ for each walker you control’ and the last one honestly could just be “Move all loyalty counters from Slobad onto another target planeswalker you control.” A little more busted, but let’s be real, more flexible as well. Who says he has to give up his spark for a specific dude? Besides the story.

@naban-dean-of-irritation — Darksteel Experiment

What I like: Yeah, I can see the problem you’re trying to solve and how you’re trying to solve it. Gotta make something as unkillable as possible, right? It’s the “anything-proof-shield” on the playground of custom MTG design. Making it Darksteel is a great callback, and the flavor text is pretty fun so I’ll give you that.

What we can improve: I’ve played a lot of Magic, and I know that getting things killed can suck. But the game is one of interaction. There are answers to everything but you have to draw them. The card specifically and maybe this specific wording (if it works in the rules, I’ll have to lawyer it) might not have been made before, but the concept? It’s been around since Magic’s existence, to the first frustration of getting a Savannah Lions Lightning Bolt-ed. When the gameplay stops being a conversation, there is no longer gameplay. Trying to find answers to that shouldn’t be what we’re looking for.

@nicolbolas96 — Abyssal Pact

What I like: You know, Mr. Shiny actually made a vaguely-in-the-same-vein card that was almost going to be an example. Well, it involved sacrifice, anyway. But the point is, yeah, same kind of interesting design space. I love winning with no cards in a library, I’ll say that much. For a legendary enchantment, a “pact” is probably as appropriate as you can get without being an object or curse or specific story moment. Interesting flavor, too! Well-conceptualized.

What we can improve: My good fellow this card breaks the game in about a trillion different ways. Treasures become 40-80+ mana. Grimgrin becomes massive. Any card that says “Sacrifice X: Draw a card” becomes an instant and I think uninterruptable win, of which there are four in this card’s colors alone. If it was, like, “the first time” instead? Or something? I don’t know, there’s a LOT to take into consideration, but the gist is: this card is a broken infinite combo waiting to happen. Maybe you intended that. If that’s the case, then shame on you but I respect it. Sort of.

@nine-effing-hells — Evolutionary Explosion

What I like: This was so close to being a winner if it wasn’t really, REALLY darn too powerful. If you have an army of 1/1 tokens, this card becomes incrementally more amazing. Is that a bad thing? I mean, I love the concept, I love the math, I love that you’re doing new things with how to make a cool mythic Overrun sorcery.

What we can improve: But we gotta compare to cards like Wild Onslaught, which is eight mana for what this card can do for sometimes half that cost. It really can just make the late game a little too ridiculous. I wish I could love it more, and I think that as an uncommon that targets a single creature it can be an amazing powerful blowout. This? Too much for a variable X cost.

Also, I sent a PM tp the Denver museum and they’re checking with their team for the proper artist credit and once they respond in a few days I’m gonna smack ya for improper artist credit. (Not really that last part, but I did message out of curiosity. That mural is dope.)

@ouroboros-breaker — Tibalt, Rakdos Insurgent

What I like: Rakdos Tibalt has been something people have been asking for for a while now, and as a fan, I hope that we can see more of him in the future. I can see that you liked the character’s chaotic nature and the way that he engages with you, plus the double-edged sword aspects of it all. There’s a lot of cleverness behind your process.

What we can improve: That doesn’t change the fact that the second and third abilities are reeeeally pushing what’s reasonable for an acceptable risk. Yeah, it’s neat for there to be some risk involved, but the possibility of -3 and losing three permanents is way too rough. Rakdos at least absolutely saved himself during coin flips and whatnot. The last ability, the emblem? I wish I liked it more. I feel that it could have been a -5 for something like a Hellrider effect: “whenever a creature you control attacks, it deals 1 damage to any target” or something. Then, maybe there could have been tokens made, like Tibalt’s WAR card, and, well, the boy might be more playable. I feel that symmetrical emblems aren’t great to have. In short, don’t be afraid to make cards, especially planeswalkers, a couple degrees more helpful.

@partlycloudy-partlyfuckoff — Progeny of Immolation

What I like: I think that Emerge was a fantastic mechanic, and I’m happy to see it again. Eldrazi Hellion is a great creature type combo, and as a fan of Eldritch Moon this card is hitting some nice parts for me.

What we can improve: The big challenge is whether or not it’s okay for this card to effectively deal up to 11 colorless damage in something like limited. If you’re running a red deck, you can get this out early and have a fine enough red source in-pie, but even if you’re running something like a blue-white control deck you can ramp up to eleven mana and halve someone’s life total. I’ll say that yes, the Eldrazi all from EM all could be cast like this, but the off-color effects were never quite pushed to eleven damage. I fear development issues. Keep in mind what may or may not be appropriate for your costs.

@real-aspen-hours — Instant Pot Chicken and Rice

What I like: This is at its core an affordable, easy, nutritious meal that provides a fair amount of food for relatively cheap cost. Instant rice and chicken breasts aren’t hard to come by, and another great part of this meal is the fact that it’s fairly universal. If someone’s vegetarian, you don’t have great options, but that’s not gonna come up as much as long as you have people who understand what it means to eat affordable. The Instant Pot is a great addition to any kitchen as well.

What we can improve: Tomatoes are fantastic for flavor, but what else is there? I’m missing out on a lot of the herbs and spices that could turn this into a real meal. Adding additional liquid plus things like white onions, garlic, carrots, etc. would turn this from “edible” to “exquisite.” Consider thyme and basil, but also think about different flavors like Teriyaki or sriracha for more stand-out returns. I wonder how chicken chili would go? But that would be a fundamental shift, so that’s more conjecture than anything else.

As an aside, this did bring a smile to my face. However, I hate to say, this is a Magic: the Gathering blog, and I am not a cook. I have to ask that we stick to cards for the future. Still — this is our one and only consolation prize for doin’ your own thang.

@reaperfromtheabyss — Maelstrom Vale

What I like: Hnnnng cascade. This is one of those cards that I friggin’ love because I grew up on cascade, before I knew just how broken it was as a mechanic. I think that in limited and constructed, this card can be played in any deck, and I dunno how to feel about that at second glance. Five-color commander and casual play? Heck yes, this is so much fun. I love these kinds of cards.

What we can improve: Five mana giving practically any spell cascade is...busted, especially in limited. If I had had this last night at FNM, I would have swept so hard. 3-5 drops into multiple creatures and answers? Good lord. If it was 7 to activate, it would be balanced. As it is, might be too far. Small note: this flavor text would be 100% better if you didn’t have that silly attribution. Seriously, it was epic and cool and meaningful until the last part. Sometimes established things work well.

@rustyguacamole — Uth, the Impermeable

What I like: Self-mill with a cool white upside makes this card a welcome addition to some of the other Abzan reanimator builds. I like how you worked off of those to make an interesting fungal commander. I feel that it could even be part of a core set legend if it were mythic.

What we can improve: The “you may play cards from your graveyard” definitely needed a “this turn” at the end of it. And I mean, Yawgmoth’s Will remains an impossibly powerful card to this day. A repeatable version of that seems way too strong at first glance. You could do it at the end of someone’s turn too and then next turn fill that stuff back up. Also, for that reminder text... If you activate it twice in a turn, wouldn’t the second resolution then exile those cards if it already resolved once? That doesn’t feel great. I don’t know, I still don’t think that repeatable Will is a good idea. And small note, the biggest exilers, Leyleine of the Void and Rest in Peace, are replacement effects and would get around that first ability. It really, really, really isn’t a battle worth fighting.

@scavenger98 — Watched of Fanged Winds

What I like: “Wolf creatures you control have flying.” WHAT. I was kinda blown away by that when I first read it, I’ll be honest. Working with, uh, I suppose Bant wolves? Could make for some crazy stuff. The token-making isn’t impossible but it’s a work-around, and I think that I can think of a couple ways to get infinite wolves but they’re all crazy combos and aren’t really broken in any format. That’s not a bad thing! I do like combos when they’re hard to get off. Aura Shards/Lumengrid Sentinel + Ornithopter/Memnite + Watcher comes to mind. See, that sounds fun!

What we can improve: There’s...not much to improve, honestly. I think the gist of my complaints is that I don’t get flavorfully why wolves can fly. Is the spirit giving it to them through some weird magic? What are the Fanged Winds? Sometimes in Magic, there are mechanical interactions that don’t make flavorful sense, but a card has to have internal flavor consistency, and I’m still not sure about that. Mechanically I’m in love.

ShakesZX — Woodland Gratifier

What I like: This is indeed a new version of something that exists but hasn’t seen print in quite this way. That’s pretty much what we were after! It’s a powerful elf effect, and as we speak, someone’s eyeing Gaea’s Cradle and salivating.

What we can improve: This definitely needs to be a replacement effect, see Mana Reflection. That’s an easy fix, though. This submission feels...strange without any flavor behind it. As a draft, sure, this is great. Presentation is iffy. I would have liked there to be flavor text for certain. There’s not really much to say about this card without that. I love the effect, but that’s where things stop. Also, uh, I’m either a terrible person or the word “gratifier” is giving some unintentional innuendo. I may have just spent too long on the internet.

@shootingstarhunter — Jack-In-The-Box

What I like: Knowledge Pool was a fantastic card, and this feels like a callback to that and then some. The change from libraries to the battlefield makes this card really fun to play around with as a kind of boardwipe, and for seven colorless mana there’s a lot of decks that could love this. Playing it then sacrificing with the trigger on the stack? Yike-a-rooni. I’d love to play that. I might also be evil.

What we can improve: But that’s another problem. Do you want permanent exile like that? If that’s your intention, I applaud it. I don’t necessarily like how you’re not the first person to get a present from the box, but that’s a necessary evil, I think. Like Omen Machine. My mechanical suggestion would be to CAST the cards from exile for additional synergy, and to word it so that the boxes are completely optional or completely mandatory. Secondly, the name. Why is a children’s toy exiling all permanents? That’s a major effect, something like an obelisk or a maze, not, well, a box. I would edit the flavor a little bit to reflect a world-breaking effect. Magical portal, woo!

@snugz — Disab, Lord of the Seven Seas

What I like: I imagine if this were come sort of commander it could come with little teardrop cutouts that you could scatter on different permanents or whatever, special flood counters. As a limited card, I think that it’s excellent, and as a constructed card it’s, well, still excellent. It’s a lot to put into a card but you get some awesome control out of it and beef up your pirate to the nth degree. I like how it doesn’t perma-change Islands, although man, there’s some fun combo shenanigans to be had there, I’m sure. Pretty great pirate-y flavor, too.

What we can improve: You know, I don’t have any comments on ways to improve this card. I’ll say that it’s the closest thing that could see print out of most of these submissions, and maybe, well, that’s the problem. It feels almost safe. It’s such a great normal card that it’s not grabbing me by the briney beard and showing me the lost skeleton treasure of Boney Jim. That’s more of an indictment on the contest than it is you or the card, so consider this an apology for having uproariously high expectations for weirdness while at the same time throwing the weirdest submissions under the bus.

@socialpoison — Forget-Me-Not

What I like: You submitted some really cool backstory for this card, and I appreciate the amount of work that you’ve put into this idea. I think that Aetherborn on another plane could work really well with what you have in mind. This card allowing for the self-mill-return is powerful without being, like, Kethis broken. I think you found an interesting balance. Green is a nice choice for the people who would want to make this a commander.

What we can improve: Phasing is one of those mechanics I think I’ll personally never like, but that’s just me. This card itself works with that well, although it hasn’t sold me. I don’t really get the timing of phasing having not grown up with it, but you know, I might have misinterpreted this card and right now I’m thinking about card advantage and realizing that oh my goodness, uh, this card really is a mythic. It’s got card advantage out the butt. Is that too powerful? Well, no, but this may give rise to a control archetype. I think this requires a lot of playtesting. In short, this card is good, but it’s not for me, and that’s no fault of yours. My one critique in an area that I’m actually versed in: I don’t really like the name, cutesy as it is. In-story it could work, but it’s also an idiom of sorts, and that doesn’t feel very legendary to me personally.

@teaxch — Trium, the Strongest Shape

What I like: Alright, this is one of those cards, I’ll admit, I started brewing with it when I saw it. Forgetting the vigilance and haste, there was the draw and the build-around of three-mana 3/3s in these commander colors, of which there are over a hundred. You got Resplendent Angel, Dauntless Escort, Bastion Protector, Verge Rangers... And that’s not counting tokens like Garruk’s beasts. Man. There’s a lot of crazy fun stuff to do with this card, and a fun design space for a meme commander.

What we can improve: Did I say “meme commander?” Good, just checking. It’s a damn triangle. I know they did a legendary Wall, but people were asking for memes before they knew what they were getting into. I love the way this card works mechanically. I’m not going to give any more kudos than necessary to a triangle. (I hope this isn’t too mean, I really do like the design.)

@thedirtside — Master Craftsman

What I like: The more I read/think over this card, the more I kind of appreciate it. It’s a nice casual build-around-me artifact mythic that’s just asking for fun budget stuff. Maybe it’s broken in some builds, but frankly, I don’t see it. I really like how you brought together all the different artifact types and archetypes in one kind of build. This is definitely a Horizons type of card, and you know, for this, that’s not a bad thing.

What we can improve: This card feels pretty cramped for space, and even then, there needs to be a little more. Most of my qualms are about presentation. There need to be commas after all the mana symbols but before the tap symbols. The black ability needs to say “two” instead of 2. The red ability needs to say “Master Craftsman deals 3 damage to any target.” All damage needs a source. And get rid of the flavor text for this one, five abilities fills it up too much already. In terms of surprise, I think after rereading and going through this contest I found myself enjoying this card after all. Just gotta clean up a bit.

@walker-of-the-yellow-path — Time Rift Tactics

What I like: I like this card a lot. The multicolored suspend is pretty interesting considering time shenanigans and blue’s flavor, and even for six mana getting those four tokens is pretty powerful. I wouldn’t say that it’s first-pickable, but it’s definitely great. I’m a fan of the flavor wherein a bunch of soldiers or some general came up with an attack strategy that involved sending soldiers through time and space.

What we can improve: Again, mostly presentation and numeric issues. Suspend definitely needs reminder text, especially for a common, and with the proper em-dashes. Each instance of “4″ should be “four” as well. And the thing is, if you have the blue mana, you can play this in a nonwhite deck for no downside, and I honestly think that that breaks the pie. A cheaper alternate casting cost might prevent it from commander play, but this card was never going to be in commander to begin with, and mono-blue access to this isn’t what blue gets to have.

@wolkemesser — Untapped Potential

What I like: Unique tokens are pretty cool. I like the strangeness of it all, and I think that there’s definitely some ways to make this card really powerful. In colors that can populate, I imagine that there’s a lot of ways to get some crazy draw engines working. I think in the workshop there were a couple people who really liked your work on the flavor text as well.

What we can improve: I wasn’t altogether grabbed by the end result of the token. So, you get a big creature and can see everyone’s hands, but then what? Each player’s token basically becomes a big creature that you’re fighting to get bigger and work with that, discouraging you from casting spells from your hand, and I don’t think I’m a big fan of that. In the end this card makes a cool token but there’s no synergy or movement beyond that, and that’s what’s not lighting my fire. Small notes: “Avatar” should be capitalized, and the two abilities of P/T and “Everyone plays with hands revealed” need to be two separate quotation marks, see Pursued Whale.

Good lord, finally done. Thank you all for your submissions. Tune in tomorrow, when we make history! Or something! We make history every day, don’t we.

-@abelzumi

#mtg #magic the gathering #commentary #custom magic card #surprise me #entries #inventor's fair

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obiyuki-beebs · 4 years

Text

CH 116 thoughts / discussion

mkah spoiler / discussion and no cut.

I’m going back to thinking about the 115 post (reblogged directly below this one or in the obiyuki content page on my blog) I did and how that bottle is just like the one Touka Bergatt told his brothers “wont work on him”. So now we know that this bottle of perfume (and is perfume, not poison as I had previously thought) that is basically hypnotic pheromone juice. Touka apparently cannot be influenced by it. Was that what was used to lure in and kill Touka’s father? I think so.

Remember in the early days (ch. 28) when Mitsuhide smelled that smashed potion and went nuts over Zen for a chapter?

While it may not be the same potion, it does have similar hypnotic properties. This potion is described by Garack as being associated to what we are thinking of at the time, or more particularly, producing a strong reaction to a deeply held loyalty (a type of love). Mitsuhide is worried about Zen, who he already has a strong relationship with. This potion seems to have enhanced feelings that were already there.

That was the same instance that was used as the final test for Shirayuki’s court herbalist apprenticeship, which she passed. I think that counts as a strong memory that may influence this arc as well if she and Ryuu recall the test in their brainstorming and investigation.

We did not get a name for the plant, and it is simply referred to as the blue flower drug. While I’m not supposing Sorata was planting an easter egg so early, I do think she may be using a similar premise of hypnotic (at the very least).

Back to 116....

You can see in this depiction of Yozumi that his eyes are blank. We get confirmation that he was hypnotized, but I think we should remember this look for future encounters as it provides insight to the effect the perfume has.

After she hits him to get him away, he looks shaken. Shirayuki sees how strongly his emotion is affected by this. Yozumi is tearing up with obvious pain in his eyes. What happened to his lover? He asks repeatedly for Shirayuki to leave, facing away from her, clearly fighting the hypnotic temptation. Look at his face in the next image. Why is he so distraught? What about his lover and the perfume are so upsetting? This might also provide some insight on why he’s so protective of the perfume bottle. Is it all he has left of his lover? Did she die? Missing? Was he betrayed?

“I took it with me in secret.”

Did he steal the perfume from her?

Yozumi -- who will not name his lover but we can almost definitely infer is Mm. Liera or in some way connected to her -- reacts to some of the perfume that Shirayuki placed on her collar. This means that the perfume is not the same as the potion described in ch 28, so is it the same plant in a different formulation? Or is it a different plant that also has hypnotic effects?

(as a side note, I wonder how effective washing out the perfume is? Washing off of your skin, sure, fool proof that eventually the substance will be gone. But with fabric? It might be much more difficult to clean. Maybe Shirayuki is using the pepper Ryuu gave her to wash her collar? If there is somehow leftover potion on her clothes, will some unsuspecting gentleman get a whiff of trace potion and be swayed to make a move? I would like to see shirayuki in proximity to obi for this hypothetical... this whole paragraph seems silly now that I’m editing but I’m leaving it).

“When I was beside him, he seemed like he was in pain.”

Emotional pain? Physical pain?

Yozumi seems to have been ‘addicted’ to his lover by means of this perfume, and describes withdrawal symptoms when he was separated from her for more than a few days.

Withdrawal -- physical withdrawal -- is serious and a sign that the body has become accustomed to a stimulus, that being in contact with the stimulus is the bodies new normal.

However..... I’m not sure how closely we are supposed to compare that to withdrawal in the real world. I (used to) work in healthcare and still think like a nurse... I can’t help but apply that line of thought when Shirayuki is also a health care professional. Court Herbalist seems to cover sides of modern nursing and modern pharmacy. I think it’s more likely that the perfume is a vehicle for manipulation -- a lure for an assassin to exploit -- rather than so severely addictive that it incapacitates someone.

That being said, Yozumi is still addicted to the smell of the perfume. Addiction psyche will often have you rationalize and seek out the source of your addiction, even if you know it’s the wrong thing to do. Will he try to seek his lover out? Is she alive? Is she a villain!? All I’m sure of is that she is associated with the Bergatt scheme (re same bottle, etc), and is part of the untrustworthy faction in the North that will try to reclaim Wilant and its territories.

Can Yozumi be trusted out and about? Lol no. Probably not. Who does he kinda look like? Obi bb..... Spy time? Will the knights ball be a masquerade?! WILL OBI AND SHIRAYUKI GO TOGETHER WEARING MASKS?! ahem I hope so. With close proximity dance & perfume. I hope we get some Obi x Shirayuki confronting the tension between them. Maybe the perfume / knights ball will be the catalyst?

Then. Yozumi is contacted by someone he has never met and invited to meet, and this woman has the same scent. This woman is connected to the original lover, and whoever supplies the ‘perfume.’ Probably the Bergatts and their loyalists. This encounter with the perfume alerted Yozumi that he should be suspicious of the lover and the scent, which catches us up to the present and why he has come to see court herbalists.

So this perfume ... basically makes people horny .....there’s going to be a ton of temptation shit going on and I am so here for it.

this post is already so long ...... my arthritis is so bad rn but I’m so pumped about the chapter I’m popping 800 mg ibuprofen and trucking on thank you so much for reading up to this point

So ... the identity of the lover. We know she is high born, and is the daughter of a Viscount. We can assume she’s from the North. There seems to be a network of women working with and / under Mm. Liera to tempt and manipulate chosen parties (Yozumi, Touka’s Father, etc).

Shirayuki and Ryuu plan to send their observations to the pharmacists of Lyrias, with “people they can trust.” Eisetsu became a little more suspicious to me in this chapter. His reaction to people we can trust was odd when you reflect on it, especially after he OBVIOUSLY LIES ABOUT KNOWING MM LIERA at the end of the chapter. Obi can tell that Eisetsu is hiding something.

Bullet points from here on out because handswristselbowsandshoulders are literally on fire haha arthritis !!!!!

Other thoughts:

I wonder what Mitsuhide and Kiki were talking about on their walk in the woods? How curious. Maybe they are discussing the state of the North and theorizing similar to how we are? IS THIS META SORATA (p not)

I love the interaction between Ryuu and Shirayuki when she has finished washing off the perfume and she thanks Ryuu for coming with her and Obi ... happy family ... peers who trust ... coworker you can rely on .. ♡(｡- ω -)

lol Eisetsu “vetoed” but I mean he seemed to get a clue after Yozumi mentioned her being from a Viscount family.

Another suspicious Eisetsu moment ... Does he know who Yozumi Iriz is? Apparently so.

I might be totally off base in suspecting Eisetsu. Maybe he’s one of the good guys. It’s too early to just explicitly trust, especially in a part of the country that is known to be hostile to ProWistalFamily. I am pretty back and forth about if I trust him, though. I want to. I think he’s funny and that he seems genuinely good. But idk. My hackles are raised.

It brought me SUCH JOY that Obi came back after the rains, with the flowers blooming. (((o(*°▽°*)o)))

Wasn’t that little agreement clap between Shirayuki and Eisetsu much like the high five that Obi and Shirayuki do? Maybe Yuki did that to put herself at ease, almost like she too is trying to trust Eisetsu.

d r a m a ? ? ! !

People are covering for Mm. Liera and her crew. They are associated and probably working closely with the Bergatt loyalists. What will be next?

We will hear more about the upcoming Knight’s Ball

More research conducted on effect of perfume and its properties

Will it be related to the blue plant from ch 28?

Will a spy be sent to Lyrias to intercept research on the perfume? This is more of my Hackles Incorporated TM business mentioned before re Eisetsu and if he can be trusted.

BACK TO WAITING!

<3 beebs <3

#ans ch 116 #ans spoilers #snow white with the red hair #obiyuki #obi x shirayuki #ans #akagami no shirayukihime #obyuki

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justfangstvdto · 4 years

Text

Open Coffin 2 | Chapter 03 “Living On Borrowed Time”

Disclaimer: This is a sequel! Find Part 1 here. For some context, I´d advise you to watch The Originals to understand some occurrences.

Chapter warnings: a little bit of a slow breather chapter, timeline divergence, canon divergence, Also apologies for the long break in between...I allowed myself time to let it marinate a little, feel free to wait for more chapters to come before reading,

Word count: 5450

Tags & Author Note at the bottom. Feedback is my lifeblood and keeps the writing coming (eventually...lol).

Open Coffin 2 Masterlist

Your feet dragged over what was left of the road in the cemetery that had been split open by centuries of floods and moving earth. The white paint of a few sparsely placed tombs was so bright you had to shield your eyes from the reflecting light. The trees swayed in the gentle breeze, diluting the light above into a shaded mess. There had never been an English word for the way the sun and wind interplay with each other to create dappled sunlight, but it decorated the entire tree-lined walkway.

Leaving the shadows, you turned the corner towards the far end of the cemetery, skipping some of Lafayette´s prominent resting places, "Why the hell did I agree to this again?"

“Because you're taken with my personality?” Kaleb was walking behind you a step or two, taking his sweet time as if he had no trouble wasting seconds to nothing. He had convinced you to not kill him immediately with a promise of revealing his intentions. You agreed, knowing that if he walked you into a trap you could still end him with a rub of your fingers. It was a win-win, though a time consuming one so far.

And time was running out. You hid a bloody nose from his eyes when he was unconscious - the second one that day - and it was only going to get worse from here on out.

“You think if I´d be taken with you, I would´ve handcuffed you to a radiator?” You scoffed, ignoring his attempt to lighten your mood completely.

“I don´t know,” he shrugged, “you might be into that.”

You rolled your eyes at his comment, progressing further. Passing another set of stones older than dirt, you adjusted the straps of the bag that carried your letters, fastening the metal handler around your shoulder. It was comforting to know that they were with you again and that they only fell into the hands of the stranger next to you. After a few more steps, the sound of shoes crushing loose stones under his weight grew silent.

"This is it," he said and nudged his head towards the building on your left.

You looked at the building towering next to you and it took a moment for you to scramble together where you are. Like a squared lighthouse, the second story building had glass windows on the second floor that wrapped around all sides. The first floor was used by the local witches as a place to congregate and meet with each other, while the second floor was full of plants, herbs and other ingredients for all kinds of spells. You knew the place all too well. Besides plants, it currently housed a newly moved in leech that fed on people's weaknesses. One that was followed by her offspring and one - that despite the meaning of her name - was the worst of them all.

Esther.

"Of course you're working for her. I should've known.” You pinched the bridge of your nose, breathing out the weight of uncertainty from your lungs. Finally, the pieces revealing the stranger in front of you fell into place. Esther sends a distraction. Needless to say, you were not surprised.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but you too are working with her?" He had a smug grin on his face as he replied as if he´d outfoxed your question. Smug Bastard.

"Let me guess, she's the one that wanted my letters?”You asked, and he confirmed with a nod “Why?”

“To exploit your secrets, I'd imagine." He shrugged, then opened the door to the building and stepped aside “After you.” You brushed past him, brushing against his torso trying to fit into the outlandish small door frame. At least this time you were not wearing any hindering clothes as you did 100 years ago. You remembered that once a part of your coat ripped trying to enter this building and if you'd look closely you might even find particles of the clothing still littering the doorframe.

Entering the room at the top of the building, you heard Kaleb breathe out in annoyance once he laid eyes on Finn. He- who was still inhabiting a local Voodoo master with the name of Vincent Griffith - stood at the table, ripping feathers from a dead crow that laid on it.

“Ah, Finn. Just the person I didn't want to see." Kaleb looked at him with such disdain one would have deduced that there was some sort of sour history there. Still, Finn said nothing and blankly stared through his borrowed eyes.

Looking at him, you wondered if the people underneath Esther´s and Finn's possession had any control left. Did they feel or see too? Or were they gone, totally locked away? You never wanted to find out first hand.

“Kaleb, Y/N. I see you two have been acquainted.” You heard Esther speaking from an adjoined room before you saw her. But now she wasn´t the teenage witch she had been inhabiting when you met, it was a local shop owner and witch that had been selling witch items not far from Marcel's new place. But even in another body, she remained the most questioned pawn on the board.

“I guess it was bound to happen since you sent him to steal from me. I don't appreciate you meddling in personal business. That wasn't part of the deal.”

“Did I, now?" She paused and shared a look of disapproval with Finn next to her "Very well. Since Kaleb revealed himself to you, you´ll join forces for the time being. Perhaps then I'll get what I seek."

"Yeah no, I don't do teams." You shook your head and glanced at Kaleb next to you “No offence.”

“You'll do as you're told," Finn said. His jaw was clenched and he tipped the tip of his finger against the table. Ah, the scolding finger. Another thing he had in common with his brothers.

"Oh, of course!” Kaleb scoffed, slicing his words in a sudden stern veer “Now Finn, the sycophant, speaks up! Are you gonna grovel at your mother's heels for eternity, or what?"

Finn dragged his eyes from the table and ogled him down as if he would implode to dust under his gaze “I advise you to stay your lane."

You rolled your eyes at their ongoing dick-sword fight, wishing they´d either attack each other for a little entertainment or simply hold their tongue until you´re out of the way.

“We should move this along.” Esther sounded annoyed as she ordered Finn to the back room with a nod of her head. He tore himself away from the hostile conversation with reluctance, yet he complied. “Now,” Esther looked at you with stern expectation “What brings you here? I do hope it is not another empty promise.”

"I come bearing gifts." You said, stepping forward to the table in the middle of the room. You brushed dried up leaves from the roses that grew in the room from the table with your elbow. Kaleb's eyes went wide when he saw what you held in your hands. The white oak stake in all its silver veined glory. You watched Esther's eyebrows ripple with surprise. She wasn't expecting you to bring the white oak to her as you promised.

She reached out to grasp it, but you brought the tip of the stake to the ceiling to withhold it from her “I need some repayment first. A part of the spell, an ingredient from the list, something."

"You haven't fulfilled your part of the deal." She stated with certainty in her voice.

“This is the start of it. You said you wanted to convince Klaus and Elijah to become human, right? But of course, they´re not as easy to persuade as you thought. If you can't convince them, pour salt into their wounds until they can't do anything but listen. You´re their mother. I´m sure you have secrets about them floating around in your head somewhere. Use them.”

“I am well aware of-”

“I'm not finished. They're hiding something big. Elijah went off like the attack dog he is without me doing anything to cause this, which means that they're hiding something. They have to be. He's too suspicious of me to not want to keep something hidden away. I can find out what it is if you give me something first.”

“You will give me the white oak stake and I will consider handing you a fraction of the spell”

So that's how this is gonna go. You're baiting the wrong person here, Esther...

You considered your options for a moment, going over the possible outcomes of any branch, but all led to disaster. All but one. That meant not playing her game anymore. It would never get to the point where she would keep up her end of the bargain. But this endeavour trying to gain her sympathies had no use. It was time for Plan B.

"Fine. I'll be back with more soon” You met her observing gaze, looking at her without a glimmer of fear she so hoped to spot. You let her grasp the white oak stake and let it fall into her hands.

“It's not like I'm living on borrowed time or anything." You muttered as you turned to leave through the door you came into.

What Esther will do with the white oak, that only her twisted mind would now. But at least it will give you time to come up with another plan. Including another obstacle that was your new companion who, if your senses were not completely obliterated, knew too much to not work against you.

For now, however, getting out of the fire line is what was important, or you´d not stand to see this through.

You stood on the corner, watching as Marcel paraded around in front of his new initiates. He was trying to rebuild his community, the one that Klaus took over with his scheming and intrigues. You never grasped why he thirsted for power as much as he did. Perhaps, you thought, he tried to eliminate the feelings of not possessing any power whatsoever when he was young. Or it was to outgrow Klaus' shadow that has been resting on him and this city. Even now exiled on the other side of the river, he tried to rebuild what Klaus took from him.

Marcel, similar to New Orleans was a Phoenix rising from the ashes. Burnt down countless times, defeated and broken, yet resilient. You wondered how he kept going after all this time. Possibly he was just better at moving past issues than you were. Or he was nothing but more skilled at concealing it.

“I'll be right back.” You informed Kaleb, as Marcel announced the end of his drafting process. Marcel spotted you walking towards him out the corner of his eye, smiled and outstretched his arms, waiting for your opinion of his recruits.

“So, what do you think?”

“I don´t know, a little too groupy for me, to be honest.” You shrugged, “But I'm not a team player so what do I know?”

“Fair enough.” He nodded and let his eyes wander for a second before he spotted Kaleb watching your conversation like a hawk. “Who is this guy?”

“A friend.” You answered, hoping he wouldn´t pester you with questions. You had no time to waste.

“Since when are you making friends? Especially ones with death stares.”

“Well, guys with death stares are kind of my brand.” You joked, but Marcel was nowhere near laughing. Your smile fell and you cleared your throat before you continued “Anyway, listen, do you still own that cabin out in Terrebonne? I could use a little retreat.”

Marcel cocked his eyebrow “Who do you have to hide from now? I know you´ve been going the extra mile to piss people off lately, but that has to be a new record.”

“Nobody yet, but there will be soon. I'm just getting the hell out of dodge before that.” You felt bad for only visiting Marcel to get something from him, but you were not exactly running on a lot of time. You were sure he understood.

“Cabin´s still there, but I had it warded against magic a while back, so no zapping in and out of the place. You can disable it if you want once you´re there.”

“Great. So a road trip it is.” You were not particularly thrilled of hanging out in a confined space with someone you barely knew. But there was no use in complaining.

"In that case,” Marcel continued “you´ll probably want your ride back. It's down at the docks, with all your stuff in it."

“Shit I haven't thought about that piece of metal since-” You paused, but there was no need to finish your sentence. Marcel understood.

“I assume you have a passcode for the doors? Or do you want me to blow the door up to get in?”

"Uh, yeah. It´s…" He scratched the back of his head in avoidance.

The second you knew why he was stalling, your face fell “Don't tell me the password is…password.”

“No, of course not.”

“It´s password, isn't it? You dumbass.”

“It's a car, not an atomic bomb! As if anyone's gonna steal that old thing.”

You slapped his shoulder, shoving him back a step or two “How dare you. You can insult me, but never that car, alright? It's been through a lot.”

He smiled before raising his hands in defeat. “Alright, alright. Call me if you need backup with this one.” He nudged his head to Kaleb still standing where you left him.

“Thanks, but I never need backup.”

----

You definitely needed backup. Even simply to hurl Kaleb out of the window for how annoying he was. Throughout the first few miles, he flipped radio channels with his magic, whistled along to every song that came on, or bumped his knees on the glove compartment repeatedly. He even asked about Marcel with such vigour, you barely managed to divert the topic. You knew many people had something against Marcel and his supernatural politics, you included, but Kaleb´s disapproval was on the upper spectrum. This only added to his questionable character.

You halted at a rest stop a few miles down the road after Kaleb insisted on getting road trip snacks. He had an extra pep in his step when he found the snack Aisle, you could see his excitement through the smudged storefront windows.You pulled out your phone when he disappeared into the back isles dialling a string of numbers you haven't thought about in the last decades. You tapped your foot throughout the beeping tone, anxiously waiting for the other person to pick up.

You heard a groggy moan before the scruffy voice of an old friend cut through. "Y/N ain't that a nice surprise.” Shank said, “It's been what 90 years?"

"Yeah not exactly. We saw each other about a year ago in New York. Or have you forgotten?"

Shank considered for a moment “Oh yeah something seems to brush through my drunken haze. I think. ”

Shank did not drink to forget like most, he drank to remember. He claimed that once he entered a state of non-sobriety, memories he had long forgotten would creep up. You always thought it was nice he even could forget anything at all.

“Anyway,” Clearing your throat, you continued “I need you to do some dirty work.”

“Dirty work?” He sounded surprised yet elated by the prospect of digging up some dirt by either burying someone or by digging up secrets “What are we talking about? Murder, mayhem? Mayhem with some murder?”

“Not that kind of dirty. I need you to pull up all the records you can find for a guy called Kaleb. I don't have his last name, but I'll send you a picture.” You looked over your shoulder to check if Kaleb was already finished with getting snacks, but he was nowhere to be seen.

“I see what I can do.” He agreed and you could hear him hammering on the keyboard through the phone “Is he a problem I need to know about?”

“I don't know yet. I just want to make sure we're on the same side.” You explained, leaving out the details he had no use of knowing about “Thanks for doing this, by the way, I know I haven´t exactly been around.”

“You can thank me by checking in with the boss.”

Of course, he would bring her up. How could he not? He was so blindly loyal to her, it was a wonder that he was not killed yet.

“I don't know what Mae told you but I don't want to speak to her ever again.”

“Just call in, kid.” He seemed impatient in his wish, but, you had no intention of following through with it. That chapter was closed.

“I'll think about stopping by instead.” You lied. You had no intention to go anywhere near the headquarters.

There was silence on the other end, then what sounded like a drink that was poured before Shank spoke once more "You can't. It's all gone."

"What do you mean it's gone?”

“Haven't you heard? The Guerra Werewolf pack bombed the place. Did the same to the crescents on the Bayou. Whole building collapsed in broad daylight, almost everyone died. Some of them people were dumb as a ton of bricks, but they were family.”

“Shit. I didn't know.”

"Nobody knows except Boss and I, and our high and mighty Mikaelson's of course."

"If there's anything I can do-”

“Nothing to be done.” He answered curtly, then returned to his task at hand. "I'll get you the info. Take care of yourself, kid.” And without another word, he hung up the phone.

Entering the car, you leaned forwards after terminating the call, head pressing into the steering wheel. How have you not heard of the explosions? If you had, you would have made the Guerra werewolves suffer longer. Or at least dragged some of them back to the surviving members they could do with them whatever they liked.

You pushed the thought away when Kaleb showed up at the register. You snapped a photo of Kaleb when he appeared at the register through the windshield, disguising your action as trying to find a signal.

“Did you find it?” He asked through the opened passenger window before throwing the three bags worth of snacks behind him on the backseat.

“Find what?" You asked him, confused about what he meant.

“The signal?” He said when he opened the passenger door and hopped in “I saw you from in there.”

“Oh, yeah I got like one and a half bars at best.” You lied. before reaching out for the key stuck in the lock cylinder. Turning it with the foot on the clutch you started the car, ready to continue the journey.

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

On a lonely stretch of road close to Morgan City, Kaleb had finally resorted to looking out of the window for the first time since leaving New Orleans. Silence at last. Ah, yes. Hair breezing in the wind, soft tunes that played on the radio and some nice peace and...

“So New York huh?” Kaleb asked and you had to stop yourself from burying your face in the steering wheel.

...Quiet, yeah not so much.

“Just because we're working together, doesn't mean we have to talk.” You blew him off, “Also, is there an encyclopedia of Y/N somewhere I don´t know about or how do you know where I was?”

He smiled and said "Touchy, are we?”

"I don't know why you're surprised. Do I look like the person that ́is offering free hugs or something?"

"Well, if you ́re offering, I wouldn't say no." He shrugged, flashing a pearly white smile that you figured was deadly to girls' hearts in the vicinity.

“Fine.” You sighed and turned the radio volume down. “Ask away. What about New York?” You hoped he would be satisfied with a few questions answered.

“You, uh, what do they say.”He tipped the tip of his finger against his lips as he considered “Ah yes dropped off the map. Then years later you resurface in New York. Why that filthy city out of the whole world to choose from?”

You stranded there, was the short answer. The real answer was much more complicated. “I did it for the Bagels.” You shrugged.

Kaleb almost choked on a corn chip as your words registered “The bagels?” He said through a cough or two.

“The bagels.” You confirmed, "And I spent some time there back in the '50s, so I knew my way around."

You did not tell him that you just found yourself in New York one night after you tried aimlessly to find something to dull the pain. You did not tell him that you spend weeks feeding through the drunkards that wandered the streets at night. Or how you made the top spot on the wanted list on several covens or small circles of witches for stealing spellwork. You had nothing to lose, and nothing to fear from any of them. You had your goal, and you did not care about casualties.

So you lied. He had no use hearing any of those things.

“And what about your family? Did they visit you there?” He asked further.

Why do you ask so many questions, Kaleb?

You dug your nails in the fabric of the steering wheel at the mention of your so-called family. You have not seen Stefan or Damon in years. But only thinking about them resurfaced memories of the last time you spoke to Stefan on a lonely winter night in New York, months after everything that happened.

You remembered how cold your hands were from the freezing storm that iced the city overnight. There was another blizzard predicted to roll through in the day to come, but people in New York had experienced harsher winter conditions than that. You watched them drink their mulled wine and cinnamon-spiked coffee from the bench you were sitting on. The snowed-over trees of Central Park were a perfect backdrop for the winter wonderland they were seeking.

The ring tone felt like an endless repetition of empty promises, each more disappointing than the last. What if he had no desire to pick up the phone? Or perhaps he was in trouble? Maybe you should- But then his voice cut through the silence. He didn't say your name just answered with a standard phrase you´d greet strangers with. You told him who you were and before you could explain that you wanted to make amends, he said: “Whatever it is, I can´t help you.” Then he hung up and left you in the cold with nothing but the light of your phone that remained the sole evidence for your conversation.

Clutching the steering wheel tighter, you shoved those memories back where they belonged; behind a door and forgotten as so many have been.

“I don't have a family” You finally said. “What about you? Got any family left?”

“They're all crazy as loons.” He shook his head “No, my family these days contains of one person. The only one that's never given up on me.”

Huh. So you were in the same boat after all. Interesting...

“Is that the reason you started working for Esther? To be reunited with them?”

“That's the primary goal, yes." He confirmed and reached for another chip in the bag. “So, New York.” He repeated once again “What did you do?”

“I'm sure you´ve heard the stories. Everyone has.”

“I rather get information from the source. Can´t trust chatter these days.”

“I've done what someone like me does.” You answered with the hope he would have the sense to stop pestering you with questions.

“Well, darling, there is nobody like you, so have to be a little more specific.” The familiarity of the word of endearment made you turn your head and you glanced at him, but he was already staring ahead.

“Murdered, maimed, pissed people off, you know, the usual. Bad things happen when people like me grieve.” You replied, focusing on the road ahead once more.

“All that to get your boyfriend back?”

You slammed your foot on the breaks, halting the car with a loud screech. You leaned over with fury dwelling in your eyes "Let's get one thing straight, you'll never bring him up. Ever. Matter of fact, why don't we keep our history to ourselves."

"I didn´t-"

You didn't let him finish. Instead, you turned the radio volume up, ending the conversation in an instant. You felt his stare every now and then and he nervously fumbled with his left hand and outstretched his fingers only to retreat them a moment later, as if he was regretting reaching out.

The song on the radio swallowed the silence as it played on, thick with grief as a man sang on about how he couldn't go on without his special person by his side. How absolutely cliche it was for the song to play right at this moment when you were reminded of him.

If Kol was here he would point his finger into the air and utter “See there's the universe again. Laughing at us, taunting us, but also telling us we ́re on the right path.”The memories of his smile and the way it would outshine your grimmest thoughts drifted over you, a cruel reminiscence of paradise lost but never forgotten. You relived flashes of memories every day, in the place you dared not to touch nor let go. As long as you remembered, nothing was lost. Kol still existed. You still existed.

The road ended in a mess of mud and overturned ground as the song played out. End of the road for now. And that meant digging through the outskirts of the swamp. On foot. At that point, you started thinking this was a bad idea.

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

Birds settle on a power line across the dirt road leading to the cabin. Most birds gathered as a group, some were scattered, but one was sitting next to them and tilted his head to observe them. They scattered into the wind when the cabin door behind you fell in the lock. You felt his eyes on you as he stepped forward on the roofed deck. Thanks to an invisible spell Kaleb was unable to see Mikael parading around with a wooden lance on the space before the cabin.

“I didn't mean to upset you. I'm sorry.”His voice sounded remorseful and quiet as he leaned against the brittle railing where chipped-away paint chips rained onto the dirt.

“It's fine. Just forget about it.”You brushed him off. You could have told him that he found your weak point, and that was not the mention of Kol, but the fact that you had forgotten about him for a moment and then Kaleb brought him up.

“It's nice here. If you ignore the blasting heat.”He was trying to establish some sort of small talk, but you were never one to care for it, and certainly not now.

“Yeah.” You glanced at him through the corners of your vision.

Above, the birds screeched and tore through the silence, and you looked up to see them retreat into the trees. It was getting dark now, stars had started to crack through the sky, some lighter patches, others clusters of faint and bold light. You gazed at those bright friends of the moon and the midnight blue canvas stole every thought from your mind. The carousel of worries was forgotten for a moment. That was one of the advantages of life outside of the city where stars were put to death every night by the shine of streetlights and suffocated by manmade pollution.

You turned your head again and caught Kaleb's gaze in the light the oil lamp that swayed in the breeze provided. You had to warn him. Warn him about the danger he put himself in being here with you. People around you either leave or end up six feet under. He at least deserved some cautious words.

“Listen,” You turned to him “everything I plan goes bad for me usually. And this time it's foolish too, so if you want out-”

“Nonsense. I'm with you. And I don't change my mind.” He said as a matter of fact as if standing by words was such a common thing to do "Besides, what am I supposed to do, play lapdog with Finn?" He scoffed and shook his head, the image alone too ridiculous to fathom.

The corners of your lips tugged into a smile, an expression which was mirrored on his face. But, when he looked at you next, his face went pale. Before you could ponder about what he saw, you felt the warm liquid run down your nose even before you smelt the copper that taste.

“Shit, sorry.” You wiped the blood away with the back of your hand which stained the fine lines that covered your skin with the crimson remnant ”You´re squeezy around blood, huh?”

"No-” He shook his head, then paused “that is why you said you´re living on borrowed time?”

You were surprised he heard that “Yeah. I just need to undo some things I´ve done before I kick the bucket. A monster seeking absolution. What a cliche, right? Whoever, be it the universe or whatever, that´s conducting my story has never heard of an original plot, that's for sure.”

“You're not a monster. “ He said.

“Isn't drinking blood enough cause to be one?”

“That describes what you are, but who you are isn't defined by the things you've done. Nobody can be summed up by the total of their wrongdoings. I don't believe that, and neither should you.” You opened your mouth to deny what he declared, then stopped yourself from saying it. Kaleb noted your silence as a sign to drop the topic “I might be capable to help you figure out what causes this. If you let me.”

“I have nothing to lose, so why not?” You shrugged, knowing that time would run out eventually. And at this rate, it won't be too long. “But first there's something you should know. I'm not working alone here.”

“I hope not, or I'd be nothing but a figment of your imagination.” He grinned and nudged your shoulder “As flattering as that is, I´d rather be real. Being invisible will drive you mad.”

“You better see it for yourself then.” You raised your hand towards the space Mikael had been training while you spoke, uttering one simple word to reveal him “Invisique.”

You watched Kaleb's expression closely as it dawned on him who remained only a few feet away from where he was standing.

“Mikael.” He swallowed and withdrew with a few steps backwards, until his back hit the rigid wooden wall. He was scared. Good. That meant he wasn't a fool.

“So you know who he is. Good, that spares me the history lesson.”

“How is he here?” He sliced his words in a sudden stern veer, and kept his back flush with the wall, not moving an inch.

“Let's get inside and I'll tell you what you need to know.” Opening the door you went inside first, holding the door open behind you. “Don´t worry, he won't come near us.”

Kaleb tore his eyes from Mikael and secured the door with his hand. Before entering he looked over his shoulder, suddenly feeling like he was being watched. He scanned the tree lines and the road up ahead but there was nothing to be seen. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw something tussle the leaves in the distance beyond Mikael's training ground. And he feared that the storm above and the vampire that hunts vampires was the least of his worries.

And who or whatever was watching him, he thought, surely agreed.

-----

A/N: And we´re back with another one! This is a little bit of a slower one, but I hope you liked it! If there anything that stood out to you or anything that you liked or disliked, let me know!! I would love to hear your thoughts.

Open Coffin Series Taglist: (message me if you want on or off this list!)

@shadyladyperfection @thegoddessofvampire @newurleans @originalbish98 @acourtofhopeanddreams @bonniebird @imnoaingeal @vaniileiinkeks @relmi-llorrac @piercethepottorff @maliae14 @5-seconds-of-animals @the-geeky-engineer @rock-n-magick @flymeawayworld @givemesomehybrid @mikealsonlover @nuteller28 @fandoms-fandoms-everywhere99 @drkplum @fandooomqueenforyou @free-the-fangirl @clockworkballerina @twisted1ginger @superwholocksociopath474 @pacifyprincessxo @mustachio1616 @thealyana @sandyclaws @unicorntrooper @buckysummers @sanity-is-overratedxp @akshi8278 @lunna-star-8 @graysonmalfoy @woodworthti666 @elenavaldez02 @lilulo-12 @selmasemlan @thelostallycat @characterobsessed @cococola-cocaine @crazyinternetgirl @tvdplusriverdale @-thatgirloverthere- @alwxadria345 @trymexo @mizzezm @willieshakesqueer @spunky-89 @putyourherohaironstefan @xxdragonagequeenxx @thegingerthatwaited @shootingstarsaretearsofheaven @hinata7346 @controloffandoms @sabrielflowers

#kol x reader #kol mikaelson x reader #kol mikaelson imagine #the originals fanfiction #tvd imagine #the originals #kol mikaelson #open coffin 2 #open coffin

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thenightgazer · 4 years

Text

A Dead Body Revenges No Injuries

It should’ve been another good time for Vergil and Lyra to read some books at The Literarium, but one of the guests is suddenly dead. The devil and the librarian must team up to find the truth, since the dead can’t tell tales and its body can’t revenge the injustice.

“He that has eyes to see and ears to hear may convince himself that no mortal can keep a secret. If his lips are silent, he chatters with his fingertips; betrayal oozes out of him at every pore.”

-Sigmund Freud

Someone’s dead, and it wasn’t Vergil’s fault.

It’s Spring. It should’ve been the season of rebirth. It should’ve been a divine moment to be cherished, when the embroidery of colourful plants and calming breeze comes to life again. Everything blooms after enduring from winter for so long. A new beginning has come.

It was meant to be beautiful.

Everyone who strives after gain in the perishable world will necessarily come to regret it, at the time of separation and the moment of non-being.

The line from The Epistle of Forgiveness sums everything he had gained from his pursuit of power and it craved agonizingly in his heart. Weeks after learning and contemplating about what it means to forgive himself, Vergil finished his reading of the eschatological literature book and now it’s safely stored in his private bookshelf at his bedroom. It relieves him how easy to let go of his nightmares and it gives him a better sleep without the fear of any illusion anymore.

I’m intrigued by what a book and a little of miracle can do to a sinner like me.

It’s hard for him to think about book and miracle without thinking about Lyra.

Like a carousel, the thought about the witty librarian spins around Vergil’s head and that annoy him in the most unique way. He should’ve hate it, for that makes him oftenly distracted. If his head was a mind palace, Lyra would be the random variable that always pop out from nowhere in every thought that Vergil tried to focus on.

Yet he chooses to be here now—sitting on his usual corner at The Literarium and reading Lyra’s another recommendation; Beowulf. That remind him of the demon he once fought years ago with the same name. Such a disgrace for this masterpiece became the name of a filthy demon, he thinks. Beowulf was on Vergil’s reading list since he was a boy, but he never had a chance to fulfill his list until now. There’s a gleeful sensation everytime he reads the passages, feeling his inner child deep down inside him exclaiming in victory.

The hybrid glances at the woman who sits across him. Vergil has recommended Lyra to read The Turn of The Screw, since she’s fond of horror and mystery. He marginally surprises that there’s still people who hasn’t read this illustrious work of Henry James, even the bookish Lyra. The librarian’s eyes scan through the page seriously, examining every words. She has been quiet since 20 minutes ago without moving or even glancing at anything.

This view isn’t too bad, Vergil quietly grins.

He turns his focus back at his reading.

Beowulf is the oldest and longest epic poem with more 3000 lines long, written by an anonymous in Old English. Nobody knows for certain when the poem was first composed, but some scholars have suggested that the manuscript was made in the early 11th century, which makes the manuscript approximately 1000 years old. It exploits the tale of Beowulf and his battles with a monster and a dragon which was guarding a hoard of treasure. Basically a poem of hero who seeks for glory, Lyra said to him. That confuses him since Vergil doesn’t want to seek any glory at all, yet the librarian picked the book for him.

“I once defeated a demon named Beowulf,” Vergil says. “It was too easy.”

Lyra nods slowly without breaking her gaze from the book, “When?”

“Years ago, when I raised Temen-ni-gru. It was one of the demons that guarded the tower.”

“Uh-uh…” Lyra nods again. “Was the demon… look heroic like the fictional Beowulf?”

“Not at all. Too noisy. But I acquired a strong Devil Arm from its corpse. It wasn’t in my possession again since I jumped to Underworld.”

After a moment of awkward silence, Lyra mutters, “Oh, sad.”

Vergil holds himself to not rip off the book that steal the focus of his dear friend by bringing his cup to the receptionist table to refill his coffee. Since the end of winter, Mr Steiner gave a new instruction for the guest to refill their own cup at the receptionist table. We don’t want to intrude the guests when they read. Privacy matters, Lyra said. Though Vergil can’t comprehend why Mr Steiner didn’t give that policy since the first time he decided to serve free coffee. He nods to Nate, who gives him a friendly wave behind the table as he speaks on his phone. Vergil doesn’t have many interactions with him, but he tolerates Nate’s existence since the young man never get Vergil on his nerves.

When Vergil turns his back after get his refill, he almost bumps to two women who just entered the library.

“Sorry!” a woman in floral dress cheerfully apologises to him without giving Vergil a chance to reply. The other one who wears white dress and looks fragile smiles at him as an apology. They immediately join a blonde woman who sits at the Fiction reading section. They greet and hug each other like old friends, then starts chattering. The hybrid rolls his eyes at that sight and continue to walks to his corner, only to find that Lyra still fixates on her book.

I’m literally going to rip off that damn book.

“These people…” she murmurs suddenly.

“?”

“… are idiot.”

What?

“Why do they always following and calling the ghost around?” Lyra complains. “Like, I don’t get why people shout ‘Hello?’ everytime they see something.”

“Curiousity can be infuriating sometimes.” Vergil silently grins while opening the pages Beowulf again. He peeks over his book to see Lyra’s reaction—she glares at him like she realizes Vergil is being sarcastic to her own habit of curiousity.

They continue to read in peace. The doorbell rings, a sign that there’s another guest entering the library. When Vergil hears giggles and babbles from the women at Fiction, he knows that the new guest is their friend. Their steps are a little bit too loud for his enhanced ears, but thankfully it’s soon over as the women go to take their seats and lower their voices.

Once again, all is well, at least for the next five minutes.

Because now Vergil catches coughing sound from the Fiction section.

The sound is getting worse until Vergil has to look up to see who interferes his seclusion. It’s the same floral-dressed woman who apologised to him earlier. The woman excuses herself to the toilet. Even with Vergil’s enhanced senses, he can hear the cough turns into vomit.

“You might want to ask your customer if she’s alright,” Vergil grumbles.

Lyra put down her book and glances at the toilet, “I should never let Nate to brew the coffee again.”

She leaves her chair as the woman comes out from the toilet, still coughing. Her breath is rougher as she grabs her chest hard, like she’s suffocating.

“Clarissa? What happened?” the blonde woman approaches her and tries to lead her back to her seat.

“I’ll get water.” Lyra hurries herself to the office after exchanging words with Nate to look after the woman, Clarissa.

“Is she alright?” Nate asks panicly after spotting rashes on Clarissa’s skin.

“Of course she’s not!”

“Did she eat something weird before she came here?”

“Do I look like I know?!”

But Clarissa never make it to her seat. She collapses.

The scream gets louder as Vergil immediately stands up to approach the crowd. The woman’s friends are too scared to even touch their poor friend. Clarissa’s face turns blue as her body convules greatly.

Cardiac arrest?

There’s a sound of broken cup. “Clarissa!!”

Before everyone could even make any movement, the tremble stops. The woman’s eyes dilate before it stops moving again.

Vergil can sense the life is leaving her body.

“OH GOD WHAT’S HAPPENING?”

“Someone help her please!”

“Call the cop! Now!”

Police?

But Vergil’s suspicion elapses as he spots Lyra.

In the middle of the tragedy, tears, screams and panic, he watches Lyra who’s standing not too far from the crowd. She brings a glass of water on her right hand, yet something’s off.

The hybrid’s direct experience with human emotions might not quite much, but he knows something about human emotion in hysteria. These people are in panic situation, they’re all consume with sadness and can’t even think clearly. All those emotions can affect human’s body. Panic can cause tremor to their body. Sadness can cause their tears stream down on their faces. Disgust and disbelief can make them feel nauseous.

But the librarian stands still. The hysteria affects nothing to her. The water in the glass doesn’t move, not in the slightest.

For a human, her calmness on this situation is… disturbing.

Vergil tries to deny the chill in his spine when he brushes off Lyra’s emotionless reaction from his head.

The ambulance and police are already in the library. Nate flips the ‘Open’ sign to ‘Close’. The library is supposed to be a peaceful palace, but today it turns to be a nightmare for him. He has been a librarian in The Literarium for years, but he never imagined that someday he’ll see a guest die in front of him. This is shocking, of course. They’re already send Clarissa’s corpse to the morgue to be examined. Polices are busy doing investigation and asking witnesses. This fuss makes Nate almost having a nervous breakdown.

“Hey, Lyra,” he calls Lyra who’s standing beside him. “What did the cop ask you?”

She shrugs, “Standard things like where was I when it happened, how was the victim’s state before she collapsed.”

“They asked me the same thing. Man, I feel like we’re in some kinda crime movies.”

“Ah, they also asked me who made the coffee.”

“What?”

“I said it was you. Didn’t they ask you about the coffee?”

“Not a word! God, they’ll suspect me!”

“Relax, Nate. We drank from the same coffee pot and we’re alive. If there’s someone to blame, it must be her friends.”

Nate lets out a relief sigh, “You’re right. Anyway, is it okay with your friend? He looks like he will kill the cop who interrogates him.”

“To be fair, he always look like he wants to kill someone.”

“Yeah that. To be honest, your boyfriend scares the hell out of me.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“No shit!”

“What?”

“Dammit Lyra! Don’t you notice the way he look at you all this time?!”

“Don’t talk out loud next to my ear, Nate. You’ll lower my IQ. And no, we’re friends. He already has a son.”

“So what? Did he tell you he has a wife?”

“… as far as I can remember, no.”

“Then you are more than legal to be his girlfriend!”

Lyra gives him a disbelief look, “Shame on you, Nathaniel Steiner. Your father took a long holiday and entrusted you this library, yet you’re gossiping in the middle of someone’s death!”

“So what?! Honestly, I have a good feeling about this. Imagine this case spread to the whole city, it will attract more guests to come! And don’t try to change the subject!”

It’s no use for Lyra to reply Nate’s babble. She rolls her eyes in boredom, leaning herself on the wall. A smile curve on her lips when she sees Vergil’s interrogation is done as the hybrid approaches her. She can tell he’s in his cranky mood—the crease on his forehead crumples and he looks like he’s ready to use his sword anytime to stab anyone.

“Bad day, isn’t it?” Lyra greets him.

“You bet it is.”

“Did you tell them that you’re a devil hunter?” Lyra whispers after Nate excuses himself and gives Lyra a mischievous wink.

“Of course not,” the half-devil grunts. “I told them that I’m a delivery man. That’s the safest fake occupation for mercenaries, since any higher and crucial occupation requires too much further identification.”

Lyra bursts in laugh, “I pity that police. He seems scared to even look at you.”

“That I didn’t beheaded him should tell my effort to spare his life.”

“Well… that’d be more corpse to clean.”

Vergil has to admit that he’s confused with Lyra’s drastic mannerism. The woman who stands beside him is the Lyra he knows all this time, unlike the woman who stood still with soulless face an hour ago. Was she just shock to see a corpse in front of her? But she looks calm and even unbothered with the fact that there’s someone died in the library. Since Vergil is a hybrid, he can easily sense people or demon’s anatomy and micro expression better than normal human. It almost impossible to fool him. Yet with Lyra, it’s useless.

From the tail of his eyes, he quietly observes her saying something about the polices and the women.

“They’re weird,” she comments. “What’s the use of calling police? Shouldn’t they call ambulance first instead?”

“That’s exactly what I’ve been thinking about.”

“Really? But seriously, I was going to call ambulance before she shouted. I think it’s the first thing to do if you find someone who suddenly collapse.”

“Unless it wasn’t an accident.”

“… could it be murder?”

“Probably.”

Vergil can use his supersenses and his prodigious knowledges to find the perpetrator, but he’s not in the position to easily do the investigation. He’s son of Sparda, older twin brother of Dante the infamous Legendary Devil Hunter. Any reckless movement can reveal Vergil’s true identity. While Dante is proud of his reputation all over the world, Vergil doesn’t share the same excitement. He prefers to keep on low profile, invisible from public. Clearly, going to and fro to investigate won’t be his best choice at the moment.

“You could just go, you know, the moment they called police,” Lyra says. “You said you don’t want anyone knows that you’re a son of… that war hero.”

“And that I am.”

“Why are you still here then?”

“Can’t let a friend facing adversity on her own.”

“All I need to do is just cooperating and let the police do the hard work. It isn’t really an adversity.”

“Call it what you want. I know you’re aware of the anomality in this case.”

Lyra giggles, “You got me there.”

The hybrid sighs and cross his hands on the chest, “From what I can sense through those women, I have my own hunch.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

“I think one of them has something to do with Clarissa Watson’s death. All of them are anxious and terrified, but their behaviors are unusual, like they keep something from the police.”

Lyra watches the three women; The blonde woman is the one who shouted to call the police. Her face shows a great grief, but surprisingly her behavior is unnaturally calm. While the woman in white dress is constantly crying since Clarissa’s death. The last woman, who has red hair and looks older than the other women, is the one who seemingly the most normal between them. She cries, but still manages to calming the other two women.

“Miss Martha Ventham,” Lyra points the blonde woman. “Mrs Holly Smith,” her fingers points the red-haired woman who Vergil assumes is the one who comes late, because he hasn’t seen that woman before. Then Lyra turns her finger to the woman in white dress. “And that’s Miss Elena Roberts.”

“How did you know their names?”

“I’m a librarian, Vergil. I have records of everyone who visited this library.”

“Or maybe you were eavesdropping when they were interrogated.”

Vergil doesn’t even have to look at Lyra’s mischievous smirk to see that his words are all true. “Typical.”

“Tell me Vergil, can hybrids die because of poison?”

“No. Our bodies have demonic immune to any kind of viruses, bacterias, and poisons. In a huge amount, we can still get hurt by the pathogen and poison, but it won’t critically damage us. We would heal eventually.”

“So… hypothetically speaking, poison won’t have effect on you.”

“True. But I presume your insane idea of having me drink Clarissa Watson’s coffee to make sure whether it’s poisoned or not isn’t really hypothetical for you, am I right?”

“I… haven’t even say a word—but yes! It takes time for the police to decide whether this is accident or murder. Look, they haven’t sent the forensic team.”

“… you’re right. It’ll take too much time to wait for the forensic team, if this is really a murder.”

“So, let’s split up, shall we? You go collect some evidences. Let me do the most difficult part.”

“Which is?”

Lyra glances at the group of grieving women. “Socializing, of course.”

It’s quite hard to tip toe and get away from the sight of the police, but Vergil has a practical idea. He leans his back on the wall, pretending to be bored, while quietly sends his doppelganger to investigate the crime scene. He measures his energy to make the doppelganger as transparent as possible to be unnoticed. With this, he doesn’t have to be directly hanging around the crime scene and catching any attentions.

From his doppelganger, he can see the Fiction section is already empty from officers, but they keep the place as it is for now to be further examined by the forensic team. Vergil’s doppelganger passes through the police line and spots three cups of coffee on the table, along with four books beside each coffees. One cup is shattered under the table, leaving stains of the coffee on the floor. He remembers the woman in the white dress, Elena Roberts, dropped the cup out of shock. That remind him of Elena’s dramatic behavior—she can’t stop crying and sobbing to the point Vergil finds it unusual. It looks like she’s very close with Clarissa, since she takes Clarissa’s death like the end of the world.

His focus turns to the cups on the round table with four chairs. Vergil remembers their seat positions. Clarissa was sitting between Elena and Martha Ventham. That makes it almost impossible for Holly Smith to do anything suspicious, since her seat was right in front of Clarissa’s. But that doesn’t mean she’s free from suspicion. She was the latest person to join the group. The doppelganger shadowy fingers touch the books on the table; Pride and Prejudice on Holly’s side, The Language and Poetry of Flowers on Clarissa’s, The Great Gatsby on Elena’s, and I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings on Martha’s. There are no sign of unusal things from the books. No dust, no stain or anything, but it’s important for Vergil to take notes at everything because it can be useful.

Now the coffee. Aside from the broken cup, the other cups are all half-emptied. Poison might have no effect on him, but he has a profound knowledge of toxicology and can recognize it if there’s any poison in the cups. He examines the cups, even the broken one, but find nothing unusual. If there’s poison inside the coffee, even the doppelganger can smell it.

But why did Martha Ventham insisted to call the police?

Thinking the crime scene is clear, Vergil almost send off the doppelganger to spy the police before he catches Nate stares at the doppelganger dreadly. His eyes and mouth are wide open as if he sees a ghost. Technically, the doppelganger is a spectral created from Vergil’s demonic power. From human eyes, it could be seen as a ghost.

Poor man will never forget this haunting moment.

Nate holds his breath and fasten his steps away after the doppelganger vanishes.

Vergil grins in amusement. It’s funny to see people afraid of something they don’t understand yet.

“Clarissa was a good person. The kindest one. I’ve never thought…” Holly Smith sighs as her teary eyes meet Lyra’s. “I just can’t believe…”

“Did she have a heart problem?” Lyra asks, wrapping Holly’s hand with her own hand. “The way she collapsed, I think she—you know…”

“She had mild arrhythmia. Usually it’s not dangerous. I don’t know, she was just fine—completely fine before it happened. She still laughed with us. But then she said she had a sudden headache and nausea. I thought she would be okay after she vomited but…”

“Poor lady… did she take her medicine today?”

“I don’t know. I just saw her drinking her coffee. I know because I sat right in front of her. She usually took digoxin to stabilized her heartbeat. I guess she forgot to take her medicine or she had too much dose of it, who knows…”

“I see… that must be horrible,” Lyra mutters sympathetically. “How long have you known Miss Watson?”

“About three years. She was my wedding’s florist. She was all lovely and kind. Her customers adore her. It’s hard to dislike such a person.”

“It must be hard for you and your friends.”

“Of course… but I can’t imagine how Elena’s and Martha’s feelings… they were close with Clarissa since high school.”

Well, that’s new. “The police said you were the last one to join the group.”

“Yes, I need to check my husband first before I came here. He got lung cancer and need to be hospitalized.”

“When you arrived, did you see anything unusual from your friends?”

“Unusual…? No, no. At first I didn’t see them because I took my coffee first, then I spotted their bags and cups on the Fiction section, so I put my coffee and my bag there and searched them between the shelves. I found Clarissa and joined her to browse a book.”

Holly lowers her voice. “I have to say… I—I don’t how to put it into words… but Clarissa told me that she had an argument with Elena before they came here. She didn’t exactly tell me the details and I didn’t ask her further because they seemed to have resolved their problem. It must be hard for Elena to take this matter. I can understand why she cries like that, you know, you fought with your best friend and a minute later you found out she’s dead.”

The librarian nods. “Your voice is getting sore, Mrs Smith. I’ll get you water.”

“Thank you.”

Lyra walks to the office, quickly pour water inside three glasses. She contemplates on Holly’s words. She had arrhythmia. Could that be the main cause of the death? But arrhythmia is generally not too dangerous as long as the patient regularly takes their medicine in appropriate dose as prescribed by doctor. Perhaps she took too much of it? Or maybe one of them intentionally gave the wrong dose? Since the police hasn’t declare the result of the autopsy yet, it will be difficult to find out the true cause of Clarissa’s death.

Lyra lifts the tray and passes Vergil, giving him an understanding smile. The hybrid gives her a sly smirk in return. Lyra spots a subtle of his demonic power around the police. It seems that Vergil uses his doppelganger to eavesdrop the police. And he called me typical? That sly devil.

“Here you go, Mrs Smith.” Lyra gives Holly Smith a glass of water.

“Thank you. You’re so kind.”

“You’re welcome.”

Lyra excuses herself and approaches the other two women who sit a bit far from Holly Smith. Elena Roberts is still crying, leaning her head on Martha Ventham’s shoulder. Lyra presents the water on the table in front of them and take a seat beside Martha.

“My condolences for your loss,” Lyra says.

“Thank you,” Martha sobs. “We’re sorry for causing commotion here.”

“It’s alright.”

Elena drinks the water almost hurriedly before she sobs again. “I-I can’t b-believe—Clarissa was just fine when we were heading here—we knew this library from internet and we thought it would be nice if the four of us v-visit—“

“I know, dear, I know.” Martha pats Elena’s shoulder.

“I—I need to get out for a while. I can’t stand it—“

“Of course, Miss Roberts.” Lyra answers politely.

Martha helps her friend to stand up as she and Lyra watch her walks shakily outside the library and closes the door abruptly.

“Elena is always the most sensitive between us,” Martha explains as she wipes her teary eyes with handkerchief. “She can cry almost all the time if something touches her heart deeply.”

Lyra nods in understanding, “I can understand her feeling.”

“All of this… is just… unexpected. We were here to having fun. I came early because I was too excited to meet my friends again. Clearly I never expected to see my best friend died in front of me. She didn’t deserve any of this.”

“Did she show any kind of sickness before she collapsed?”

“No. Not at all. As I said, I came here first, then we browsed the book together. About ten minutes later, Holly joined us. Nothing happened before Clarissa suddenly coughed and… you know the rest of the story.”

“Mrs Smith told me that Miss Watson was a florist.”

“Ah, yes! She was a proficient florist. She had a flower shop at Carrington Street. She loved flowers as it was her own soul. Since our graduation from high school, she always wanted to be a florist.”

“By the way, Miss Ventham, I need your opinion, since you think there’s something wrong with this case.”

Martha’s eyes are narrowed, “What do you mean I think there’s something wrong with this?”

“You shouted to call the police. Then you must know that something’s off. Otherwise, you would call the ambulance first instead of police.”

Martha gulps as she straighten her back. It’s obvious that she knows something. She scans through the room, making sure that no one will hear them before she whispers to Lyra, “It’s personal. I can’t tell the cop because Clarissa made me promised that I won’t tell everyone. But I feel like I have to call them, see if they found something suspicious from her death.”

Lyra nods as she wraps her hand on Martha’s, giving her reassurance, “I know that promise is a sacred thing. It just… I’m afraid police will get suspicious to you, Miss Ventham. Everyone has already witnessed that you’re the one who shouted to call the police. And to be very honest, that’s a rather suspicious thing to do. The police might have come to their conclusion that you have something to do with Miss Watson’s death.”

“For the love of God, no!” Martha’s whisper sounds desperate. “I won’t ever hurt my best friend! Nonsense!”

“Then you must tell your own story about this… a small thing to help the police to finish this case, and who knows it might help you free your worries.”

Martha considers Lyra’s words seriously. She closes her face with her palms, feeling extremely drained and frustrated. She takes a deep breath and murmurs, “Clarissa said she was blackmailed.”

“Blimey!”

“A week ago, she asked me to come to her house. She sounded terrified. She told me there was a bouquet of dark crimson roses at the front door of the house. I saw the bouquet; it was so dark that it almost like black roses. You know, in the language of flowers, black rose means—“

“Death.”

Martha slowly nods, “Exactly. I was going to tell Elena and Holly, but Elena was still in grief because she recently had miscarriage and Holly’s husband is hospitalized. Besides, Clarissa made me promised to not telling this to anyone. After the day she received the bouquet, nothing happened until today. I wish… I wish I could prevent her death. This madness drives me mad to think that Holly might be the one who threatened her, because she has a garden of roses at her house and she was jealous for Clarissa’s attention to her husband when she visited him at the hospital. But Clarissa was always kind to everyone! I know it was just a blinded accusation. It just a crazy thought in crazy situation. Holly is my friend. I should’ve never pointed my finger at her.”

She wipes her eyes again, “I’m sorry. I think you’re right. I should tell the police about this. It’s no use anymore to keep it as secret. At least this is the only thing I can do to help Clarissa.”

“I hope your testimony will help to finish this case.”

“Thank you. Anyway, would you do me a favour to look after Elena while I talk to the cop? She can’t be let alone or she would making scene.”

“Sure thing, Miss Ventham.”

“Thank you so much.”

Lyra’s eyes follow Martha’s steps as she heads out from the library. She suspects the police will change their direction of the investigation after they hear Martha’s explanation. She watches Nate gives a cigarette to Elena Roberts as they smoke together.

“Nate!” Lyra greets her co-worker. “I was looking for you!”

Nate blows the smoke out from his mouth, “I need to evacuate myself outta that hellish building.”

“Why so?”

“I saw a ghost! A real ghost!”

Lyra snorts. He must’ve seen Vergil’s doppelganger. “Nate, you work with your father for almost your entire life at this library. I work here for only two years, and I never saw any ghosts.”

“Ouch, that hurts! You don’t believe me, right? Then wait for your turn to be haunted by that frigging transparent ghost.”

“You’re exhausted, Nate. Relax.” Lyra approaches Elena Roberts who says nothing since Lyra’s arrival. “Miss Roberts? Are you alright? Your friends are waiting for you.”

Elena Roberts looks weary as she lets the smoke out from her mouth. Her makeup looks messy. It must be a horrific burden for her, to had miscarriage and the death of her best friend all of sudden.

“I-I’m sorry…” she sobs. “This is too much for me…”

“I understand.”

“I’m sorry… I broke the cup.” She mutters and wipe her tears. “I don’t know what to do. I saw her and—and I still can’t believe it!”

“It’s fine, Missy. A cup is replaceable.” Nate tries to cheer her up.

“I regret that I had a fight with her before we went to this library. But it was all over. We apologized and we made fun of our earlier argument. Everything came back to normal. It was all fine.”

“I’m sorry for your loss. I heard from the police you had miscarriage, and now your friend…”

Nate coughes as he drops his cigarette, “—dammit! I’m so sorry, Missy. Couldn’t imagine how hard it’s all for you.”

Elena nods and gives him a weak smile, “Thank you. It was just a month ago, and now my friend died in front of me. I must be cursed!”

“I believe it just an unfortunate event.” Lyra says.

“Then why do these miserable things happened to me? They all left me—my baby, my fiancé, my best friend! She was just fine when I picked her up, even when we arrived and browsing books along with Martha before Holly joined us. Then after she drank the fucking coffee—for Christ’s sake!”

Lyra and Nate exchange a pitiful look.

Elena begins to tremble again and panicly holds Lyra’s hand. “Martha brought us our coffee because she came here first. My heart tells me it was her doing. Who knows she put something to our cups? Clarissa told me that Martha borrowed a large amount of money from her to pay Martha’s rent, but she hasn’t pay it while Clarissa needed her money to return. Yet Martha scolded her for being arrogant and heartless! I know it must be Martha! That greedy, ungrateful bit—!”

“Whoa, whoa, Missy! Calm yourself down! You’re not serious with your words, right? It’s your friend we’re talking about!” Nate cuts the accusation.

Elena starts to sob again. “Oh God… what have I done?”

Nate gives her a cigarette again to calm herself down. Lyra decides to leave them alone because it seems like she has all the necessary informations from the women. She enters the library and walks to the Rare section where Vergil is already waiting for her.

“The forensic team comes to take samples on the crime scene,” Vergil says. “Because they found out cardiac glycosides inside Clarissa Watson’s blood, and they assume it could be murder.”

“According to Mrs Smith, Miss Watson had arrhythmia. It explains why her blood contained cardiac glycoside. She took digoxin regularly.”

“That I know. But they also found a large amount of some glycosides from convallaria majalis plant inside her blood.”

“Convalla—you mean that lily of the valley flower?“

“Correct. All parts of the plant contains at least 38 known cardiac glycosides. Convallaria has been used to treat congestive heart failure and some types of arrhythmias. However, the safe amount of lily of the valley is still debatable and if ingested in uncontrolled dosages, the effects on the human heart can be catastrophic.”

“So... if combined with digoxin...”

“It will cause more irregular heartbeats and increase the side effects of those glycosides. And there’s more than that. The plant contains non-protein amino acid called Azetidine-2-carboxylic acid. It’s incredibly toxic to humans even in small doses. Misincorporation of that acid into humans proteins can alter collagen, keratin, hemoglobin, and protein folding. Basically it changes human body function on a molecular level.”

“... that’s a terrible way to die.” Lyra contemplates. “Miss Watson was a florist. She must had a bunch of lily of the valley at her shop. It could explain why there’s convallatoxin inside her blood. But I think it’s impossible for a florist to do reckless thing such as intentionally consume lily of the valley.”

“Then it leads us to one conclusion; someone intentionally poisoned her. This person knows her illness and the medication she was taking regularly. But that’s the problem. I found nothing in Watson’s cup. It’s just a coffee.”

“Oh, bugger!”

“Miss Lyra Clayton?”

Lyra looks up to see the man who calls her. It looks like the man is from the forensic team, “Yes?”

“I’d like to ask your permission to collect the coffee cups as the evidence to be examined.”

Lyra smiles politely, “Of course.”

The officer hurries himself to join his team to the crime scene.

“Clayton,” Vergil emphasizes. “All these months, you never told me your surname.”

“Is that important now?”

The hybrid shrugs, “At least you could tell me.”

He looks adorable when he’s sulking like that. “Alright then. My name is Lyra Clayton. Nice to meet you.”

“I didn’t ask you to re-introduce yourself.”

“Well, I’m just emphasizing my name to you.”

“… I prefer your first way to introduce yourself.”

“With a riddle? For real? I thought you hate riddles!”

“It just seems natural,” Vergil looks away. “I just… I don’t like the idea of not knowing you entirely.”

“…”

“Nevermind,” he blurts. “Now tell me what you find from those women.”

She tells him everything, from Clarissa’s illness to the women’s personal problems and accusations to each other. Vergil keeps silent throughout the librarian’s explanation. He almost think that maybe this was a mere accident, that maybe Clarissa Watson accidentally consumed lily of the valley. But that sounds forced and too… incidental. The timing, the place, the blackmail that Clarissa received a week ago, the mental condition of Clarissa’s friends… It just not right.

Vergil recalls his memories of the broken cup. He didn’t taste the coffee—of course it’s humiliating to lick the coffee stain on the floor. He’s not a mindless animal. Yet he believes he saw something. Not unusual, but quite noticeable and looks completely normal.

“… none of them wear red lipstick.”

“Sorry, what?”

“I think it’s normal for women to wear lipstick.”

“Sure. It’s normal. I wear it sometimes too. What is it, Vergil?”

“It just… strange.”

“Why so?”

“The broken cup. There’s a red lipstick mark on it. I remember Clarissa Watson wore red lipstick. That makes it possible to someone to switch their own cup with Watson’s cup without raising any suspicion. Each of them are not always sit still to read, sometimes they searched for a book at another section or refill their cups. And when Watson collapsed, they switched back the cups and dropped it on purpose; to erase the suspicion.”

“But the police must’ve found the poison container already when they searched their belongings.”

“… you’re right.”

“But I agree with you. They all are suspect now. But first, we need to find the container. That’s the only way to find out the true killer. They have motives. Money problem, jealousy, and the unknown argument… Their accusations towards each other are not reliable.”

“All of them had a chance to put the poison. We need to look closer to their motives and the remaining evidences.”

Vergil sighs frustratedly and turns his head to the group of women. The case shows the light at the end of the tunnel, but they haven’t reach its end. They need to find the evidence; the poison container, if it really existed. The container must be still with one of them. But what could it be? Who brought it?

“The necklace.” Lyra murmurs.

“Pardon?”

“The necklace is gone. See?”

Ah.

Foolishness, Vergil. How could you miss that?

MURDER IN THE LIBRARY

Clarissa Watson (35), a florist and owner of Persephone Flower Shop died after collapsing at The Literarium, a small local library at Michelangelo Street on 11 March. The police declared that Watson’s death was caused by lily of the valley (convallaria majalis) poisoning. The library served free coffee and the cardiac glycosides from the lily of the valley flower was found inside Watson’s cup. According to the police, Watson had arrhythmia and she had to take digoxin regularly. With the digoxin combined with convallatoxin, both cardiac glycosides lead her to death. It was revealed that her friend, Elena Roberts (35) was the one who poured the poison inside Watson’s coffee. To cover her action, she dropped Watson’s cup that she switched earlier to erase the evidence when Watson collapsed.

At first, Roberts objected that she was too panic and can’t think clearly while dropping Watson’s cup, thinking it was her own cup. She also claimed she didn’t possess the poison. It was revealed that Roberts’s fingerprints are also appeared on the broken cup. The police also found Robert’s necklace from her clothes. The necklace contained residue of liquid convallaria majalis inside its removable tube-shaped pendant.

According to another of Watson’s friends who were present at the moment, Martha Ventham (35) and Holly Smith (37), Roberts was depressed because of her recent miscarriage. Roberts herself finally admitted that she thought Watson took part of her miscarriage by giving her chamomile and ginger tea when she visited Watson’s house three weeks ago. Roberts didn’t know she was pregnant until the miscarriage happened. She claimed she was devastated and it was hard for her to not blame Watson for the miscarriage. She put a bouquet of dark crimson roses at Watson’s house a week before this tragedy happened as a threat that she could never forget Watson’s mistake. Ventham confirmed this statement since she saw the bouquet when Watson told her about the blackmail, but she never thought that it was Roberts who sent it.

“Clarissa made me promised to shut my mouth about it,” Ventham stated. “But when she collapsed, I remember that bouquet and I couldn’t help myself to not call the police. Something’s wrong, and I have to find the truth for Clarissa’s sake”. Smith also confirmed that Watson and Roberts had an argument before their arrival at the library. It was then revealed that Roberts confronted Watson about the miscarriage, but Watson denied it.

Roberts said that the idea of murder just popped on her head since two weeks ago and she chose lily of the valley because it was Watson’s favourite flower.

“Lily of the valley means return of happiness” Roberts stated. “I know because Clarissa told me that. I thought with her death by her own favourite flower, it would return my happiness after I lost my baby, but I can only feel nothing. I lost everything, and maybe I deserve that.”

12 March, 02:00 pm

Lyra closes the newspaper and turns her eyes to Vergil, who continues to read Beowulf, “Do chamomile really can cause miscarriage?”

The hybrid grumbles, “Do I look like I’m capable to answer that?”

“You know, it’s rude to answer question with question.”

Vergil grunts. “All I know about miscarriage that it could happened by many factors. Too much chamomile might trigger the miscarriage, but that’s not always the case.”

Lyra nods slowly as she puts the newspaper down and picks up The Turn of The Screw. “At least that explains Miss Roberts’s over-dramatic reaction. I guess she feels guilty after murdering her friend, realizing that it was all to late and she can’t redo everything. But we can never really blame her frustration. She wasn’t in the right state of mind.”

“It is always better to avenge dear ones than to indulge in mourning,” Vergil recites the line from Beowulf. “It’s strange what human could do in devastation.”

“Yeah, such as stabbing themselves with a magic sword and split them into two different beings.”

Lyra laughs when Vergil gives her his usual deadly glare.

“Well, at least we have more customers thanks to Miss Roberts,” Lyra chuckles as she observes the guests. “Nate was right about that. Though Mr Steiner stopped giving free coffee. No more murder in the library, he said.”

“I’m happy for you.”

“You don’t look happy.”

“I don’t have to smile like Joker to tell you that I’m happy.”

“You’re funny guy, you know that?”

“Don’t call me funny.”

“And you’re the best partner in crime!”

“Silence.”

Even though Vergil dismisses her words harshly, Lyra still can see the subtle warm smile on Vergil’s lips. She flips the page of The Turn of The Screw and tell herself to finish the book today. There’s a long pause before she realizes that Vergil stares at her with unreadable expression. Uncomfortable with that kind of gaze, Lyra chuckles, “You know it’s rude to stare, right?”

“Pardon me. I was just trying to recall.”

“Of what?”

“Remind me again, what did exactly you tell the police once we found out the disappearance of Elena Roberts’ necklace?”

“Well… as we agreed, I told the police that Miss Roberts’ necklace could be the evidence they’ve looked for. As we know, the necklace has a tube pendant which could contains approximately 1-2 ml of liquid inside it. It was odd that she suddenly removed the necklace out of the blue, for we know she wore it since her arrival here with Miss Watson. It was a gamble, but the police confirmed that the tube contained residue of convallatoxin. It was easy for Miss Roberts to pour the poison inside Miss Watson’s cup and quickly removed the necklace right before she joined them to browse the books. We know that Mrs Smith might have turned to be the suspect since she was the latest to join the group, so she didn’t have any chance to witness Miss Roberts’ position before her arrival and she sat at her chair first to put her coffee on the table before she joined her group.”

“And Martha Ventham had witnessed that Holly Smith has a garden of roses at her house, which could indicated that she was the one who brought the bouquet of dark crimson roses as a threat to Clarissa Watson.”

“Correct. That strengthen Miss Roberts’ alibi.”

“So all the pieces of puzzle was collected,” Vergil leans forward and taps his fingers on the table. “But there’s a major plot hole.”

Lyra tilts her head, “And what is that?”

Vergil deeply gazes at Lyra’s eyes, his voice is almost gentle. “How did you know that Elena Roberts wore the necklace since the first of her arrival?”

Vergil has read too much micro-expressions and even if just a slightest, he can senses a fight-or-flight instinct from the librarian as her face turns pale and her eyes dilate before she quickly collects her self-control and pretending to be confused with Vergil’s question.

“Because I saw it. Don’t we all, Vergil?”

“I saw the necklace because she and Clarissa Watson almost bumped at me near the receptionist table. When the murder happened, the necklace was already gone. You were reading seriously all the time before you stood up to get some water for Clarissa Watson when she vomited at the toilet. That means Elena Roberts had already poured the poison before that moment happened and she already hid her necklace. Panic and sadness consumed them all and that made them unaware of menial thing like a necklace.” Vergil stops his finger’s movement. “In conclusion, Lyra, you never saw the necklace. But somehow you recognized the disappearance of the necklace. How did you know that?”

“I… asked her friends, of course.”

“That would be invalid, because they must’ve suspected it too and would immediately confronted her about the necklace, or at least they would report it to the police. But no, they all gathered up and crying for the loss of their best friend.”

That statement edges Lyra to her loss. She sighs deeply in defeat, looking around her like she’s making sure that no one heard their conversation. She slowly bites her lips and looking at Vergil’s eyes, seriously considering something.

The hybrid knows this is the time he finally get his answer for his long unsettling feeling to Lyra. He waits patiently all these months to find out, even hoping for Lyra to tell him in person. When he said that he dislikes to not knowing anything about her yesterday, he means it and deep down he wishes Lyra to understand it. It’s obvious that he likes her a little too much, but there’s still a border between them that he finds it hard to completely trust her.

I want to trust you.

“Stardust,” he lowers his voice. “You accept me for who I really am. You consider me as your friend despite my flaws. Please understand that I intend to do so to you.”

The feeling of grateful and relief fill his heart when Lyra finally nods in agreement at him. Her smile blooms again, now it’s brighter and sincere than her first fake smile. She still has her own doubt, but finally she takes a deep breath and grins.

“You’re right, it’s not fair. You told me everything and I’ll return the favor. I believe you can keep it a secret.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

She giggles.

“My head is full of ghosts,” Lyra says. “It’s a metaphor, because it sounds like whispers, then it turns into pictures.”

What’s she talking about?

“I don’t remember since when I possess this, nor how I acquired it. It just happened automatically. It’s… mostly frustrating. It mentally drains me, to know things I should not and never want to know. At least before I met you. Whenever you’re around me, it’s always stop. It goes normal just like everyone else doing. You don’t know how relieved I am to be with you. You stop the ghosts.”

“I am honoured,” Vergil says. “But I’m afraid I still don’t follow—”

“I can’t read your mind, Vergil.”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s the thing, because I always can read everyone’s mind, whether it’s humans or demons. But not you, and not when you’re around me. It seems like your presence disables my ability. But yesterday, when I touched those women’s hands, I realized that I still able to read mind when you’re around if I touch them. Now you know how I recognized Miss Roberts’ necklace, as well as the fact I know that she’s the killer all along. But I can’t just tell you all informations I acquired from her head. That’s why I have to discuss it with you. To guide you to the answer.”

Ah. The realization comes to Vergil’s head. She’s a telepath.

The librarian touches Vergil’s hand and grab it softly. It surprises him and he almost pull his hand off, but he restrains himself. He won’t lose to his own fear of physical contacts.

Slowly, she releases Vergil’s hand. “Yet… even if I touch you like this, I still see nothing. I wonder if it’s Sparda’s protection on you. I don’t dare forcing myself to look inside your head. I fear that would make you aware of my ability. Besides, I respect your privacy. I see too much. That’s why I like it when you’re with me. You give me solitude.”

I was wrong all this time. The voidness that Vergil always see whenever he watches Lyra’s eyes is the burden of the eyes that see too much. The eyes that exhausted and always wander to find peace and calmness. Sometimes it’s hard to see the truth behind the unfamiliar eyes, especially the eyes like hers. But now he understands the meaning of it. Vergil knows that knowledge can be a curse—she suffers silently with her ability to read mind.

“Thank you for your honesty,” he states. “You should’ve tell me earlier.”

“I thought it would make you uncomfortable.”

Nonsense. Of course I won’t feel uncomfortable whenever I’m with you.

“Will you try to read my mind again?” he asks.

“I told you already, I can’t. I’ve tried.”

Vergil reaches out his hand, “Just try it. I will allow you to read what’s on my mind at the moment.”

Lyra grabs his hand and trying to focus on Vergil’s head instead of his icy, alluring eyes. At first she gets nothing, just a static darkness, then she sees some blurry images that she can’t perceived. It seems that whatever protection in Vergil’s mind, it will endure itself if Vergil allows it, but although Lyra tries her best to clear her vision, the pictures are getting hazy, in fact, the more she tries to break Vergil’s mind, the darker it goes.

Then she hears it. It’s not quite like Vergil’s voice, more like a brainwave, but she can clearly interprets the meaning, and that makes her smile gets wider as she realizes that Vergil also awares of her presence inside his mind.

‘Our minds are connected!’ she exclaims.

Vergil still tries to adjust the new experience, ‘This is… curious. Have you done this before?’

‘No. This is the first time. Must be enchanced by the power of Sparda, eh?’

‘Could be.’

‘This is wicked!’

‘Even without opening your mouth, you’re still a chatterbox.’

‘And you’re still a grumpy devil.’

A sudden thought comes up from Vergil’s mind, but he hastily holds himself before Lyra could interpret it. That breaks their mind connection. He seems flustered, gripping his book tightly. Knowing that Vergil hides something, Lyra eyes the hybrid in front of her in a playful manner.

“You know no one can hear us, Vergil.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“Then you know I won’t tell it out loud, whatever thought you just hold before. I’m the only one who can hear you.”

“That’s precisely why I won’t tell you.”

Lyra shrugs and pick up her book again. For a moment they don’t talk to each other. But when Lyra almost finishes her book, her head jolts a little as she receives a thought from Vergil.

‘Places among the stars,

Soft gardens near the sun,

Keep your distant beauty;

Shed no beams upon my weak heart.

Since she is here

In a place of blackness,

Not your golden days

Nor your silver nights

Can call me to you.

Since she is here

In a place of blackness,

Here I stay and wait.’

Vergil gives her a quick glance and small grin after Lyra nods to him as a confirmation that she gets what he thinks. She knows that Vergil has a hard time to uttering his feelings and prefers to recite poems as his odd way to express whatever inside his mind and his heart. She knows that the poem isn’t exactly what Vergil wanted to tell her earlier, but she knows that this is the other way to tell her his intention. It’s still too subtle for her, but the poem warms her heart. It’s like a promise that Vergil will keep her secret and he accepts her the way she is, not even asking how could she possesses such a power, for Lyra is just a human.

Because Vergil will wait for her, and perhaps Lyra should never underestimate his patience.

‘Thank you, Vergil.’

List of recited poems and quotes

Introductory Lectures on Psychoanalysis by Sigmund Freud

The Epistle of Forgiveness by Al Ma’arri

Beowulf by Anonymous

Places Among The Stars by Stephen Crane

The title of this story was quoted from The Marriage of Heaven and Hell by William Blake

Tagging @drusoona @queenmuzz @shiranyaaww @harlot-of-oblivion @andieperrie18 @lovemadnessharleyquinn @rubixa-seraph

Ao3 | Masterlist

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homenum-revelio-hq · 4 years

Photo

Welcome (again) to the Order of the Phoenix, Seb!

You have been accepted for the role of MADALÉINA WARREN with the faceclaim of Sirena Warren! We really enjoyed how Maddy, while being a fighter against injustice, is also still a young adult. We truly can’t wait to see how she blossoms into herself and finds out who she really is as a person. We also love that she’ll be joining the ranks as a Muggleborn witch, as this is a group fighting for people of her blood status and doesn’t actually have many of them within their organization. So excited to have her on the dash!

Please take a look at the new member checklist and send in your account within 24 hours! Thank you for joining the fight against Voldemort!

OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME & PRONOUNS: Seb he/him

AGE: 21+ (not getting younger, lads!)

TIMEZONE: GMT+1

ACTIVITY LEVEL: I’m here! Usually I’d do at least a round of replies every morning (either 1 reply per character or a full round of 1 character) but at times I’m a bit anxious about spamming people with too many of my replies at once, so I hold off. And now that I’m on a holiday until October 15th, I’ll definitely be able to keep that regularity going so what am I to do? Find another roleplay? Never!

ANYTHING ELSE: Triggers, still: under-water sequences

CHARACTER DETAILS:

NAME: Madaléina “Maddy” Warren

AGE: 18

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY:

Cis female. She/Her. Hetero.

To turn things around a bit, I like to think that Maddy is quite endeared by the idea of being bisexual, of just loving everyone and anyone regardless of their gender, and she definitely clings to the girl-crushes she had, but really, she’s just straight. She hasn’t had any serious relationships yet but I think the day she meets the right guy, she’ll realise that those feelings are very different from infatuation. For a while it’ll make her seek the same emotional depth with a woman for a while, but eventually she’ll realise that she’s fully straight. This being said, she was raised Irish-Catholic and this whole ‘I’m open-minded and bisexual!’ might ironically stem from that; a way to distance herself from the conservative world around her. So it’s less observation-based and more a head thing, where she’d just rather want to be on the side of the ostracised than the ostracis..ers.

BLOOD STATUS: Muggleborn.

HOUSE ALUMNI: Hufflepuff.

ANY CHANGES: No, please stay the way you are!

CHARACTER BACKGROUND:

PERSONALITY:

Maddy’s heart is big, open, and full of love. That is the first thing you must know.

She sees the good in people before anything else, and when there is no good, she dreams of planting it into their hearts, seed by seed, smile by smile. She’s the epitome of ‘kill them with kindness, giving everyone second, third and fourth chances, and truly believing that everyone can change for the better, that no one deserves death, that everyone deserves a friendly hand, helping them. The second thing you must know, is that she’s a clever little fox, and when she asks: What Would Jesus Do?, she doesn’t mean the glorified white Jesus people misuse for the prejudiced bullcrap, but the actual Jewish Jesus who yelled at the rich and kissed prostitutes regardless of their reputation. She’s got an innate sense of justice, and it can turn her into an American Honey Badger if ever she encounters someone being treated unfairly. The third thing you must know, is that she’s still very much searching for herself. She knows who she wants to be, she knows she wants to spread love and eradicate injustice in the world, but in between those goals, she’s an 18-year-old mess who’s not really good at what she’s doing. One minute she’s talking about the importance of unity amongst the Order, the next minute she’s talking about how cool it would be if they all wore the yellow-black X-Men uniform. One minute she’s angry about big corporations exploiting the poor, the next minute she’s babbling about how much she loves coca cola. One minute she’s talking feminism and how every woman should be allowed to do what she wants, the next minute she scoffs at a roommate wearing too short of a mini-skirt. She’s young, Christ-damnit – oh yes, she also truly struggles with cursing in a non blasphemous way – but she’s trying.

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY:

Derry, 1972. The infamous key-event of The Troubles of Northern Ireland called Bloody Sunday, which caused the IRA to grow and radicalise further, makes the mother of 9 children a widow. The youngest of those 9 children has just been born in the hospital and Maddy is watching over the other younger siblings with only mild interest – after all, the Addams Family is on TV! – and she knows not to expect her mother to come home before tomorrow night. What she doesn’t know, however, is that while her mother returns, her father never does.

From that day on, the Warrens’ life is no longer the same. Were they a wild, jumbled bunch of messy but cheerful people, they are now scraping at the stone of their personal rock bottom hell. Maddy’s older siblings are off to find work, so is their mother, and Maddy is left to slowly become a second mum to her younger siblings.

Before that, she was one of many, forgotten and forced to scream and scratch for attention – now there’s not even that much left. Who she is doesn’t matter, what she wants doesn’t matter. All that matters is that the family survives, and a fun and quirky personality brings laughter but not bread to the table, so what’s it really worth?

The TV is sold, so are all of Maddy’s comic books and the cool earrings she got for Christmas. When it’s time to even sell her father’s clothes, she steals the jeans jacket he was shot in, never bothering to repair the hole on its back. A reminder, perhaps, of the injustice in the world. Of how dangerous it is, to let people know who you really are. No one notices. No one ever notices what she’s doing. Much like the big jeans jacket eats her entire frame, her father’s death overshadows everything she once was. By the age of 10, she’s lost her identity and personality, becomes ‘one of the many Warren children’, and people in the streets address her by her father’s name, not her own. And then she turns 11. It’s Dumbledore himself who appears in her living room, explaining Maddy everything, and her mother cries the whole time through. Why? That’s something Maddy learns only a few years later. And quite frankly, in that moment? She doesn’t want to know. Here is a real whole Wizard who looks like Gandalf the Wise and says she’s a Witch and says she’s special and says she has a life away from all of this. And then he says: “It’s okay to be scared,” and Maddy hears herself admit that, yes, she is a little scared. After all, she wasn’t raised to be special.

Suddenly she’s an individual, her own person, and the possibilities are endless. Who does she want to be? What’s the plan? Where will this adventure lead her to, and why is no one there to guide her? She’s lost. Alone and lost. Her dream has become a nightmare. Her first year, she is focusing on being a good Witch at Hogwarts, carrying the burden of her destiny as good as she can while keeping her head low and fearing the sound of her own name. It’s only been a bit less than a year since her father died, but a year in the life of an 11-year-old is a lot, and it scarred Maddy. Hogwarts isn’t a big school, people quickly know her, that Irish Mudblood, as they call her, and even though she hears the snarl in their voice she’s too afraid to correct them. “What is it, muddy Mudblood? Don’t know how to use your wand to defend yourself?” Then the Summer holidays come. She’s can’t wait to be back home, one of many, ‘one of the Robert Warren kids’, back in anonymity. But it’s too late. Things have changed. She’s the special one now here, too. In Derry, people know her as the girl who got a scholarship in a private school in Scotland; everyone is proud of her. Her older siblings are glad they don’t have to feed yet another hungry mouth all the time, to see at least someone get out of here unharmed. And her younger siblings have, for the first time in years, hope in their own future again. Hope that they, too, might become special at the age of 11. None of them are.

Maddy remains the only Witch of her family.

For a while, as the years pass, she tries to fit in even better. Look less catholic, speak less witchy, smell less like a Mudblood. She’s long stopped screaming and scratching for attention but now she’s actively trying to never stand out. And why would she want to? The English don’t care about the beauty of the green. The Muggles don’t understand the full scope of the marvel that the Wizarding World holds in store. And the Purebloods can’t even grasp the greatness of using a damn – sorry! – telephone. People live and exist in in- and out-groups, and the walls are high, causing cold wars in the world and amongst possible friends. She’s special, yes, but in a way no one truly understands, and she realises that there is loneliness in being different. And that’s when Maddy, fourteen years old, walks into the second-floor bathroom at Hogwarts and into a long-deceased family member: Myrtle Warren. Her father’s sister and her mother’s childhood best friend. Killed by bloodpurist ideologies. Safe, nowhere, not even in the hopeful life she’d been promised here. And Maddy understands. People die because they’re different. It’s not just lonely. It’s dangerous. But ducking one’s head and letting the un-different people rule will never undo the danger. Only being visibly different, outspoken, unashamed of one’s specialness can tear down the walls and help people familiarize themselves with the cultures on the other side. She’s special, goddamnit – sorry! – and she’d rather die teaching people how beautiful that is rather than pretending she’s not! With determination, she puts her wooden cross back around her neck. Stuffs her Wolverine T-shirt into her jeans, tosses her dad’s jeans jacket over her shoulders. Then she marches up to the Slytherin table and smashes her fist into Avery’s face. “See, the thing is, we Mudbloods don’t need a wand to defend ourselves.” So, while the war in Northern Ireland gets worse and worse, Maddy makes a name for herself at Hogwarts by selling Muggle-trinkets (sending the money home), playing on the Quidditch team, excelling in various classes and just being a good sport altogether. People listen to her ideas and even laugh at her jokes, and she makes sure to learn about everyone else’s specialness as well. After all, if everyone realised they’re worth of attention and love, maybe they’d grant the same blessing to others as well, and no one would have to fear being different anymore.

Nowadays, cheer has returned to her family. With four children out of the house and two already capable to work, the Warrens are much more relaxed, enjoying watching everyone’s path unfold, while still waiting curiously to see if the youngest, Robert Jr., will receive a letter for his 11th birthday or not. Some resent never having received their letters, others are just happy for Maddy, and others prefer not to think about it at all. What matters is that they’re now all individuals thinking for themselves, allowing each other, at times together, to be happy. And all would be good… Only that Maddy’s no longer part of it now, is she?

OCCUPATION:

Entrepreneur (Business for Muggle-trinkets sold in the magical world).

What started as an act of desperation (bringing ballpens to Hogwarts) suddenly turned into its whole own thing, where first Muggleborns begged for more objects from home and then the other kids got interested in it, too. Seeing how Hogwarts’ magic didn’t let electronics function properly, those objects were usually of mechanical banality or just plain cultural stuff like magazines, blotting paper, alarm clocks, a special type of cereals, etc.

Maddy was more than ready to stop her business after graduating, but the fact that her clients graduated along with her and now still preferred her shop than hunting through Muggle cities for the things they never really had to buy for themselves in seven long years just had her continue the thing. And now, since she has to make money somehow, she’s looking into buying an empty shop at Diagon Alley.

ROLE WITHIN THE ORDER/THOUGHTS ABOUT THE ORDER:

Maddy was attracted to the Order by Maurice’s radio show and his subcultural references calling out for more Muggleborns to join the war. In all honesty, up until that point, she wasn’t really aware that a war was going on..? She understood that she was being discriminated against, and that Muggleborns were fleeing the country, but, Jesus – sorry! – she’d grown up in Derry, a bit of oppression is neither a proof of war nor a reason to run away, is it? But when she learnt that there was a vigilante group trying to fix the racist bullcrap that was going on, she found herself quite interested. “I don’t really know what I bring to the table, though,” she told Maurice after meeting him before anyone else, and he replied: “You bring perspective, and that’s exactly what we need.”

She doesn’t really support the more radical notions of some Order members, and would rather see them figure out a peaceful way to end the war (the idea of seeing someone be shot in the back like they did it to her father is haunting her at all times, unfortunately) but she knows that not doing anything won’t fix things either. And at least these people understand the beauty of diversity. In fact, she’s more than proud of the Purebloods who have joined the cause, and takes it as proof that everyone can change if given the chance.

She’s still very new in the Order (therefore still full of hope) and is mostly trying to find her footing. But I think it won’t take long until she will come forth with her first pro-active, constructive suggestions: it’ll be less about killing Voldemort and more about educating those who could become potential followers. Teaching them of the Muggle World, of how fun the culture can be, how there’s not such thing as blood dilution, etc, perhaps going all the way to even dismantle the Statue of Secrecy.

SURVIVAL:

She lives in a flat with some Muggleborn and Halfblood friends in Muggle London. Gerry and Charlie started a university degree and Kathy is currently doing an internship at the Ministry of Magic. None of them really know what’s going on, what they’re doing, and how to subscribe to a newspaper, so while they do face daily discrimination in the Wizarding World (very much a reason why Gerry and Charlie went back to the Muggle World for the time being), they haven’t really paid attention to fixing it yet. And while Maddy knows it’ll be a bit difficult to keep the Order thing a secret from them, she also knows that they wouldn’t really care. In a way, that’s what’s also keeping them safe: they’re just a bunch of kids, so no one would ever suspect Maddy to be a danger to society. Right?

RELATIONSHIPS:

As you just saw above, there will definitely be a strain put on Maddy’s relationship with her friends. She knows that she’ll eventually have to leave them, if the secret becomes too much of a burden or Death Eaters could put them at danger just for being close to her, or tell them the truth and let them decide whether they want to join the Order as well or not. In a way, she already knows they won’t. After all, they chose to go back to the Muggle World for a reason. The same goes for her family – who, admittedly, are less close to her these days, but who are still very much family, and she’d never forgive herself if something happened to them. Other than that, I think joining the Order will open a lot of new relationships, seeing how Maddy will be surrounded by people who are equally as invested in wanting to make the world a better place.

The Bang Gang (Chaos Trio): Maddy went to school with them and has a complicated relationship with them. By the type of personality, she’s similar to Dorcas, her roommate, and you’d think that’s a great basis for a friendship. But that’s definitely not what happened. From the day Dorcas revealed herself to be more on the ‘I’ma fight everyone!’ type, Maddy decided to go against that and be of the ‘I’ma befriend everyone!’ type. The Bang Gang seems loud and obnoxious and not at all on the peace-path to fix discrimination with love. No wonder the Order is so radical! Sure, deep down, Maddy admires them at least a little, for being so cool and brave, but on the outside she’s mostly annoyed. After all, if Maddy had wanted to join a terrorist group, she could’ve picked the IRA.

Caradoc: Big Grumpy Man, Maddy is not a fan. While he’s surprisingly civil to her, compared to many other Order members, she doesn’t agree with his radical notions. Sure, Purebloods are the ones who started it all, but Christ – sorry! – give them a chance to change! It’s not by antagonising them that you will end up making friends. From the outside, their relationship must look like a tiny dog yapping at a benevolent old man who just smiles back with patience.

Dedalus: Funky Funny Man has a shop on Diagon Alley, and while Maddy absolutely despises Wizarding Candy, she wonders if the flamboyant (and very handsome) Wizard might want to give her a corner of his shop for her to set up her own. Just until she has enough money scraped together to buy her own shop. And if the poor Muggleborns entering this world had to suffer through ear-wax jelly beans, then it’s about time that Purebloods experience the greatness that is Muggle candy.

Maurice: Feisty Pretty Man is the one who attracted Maddy to the Order. His voice drew her in, his face made her stay. Who can blame her? When she asked him what the Order could possibly want from her, he said: “Perspective”, and it was what Maddy needed to realise that her whole thing about changing the world one kind deed at a time might’ve just found a home to grow in. Whether Maurice knows it or not, he’s become her mentor, and Maddy couldn’t look at him with any more heart-eyes if she were a cartoon.

OOC EXPLORATION:

SHIPS/ANTI-SHIPS:

I direly need Maddy to have a crush on every boy she encounters, be they gay or racist. I don’t care how far it gets (I don’t think she really wants anything serious anyway, even if she whines about being single all the time) or how many rejections she’ll receive, I just need her to constantly be distracted by the urge to snog, thank you.

WHAT PRIVILEGES AND BIASES DOES YOUR CHARACTER HAVE?

I think by nature of who they are, how they grew up, Muggleborns are less prejudiced towards people and creatures from the Wizarding World. Because on the one hand, everything is weird and different to them, on the other, it’s just fairy tales! Werewolves are cool as hell – sorry! – why would you be mean to them?! Why not befriend them and learn everything about them! And while obviously Maddy finds herself kind of tense around Purebloods, it’s not at all an innate thing like her hate towards the English. And then there’s the whole thing where she believes in the good in everyone that just makes her actively fight any prejudices she might have. So while I’m sure she’s free of bias, I think of all my characters, she’s the most open-minded one.

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO? Listen.

PLOT DROP IDEAS:

For Maddy: - have her fight for a spot on Diagon Alley while bloodpurists try to keep her from it. - have her kill the Basilisk at Hogwarts (it’s personal, okay) - have her get some snogs - make up with Dorcas and Benjy? For the RP: - telephone station at House of Bones for Maurice to actually receive responses from the Muggleborns he calls out to (Pride style) - Generally a branch of the DTF actively recruiting Muggleborns (and it causing discussions in the Order) - maybe a law passing at the Ministry related to her shop in Diagon Alley, taking away the right for Muggleborns to have their own shops, and the Order managing to prevent the law from passing (but before they manage, perhaps there’s a surge of refugees the DTF has to take care of?)

ANYTHING ELSE?

Maddy is Low-Level. I’d say she joined fairly recently, seeing how Maurice’s radio show plot hasn’t even been made official yet. So maybe Dedalus’ plan of that buddy-system [x (first paragraph)] for new Order members could take effect on her as a test dummy? :’ D

EXTRA FOR NON-BIO CHARACTERS:

PAST: Born and raised as an Irish Catholic in Derry during The Troubles of Northern Ireland, young Maddy learnt from a young age that there are people who will kill you based on something you cannot control. Born and raised amongst a family of nine children, however, she also learnt that being different is a gift and not something you should hide. Being the same as everyone else, one of many, might make life easy, but it certainly doesn’t make life honest and good. This realisation came when she met the ghost of her aunt in the second-floor bathroom at Hogwarts – known as Moaning Myrtle; Maddy didn’t know why she was the only one of her siblings to have been granted magical powers, but she sure as hell – sorry for the swearing! – understood in this very moment that keeping a low profile like Myrtle had done fifty years ago would neither protect her life, nor change the world for the better. Thus, in the span of four years, she grew to be the most honest version of herself that she could possibly be: an Irish Catholic Muggleborn Witch with a love for superhero comics. Selling Muggle trinkets at Hogwarts (ranging from ballpens to comic books) she was known as the proud Hufflepuff who knew how to befriend about anyone. ‘Kill them with kindness’ became her motto, and while she still had a lot to learn regarding how to be as self-assured as she liked to present herself to be, she was, for the most part, succeeding in her mission to introduce Purebloods to Muggle culture, building bridges for those two worlds in ways she knew she’d never be able to do it for the English and the Irish at home.

PRESENT: The cat who dragged her into the Order was Maurice Creevey and his radio show. Her “What do I possibly have to offer them, though?” was answered with a “Perspective,” and it was all she needed to hear to be convinced. Had he said ‘your wits’, ‘your optimism’, or ‘the stakes you have in this war,’, she would’ve declined and gone back home to her Muggleborn flatmates who have turned their back to the Wizarding World after graduating from Hogwarts. But he said: “Perspective”, and that was the one thing Maddy has always believed is in her range of capabilities. After all, she does have a different perspective on it all, and she is more than willing to teach people of this perspective, of her side of the story, to make them empathise and want to tear down the walls of cultural divide alongside with her. She firmly believes that everyone could be friends if they only understood each other, and she’s not afraid to grab her megaphone to have communication happen. Either way, she does not care for another war like there is at home, does not care at all for seeing more people she loves be killed by being shot in the back, the way it happened to her father in 1972. So her main focus right now (except finding an empty place in Diagon Alley to set up her Muggle shop) is to identify the more radical members of the Order and explain to them that they shouldn’t hurt anyone on behalf of the Muggleborns, or there will be direct retaliation against exactly those. And once she’s got them in her pocket, she wants to update the Hogwarts curriculum to educate Wizards about Muggles to finally end the divide – and perhaps even the Statue of Secrecy, one day.

FC CHOICES: Sirena Warren as found here: [x], [x], [x]. Alternatively: Meta Gewald [x], [x], [x] or Faith Jaggernauth [x], [x], [x] . I must admit, none of them have very good resources, though…

#homenumaccepted

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razieltwelve · 4 years

Text

The Prince and the Rose (Final Rose x GOT)

Robert Baratheon loved all his children, but if pressed, he’d admit that his eldest was his favourite. Aye, he’d loved Edward since the little rabble-rouser had screamed his guts out and then had the temerity to puke on his head. His son had been born with a damn good set of lungs, a fighter right from the start. With his spiky black hair and blue eyes, there had been no doubts whatsoever about which parent he took after.

He was clever too. He’d been walking and talking faster than any child Robert had ever heard of, and he’d taken to his lessons with the sort of glee that could only have come from his mother’s side of the family. It wasn’t long before he was surpassing his teachers, and the damn maester’s proclaimed him a genius.

Robert had worried a bit at that. Being clever was good, but a king needed to be strong. Edward had proven himself again, taking to his lessons on combat with equal gusto. Robert had preened with pride the first time he’d seen his son handle a blade and then a war hammer. It was like he’d been born to it, like he was remembering things he’d forgotten instead of learning them for the first time. Watching a seven year-old Edward knock some squires onto their asses had been one of the greatest moments in his life.

Aye, the boy was the best of both his Houses, as fierce and mighty as a Baratheon and as intelligent and cunning as any Lannister. Perhaps that was why he’d brought his two parents closer together.

Oh, Robert did not like to think of it much, but he’d not treated Cersei well to begin with. He’d been too full of grief and rage to be fair to his lioness. Yet Edward had shown his love for both his parents right from the start, and Robert had looked at his firstborn and the woman who’d birthed him and realised that even if this wasn’t the life he’d dreamed of, it wasn’t half bad either.

It had taken a few years, but Cersei had warmed to him, and they’d had other children. Joffrey could be a bit arrogant, but he was cunning and loyal to those he called friend and family. He favoured the sword more than the war hammer, and perhaps that was better for he had more of the Lannister build to him for all that his hair was as black as Robert’s. Tommen, well, he was a kindly boy, one who loved his books and studies. Yet when angered, his blood rang true, and he was as fierce as his older brothers. Myrcella, his only daughter, was the apple of his eye, a beauty in the making, and he was already dreading the days when he’d have to smash some skulls to keep suitors away.

As he reached the practice yards, Robert took a moment to study himself in one of the polished shields propped up on a bench. He’d let himself get out of shape for a few years, but he’d done a much better job of it since Edward had begun his training. Now, he was fit and strong, a king whose very presence commanded respect. Besides, it wouldn’t do to be bested by his own son before he was even a man grown. Gods, it probably wouldn’t be long now, the boy was just that good with a weapon.

And speaking of his eldest…

“Are you sure you don’t know magic?” Edward griped as he parried a blow from Ser Barristan. “No man should move so quickly at your age.”

The knight grinned warmly and continued his onslaught, his blade a swift, steely viper that never ceased to look for openings. “Are you sure you are a child, Your Highness? I’ve bested men - good men - full grown with the pace I’ve set, and you’ve yet to let a blow slip through your guard.”

Edward grinned back. “Odd words coming from a knight so famous for his youthful exploits.” The boy parried another blow and then replied with a lightning fast riposte that would have landed cleanly on any other man. At the last second, the old knight turned just enough to let it swing past his shoulder.

“An excellent attempt!” Ser Barristan praised. “You almost caught me there.”

“Almost but not quite.” Edward chuckled. “Although perhaps we should pause here. I daresay my father wishes a turn.”

Ser Barristan lowered his blade and nodded respectfully at Robert. “Your Grace.”

“How is my boy?” Robert rumbled, though he already knew the answer. To be able to stand against Ser Barristan at twelve was a feat any father would be proud of.

“A peerless swordsman for his age,” the knight replied. “And though you did not see it, I did face him when he wielded a war hammer. I imagine it was like facing you in your younger days.”

“Hah!” Robert boomed. “The boy might be better than I was.” He tossed his son a war hammer, blunted and wooden instead of metal. “Let’s see what you’ve got, boy.”

“Of course, old man.”

“Old man?” Robert chuckled. “What? Do you want the crown on my head already?”

“You can keep it,” Edward shot back. “It looks good on you, and I’m too busy with my other projects to be king.”

“Is that so?” Robert smirked. His boy had a talent for taking those wild ideas of his and turning them into coin. It was definitely something he got from his mother’s side of the family. Indeed, his preferred business partner was his Uncle Tyrion, and the pair had grown quite close. The Dwarf was no warrior, but his mind was as keen as any blade, and his son appreciated that. “How is that new liquor of yours going?”

“The fire water? It’s going well. I promise you’ll have first try of the next batch once we know it’s safe.” Edward tested the weight of his war hammer. “Now are we going to fight, or are we going to talk?”

Robert bared his teeth. “Spoken like a true Baratheon! Let’s see how far you’ve come!”

X X X

When Diana had first been reborn, she’d been rather put out at the fact she’d been reborn a man. Her aggravation had only grown when she realised she’d been born in what could, politely, be described as a technological backwater. On the upside, she was royalty, and that put her into a position to make changes.

After all these years, though, she’d gotten used to her new body. Or rather, his new body. He couldn’t complain, though. His new body was immensely strong, even for a twelve-year-old, and far faster than most people would expect. Indeed, it was something he’d often thought about his new father. Robert Baratheon was unbelievably strong, yet it was his unexpected speed that so often granted him victory.

Sadly, not all of his powers had made the trip with him. Ragnarok was… well, not gone, but certainly not there in its entirety. He was still hopeful it would awaken in earnest at some point, but even still, he healed faster than he should, and he’d noticed other things besides. He was careful to conceal the oddities. Prince or not, magic here was apparently serious and often highly unpleasant business.

As he made his way back to his quarters to bathe, he wasn’t surprised when his uncle fell into step beside him. Slowing just enough to help him without making him feel condescended, Edward glanced down at the man many called the Dwarf.

“You’re looking cheerful, uncle. Did you get some good news?”

“Aye, nephew.” Tyrion had a spring in his step. “We’ve heard word from our craftsman about those ‘printing presses’ you proposed. There are some problems still to work out, but the design seems decent enough. In a few months, perhaps, we’ll have a working design. And from there…”

“Profit.”

“Indeed.” Tyrion nodded. Some of the bitterness about him had faded over the years, Edward thought. It did not take a genius to see how his… treatment at the hands of Edward’s grandfather, Tywin, rankled Tyrion. But since their partnerships had grown more and more successful, his uncle had become a very, very wealthy man in his own right. That success had put steel in his spine and dampened some of the old hurts. After all, Tyrion no longer had to worry about begging his father for money, and he had the ear and favour of the crown prince. Not bad for a dwarf. “I saw your practice in the yard. You’re even better than my brother was at your age.”

“Uncle Jaime was a prodigy,” Edward said. “And of all the Kingsguard other than Ser Barristan, I think he might well be the deadliest in a fight if he could be bothered to put his back into it.”

“Ah, he does have a tendency to play with his food, doesn’t he?”

“I think he is so rarely challenged, he likes to savour any real fight he gets.” Edward pursed his lips. “Do you have any clothing suited for cold weather, uncle?”

“I believe so. Why?”

“Jon Arryn is an old man now,” Edward said. “And though he has managed to sire two sons, he has had precious little time to raise them. I do believe my father might seek out a new hand, so Jon can retire to the Eyrie to raise his sons and hopefully sire a few more.”

“And you think he means to go north?” Tyrion’s brows furrowed. “Ah. Right. Lord Stark. Well, they are as close as brothers, and the North has prospered mightily in recent times. Mayhap, your father hopes to bring some of that prosperity south.”

“We’re prospering enough as it is,” Edward retorted. “The crown has never been richer, and if all of our plans go as expected, uncle, we will only grow wealthier.”

“Hmm…” Tyrion got a crafty look. “Perhaps you should think carefully about your future, nephew. After all, the Rose of the North is of an age with you. I daresay, your father would love to join his house to Lord Stark’s.”

“Ah.” Edward had his suspicions about who exactly the Rose of the North was, but he had yet to receive a definitive answer due to how difficult it was to communicate across long distance in Westeros, and he could hardly send a raven to her without his father finding out and scheming for a match. Well, maybe in a few months he could. He’d made good progress in learning how to train his own. “We shall see.”

X X X

Lyara Stark rapped Arya on the wrist with her stick just hard enough to catch her attention without doing any real harm. “Your wrist should be supple but firm, sister. Too soft, and you will lose all control and power. Too tense, and you will be slow and ungainly.”

Arya huffed. “How do you make it look so easy?”

“Practice,” Lyara said with a fond smile. Indeed, she almost always had a fond smile ready for her youngest sister. Oh, she loved all her siblings, but there was a lot of Diana to be found in Arya Stark, and the girl who had once been Averia had always had a soft spot for her sister. “Now, again, Arya.”

“Can’t we practice some other moves?” Arya grumbled.

“I do not fear the warrior who has practiced ten thousand moves once. I fear the warrior who has practiced a single move ten thousand times,” Lyara replied. “A warrior must have absolute confidence in their skill, Arya. Do you think you can have confidence in something you haven’t practiced?”

“No,” Arya admitted with a huff. “But when can we do more sparring?”

“Complete your next set of exercises,” Lyara promised. “And then we may spar.” She grinned. “Our brothers wish to test themselves against me again, it seems.”

X X X

Ned Stark managed to keep himself from grinning as he watched Robb hammer away at his twin sister’s defences. His son and heir had more of a Tully look about him, but Lyara was almost his sister reborn, albeit there was something unmistakably regal in her bearing that undoubtedly came from Catelyn.

Robb was a great swordsman for his age, as skilled as any youth, but there was a reason Lyara was called the Rose of the North, and not simply for her beauty. Aye, a rose had thorns, and Lyara’s were the sharpest in the North by a good margin.

“Good,” Lyara praised as she parried another attack and circled away, keeping Robb turning. She was testing his footwork, Ned realised, making sure he did not grow too accustomed to simply moving backward and forward as so many youths were prone to. “You’re mixing your attacks up better.”

“I still haven’t hit you yet,” Robb replied.

“No,” Lyara returned with a ghost of a smile. “But you’re doing better than the last time.”

“Come on,” Theon japed from the sidelines. “She’s your sister, Robb! You’ve got to win.”

“Oh, be quiet,” Robb retorted without taking his eyes off his sister or her weapon. “You didn’t even last a minute the last time you fought her.” Next to Theon, Jon chortled, and Ned himself had to swallow a laugh. “It’s like fighting someone who can see the future. It’s like she knows what I’m going to do before I do it.”

“Because I do,” Lyara teased, blade blurring forward like a viper. At the last moment, Robb managed to jerk his own weapon up to deflect the strike, but a twist of Lyara’s wrist locked the two swords together, and then a graceful pivot sent Robb’s practice sword tumbling end over end through the air until she caught it crisply in her other hand.

Robb put his hands on his hips and glared. “Now, you’re just showing off.”

Lyara’s lips curved up at the edges. “How can I make it up to you, brother?”

“Well, you can bloody teach me that disarm for one,” Robb grumbled. “And… what is that new contraption you’re working on?”

“A new furnace,” Lyara replied. “For making better steel.”

“How about a sword from it when it’s done?” Robb asked. “Then mayhap my wounded pride will be soothed.” He clutched at his chest melodramatically.

“Of course,” Lyara agreed with a joking half bow. “It would be my honour Lord Robb.”

Ned chose that moment to step into the training area. All of his children immediately look to him, and he smiled warmly.

“I’ve been watching,” he said. “And you are all doing very well.” He nodded at Robb. “Your sister is right, my son. You’ve improved by leaps and bounds. You might well become one of the finest swords the north has ever seen.” He turned his gaze to Jon. “And the same could be said of you, Jon.” He clapped both boys on the shoulder and then nodded at Theon. “Your bow work is impressive, Theon, but your swordplay… mayhap more work is required.”

“Has something happened, father?” Lyara asked.

“Oh?”

“You are a bit earlier than usual today,” she replied. “And you had a most thoughtful look on your face as you watched - but not the one you normally have.”

“You have keen eyes, daughter.” Ned smiled. “We have received word from the south. The king, my dear friend Robert, is coming to Winterfell, and he is bringing the royal family with him.”

“Truly?” Arya asked. “Is the Young Demon coming as well?”

“Arya,” Ned said with just a hint of warning. “That name is… perhaps unfortunate if fitting.” Robert’s boy had been blooded recently, or so he had heard, when bandits had attacked the queen’s party during one of her trips to visit her father. Young Edward, the Young Demon some now called him, had slain half a dozen bandits himself after they had tried to seize the queen. The tale had become somewhat famous, with many drawing the parallels between father and son. In the North, of course, the young prince was popular. Any boy of twelve who could slaughter those who tried to harm his family would be viewed well in the harsh North. “But, yes, I do believe he will be coming.”

“You should fight him,” Arya said to Lyara immediately. “I bet you could beat him.”

Ned chuckled. “Perhaps they can spar.” His daughter and his oldest sons were already blooded too. Poor Bran had almost been seized by Wildlings during a ride, and Lyara had reacted with the sort of deadly precision more common to experienced warriors than girls of ten and four. Robb and Jon had likewise done well during the encounter although they had only slain a pair each, whereas Lyara had slain a good seven on her own. “And perhaps Robert has other things on his mind too.”

Indeed, Ned could easily imagine Robert asking for a match between Prince Edward and Lyara. If he did, Ned would be only too happy to agree. They had often talked of one day joining their Houses, and by all accounts, the prince would not mind a woman who could fight as well as he did. Indeed, if some of the rumours were true, he might even prefer one.

And such an alliance would only be good for the North. His daughter had a keen mind, and she had suggested many improvements that had worked out well. Likewise, the prince was blessed with many ideas of his own. At the very least, such a match would ensure close ties between the crown and the North for many generations, and Ned was certain that the prince would get along with Robb too.

“But enough of that,” Ned said before reaching for a practice weapon. “Let me test my children with my own blade. Who shall be first?”

Arya, of course, all but threw the others aside in her eagerness. “Let me go first, father!”

“If you wish.”

“Remember our lessons,” Lyara advised as they made way for Arya and he to spar. “Father is far bigger and stronger than you. Do not try to fight his strength with yours. You must be quick, agile, and cunning.”

X X X

Author’s Notes

Well, I have no idea where this came from. It kind of popped into my brain one day, so here it is. Ah, yes, there will be so many glorious misunderstandings in the future as Edward/Diana and Lyara/Averia try to finagle their way out of a betrothal while saving Westeros from the Others and who knows what else.

If you’re interested in my thoughts on writing and other topics, you can find those here.

You can find my original fiction on Amazon here.

#final rose #game of thrones #diana yun-farron #averia yun-farron #robert baratheon #ned stark

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duhragonball · 4 years

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[FIC] Luffa: The Legendary Super Saiyan (134/?)

Disclaimer: This story features characters and concepts based on Dragon Ball, which is a trademark of Bird Studio/Shueisha and Toei Animation. This is an unauthorized work, and no profit is being made on this work by me. This story is copyright of me. Download if you like, but please don’t archive it without my permission. Don’t be shy.

Continuity Note: About 1000 years before the events of Dragon Ball Z.

[14 November, 233 Before Age. Interstellar Space.]

King Rehval would die, very soon. As Luffa led her fleet of warships to his new home, there were a multitude other thoughts running through her mind, but she made sure to focus on her sole objective. Rehval. Must. Die.

Her grudge against him went back to the beginning. Her mother was an anti-monarchist who left the Saiyan Kingdom before Luffa was born. Eventually, Luffa's mother entered into a mercenary partnership with Orij, Luffa's father, and the young family roamed the stars in search of adventure. When Luffa was ten years old, Orij betrayed her mother. He was jealous of his wife's power, and planned to exploit her, until he realized that their daughter had inherited the same potential.

Orij's plan went into effect when Luffa was nineteen. By then, Luffa had taken a mate of her own, Kandai, and Orij conspired with him to betray Luffa to the alien Tikosi. Their ghastly experiments would seek to reverse-engineer the secrets of Luffa's hidden power, and then they would share their findings with Orij. When the Tikosi learned Luffa was pregnant with Kandai's child, they simply removed the fetus, as it impeded their research.

The horrors Luffa experienced during that awful nineteenth year pushed her body through a harrowing transformation. Eventually, Luffa would recognize herself as the Legendary Super Saiyan, a once-in-a-millennium warrior. At the time, she thought she had become a monster, too horrible for even herself to contemplate. The power was satisfying while she took bloody revenge against her tormentors, but it never really went away. Even when she transformed back into her "normal" self, it was still there, that ever-present thing lurking just beneath her skin, eager to shine its terrible light on the universe once again.

Super Luffa was great for slaughtering Tikosi, and for making easy money in the mercenary business, but the power wasn't very helpful for tracking down her treacherous husband, who had gone into hiding when he learned that she had survived. One of the main reasons Luffa founded the interstellar Federation was to expand her contacts through the galaxy. The Federation's member worlds were happy to have her on their side; in return, their spies gave Kandai fewer places to hide. But when she finally caught up to him, he revealed that when the Tikosi removed their unborn child from her body, they had given it over to him. He had sold the remains to King Rehval, who apparently had his own interests in the Tikosi's research.

And Super Luffa wasn't much use in unraveling that mystery either. It only made sense that the King of the Saiyans would see her as a threat to his rule. It also made sense that he might hope to find some weakness by studying Luffa's offspring. What Luffa hadn't expected was the sheer depth of Rehval's treachery. She had never respected the man. Any Saiyan who called himself "king" was a fool in her book, but even setting that aside, he was a statesman, desperate to turn their people into some nation-state with a place among the galactic powers. He wanted the Saiyans to assimilate with the rest of the universe: lop off their tails, dress in alien finery, and pass themselves off as well-behaved citizens of a wider community. The thought of it sickened Luffa, but it was even worse than that. Rehval was an alchemist too. Instead of testing his might in combat, he relied on magical drugs and secret potions to enhance his power. "Rehval" wasn't even his real name. He simply assumed the identity of his older brother, then usurped his father's throne when it suited his purposes.

Rather than face Luffa directly, Rehval tried to seduce and deceive her, leading her into a trap that would strand her on an uninhabitable planet. To keep her occupied until the trap was sprung, Rehval revealed that the fetus he had purchased from Kandai had survived. Rehval was a proponent of gestating Saiyan infants in life support machines, and somehow he had managed to bring her son to term. He then aged the boy to adolescence, and trained him to be his staunchest defender and Luffa's sworn enemy. But the gravest insult, in Luffa's eyes, was that he dared to give the boy a name-- "Xibuyas". It was sacrilige. By Saiyan custom, the right to name a child belonged to the mother alone.

But what did King Rehval care for Saiyan custom? To him, it was just another tool, to be manipulated or discarded when it no longer served his purposes. Xibuyas was uncommonly strong, though Luffa had no way to tell if he had inherited her Super Saiyan strength, or if he was given alchemical enhancements to make him a better enforcer. Rehval wasn't satisfied with merely ruling over the Saiyans, he wanted to control their destiny, their culture, even their very genome. He envisioned a world where Saiyans would be bred like livestock, mated to produce hardier offspring, and her son was simply the stud he had chosen to sire his grandchildren. The very thought of it made her blood boil.

She had escaped his trap, and so he evacuated his throneworld of Saiya, fearing (rightfully) that she would return and destroy everything he had built. Luffa expected to find him cowering in some remote hideaway, but instead he launched a new plan, the Jindan Cult. Assuming the name of Trismegistus now, Rehval recruited Saiyans from all over the galaxy, promising them a potion that would magnify their powers. All he asked in return was absolute control over every aspect of their lives. Really, it wasn't all that different from the plans he had as the ruler of Planet Saiya, only now he wasn't bothering with diplomatic niceties or expensive suits.

The only thing standing in his way was still Luffa, so he launched a series of invasions into her Federation, designed to exploit her compassion for its people and to wear her down. It might have worked, too, except she had help from the fortuneteller Dotz, who predicted his strikes before they took place, and from Rehval's own daughter, the Princess Seltiss. Disillusioned with her father's misrule, the young Princess formed her own Saiyan alliance to serve as an alternative to Rehval's government. Luffa didn't trust her, but they had a common enemy, and Xibuyas was loyal to Seltiss, so at least they had the power they needed to fend off the attacks.

Just when it seemed that there would be no end to the war, Guwar arrived at her doorstep, offering to lead her to Rehval's new base on Nagaoka. A Saiyan mathematician, Guwar had joined his cult, only to realize that Rehval's "leadership" would only get them all killed, or at best, reduce them to a slave species. His defection only proved that Rehval was truly mad, and that his plans were rotten enough that even his own henchmen couldn't accept them.

And so, very soon, Luffa would destroy him, utterly and finally, for the defense of the Federation, for the freedom of her own species, and for herself.

"Five minutes before we drop out of superluminous," she said from the captain's chair of her yacht's bridge. "No one's reported any unusual sensor activity. What about you, Katem?"

"Nothing," Xibuyas said, visibly irritated by the name she used to address him. Luffa would have preferred to have him aboard her own ship, if only to keep a closer eye on the boy, but the Saiyan Free Company had its own fleet, and her attack plan would require him to take up position on the opposite side of the planet. Spending time with her son would have to wait for another day. For now, she would have to settle for the image of his face on the viewscreen.

"Rehval raised you, boy," she said. "Any idea what this means? Guwar told us there wouldn't be much in the way of advance defenses, but I thought we'd see more than this."

"Rehval's servants raised me," he said with a sneer. "And he expects secrecy to be his greatest defense. He believes that no one knows where to find him, so he probably has no idea that we're on our way to kill him."

"Or he's got some escape route set up on the planet," Luffa said. "All right, we'll stick to the original plan. Group A takes the northern hemisphere, Group B takes the south, Group C covers our backs. Carpet bomb the whole thing, and we'll see what they can do about it."

"Pointless," Xibuyas grumbled. "Destroy the entire planet, and they all die in one stroke. I could do it easily, and so could you."

"Too easy," Luffa said. "He'll be prepared for that. I want to see what his preparations are. Let him think he's dealing with a conventional attack before we reveal our true strength."

"If you're so afraid that he'll flee--"

"He seems to be convinced that this planet he's on holds some sort of special power for him," Luffa explained. "If that's true, then he won't give it up without a fight. I want to lure him into thinking he has a chance. We might even be able to get a siege going."

He sighed and sank into his chair. "Fine, have it your way," he said. "There's no arguing with you. We'll send word once Group B is in position."

He signed off, and Luffa made a bloodthirsty smile as she switched the viewscreen to display the Nagaoka system, which was rapidly coming into view. Her son hated her, but he was alive, and soon she would repay the bastard who tried to take him from her. Her wife, Zatte, was in the engine room, making last-minute preparations for the battle. Zatte had elaborate dreams that this battle would mark the beginning of a new era for Saiyan-kind, and maybe she was right, though Luffa never cared for the idea of herself as a Saiyan messiah. It didn't matter. For once in her life, everything was going perfectly.

She gripped the armrests of her seat and leaned forward in anticipation.

*******

[14 November, 233 Before Age. Nagaoka.]

Planet Nagaoka was devoid of intelligent life, save for the Jindan compound, a mostly subterranean facility. Aside from the shipyard and a few other surrounding structures, the planet would have seemed deserted. A thick cloud cover concealed the surface completely, but Guwar had provided the coordinates of the compound. As Zatte escorted him to the bridge, he saw part of the planet on the viewscreen, and he knew the compound lay directly below.

"I thought you'd want to see this," Luffa said as the doorway closed behind him. She never took her eyes off the planet. "They're about to strafe the surface."

"You're just going to blow it up from orbit?" he asked.

"For starters," Luffa said. "If anything survives, we'll go from there. Something wrong with that?"

"I just... I thought you were going to send in ground troops on the far side," he said. "Advance on the compound from the surface, and fight them all hand-to-hand."

Luffa looked at him curiously. "I've had my fill of fighting with these clowns," she said. "There's enough of them down there that even I would have trouble, and I'm not going to send troops down there to die for no reason. If you wanted suicide missions, maybe you shouldn't have switched sides. Rehval would have sent you to your death soon enough."

"I... I had friends down there," he said. "Rehval's the only one you're after, right?"

Luffa turned and spit on the deck. At last, Guwar had her full attention, and he instantly regretted it. He had seen her transform in front of him earlier, when he was first brought aboard her ship. That had been frightening enough, watching black Saiyan hair glowing like molten iron. But she was in her normal form now, or at least as normal as she ever could be, and as she glared at him, he felt that the grim look in her eyes would haunt him for the rest of his life.

"Now you listen to me," she said. "I don't give a damn about your 'friends'. The moment they joined forces with that bastard, their fates were sealed. Don't pretend you thought this was going to turn out any other way."

Guwar's throat went dry. "You're right," he said. "Just get it over with."

Luffa returned to her work, as if he hadn't spoken at all. He looked over to Zatte, the blue-skinned woman who seemed to serve as Luffa's entire crew for this ship. It was ironic to look to an alien for empathy, but he had hoped that she, at least, might appreciate his mixed emotions about this moment. If nothing else, he expected her to be somewhat horrified at the idea of bombing an entire planet to wipe out a single installation. But instead, Zatte had a curious sort of glow in her expression, not unlike the warriors in the Jindan Cult just before they were sent off to their deaths. Guwar had no idea what sort of hold Luffa had on Zatte, but she was fully committed to this action, come what may.

Luffa pressed a button on the console mounted near her left arm. "All ships, fire at will," she said.

A moment later, they did. Gawar watched as hundreds of orange streaks emerged from the edges of the viewscreen and converged on the planet below. It looked like most of the fire was concentrated in a single spot, which he assumed was the compound. But that was only part of it. There energy blasts raining down across every part of the planet that he could see. He could only guess that there were ships positioned on the opposite side covering that hemisphere too.

"There's... there's only the one complex," he said looking back at Luffa. "You're just wasting ammunition, shooting at nothing."

"And you really think I would trust you that far?" Luffa said with a snort. "Even if you have been honest with me, Rehval could still have other bases set up that he never told you about. It all burns. Today. And don't worry your pretty little head about our ammunition, Guwar. I made sure we brought plenty."

Guwar swallowed hard and turned back to face the viewscreen. He could sense the ki energy from the planet dropping as the bombardment continued. Were the cultists unable to fight back? Had Luffa taken them completely by surprise? Or was this Rehval's endgame all along? Maybe he knew all along that it would end this way, and he had led his flock to their doom. For a moment, he wondered if Rehval had been waiting for Guwar to betray him, if perhaps he had wanted Luffa to come to this place and rain fire upon him.

And then he noticed that the ki from the planet wasn't dropping anymore, and that the planet itself didn't look any different than it had before the attack began. Glancing back at the captain's chair, he saw that Luffa had noticed too.

"Scan the planet," Luffa said to Zatte. "Something's wrong down there."

"Life sign readings haven't changed since we started attacking," Zatte said.

"I told you about that," Guwar said. "They have a device to scramble sensors so you can't tell there's any humanoid biopatterns. That way if a ship drops by, they'll think Nagaoka's uninhabited and move on."

"Yeah, I know," Zatte said. "I'm not scanning for humanoids. I'm talking about trees, grass, everything. Nothing's dying down there. It's like we haven't put a dent in it..."

"You didn't say anything about a force field," Luffa said to Guwar. The look on her face was one of accusation, but not surprise.

"As far as I know, they didn't have one," Guwar protested.

"They don't have one," Zatte said. "I don't know what's going on here, but it can't be a force field generator. To cover the entire planet, you'd need an enormous power source, way too big to hide with a cloaking device. I should be able to detect a power signature for something that big, and there's nothing like that on the surface! I don't know what this is... I...!"

She continued tapping keys on the tactical console, and Luffa rose from her seat. "I'm going to the cargo bay," she said. "Get ready to open the bay door for me."

"You're going to attack them yourself?" Zatte asked. "But what if--?"

"Hail the rest of the fleet," Luffa said. "If I'm right, I can punch a hole in... whatever this is... then maybe we can land some ships, play it the way Guwar had in mind. You'd like that, wouldn't you, Guwar?"

He didn't answer, as he really didn't know what to say. Luffa grabbed him by the arm and dragged him to the lift.

"Come on," she said, "you can watch."

*******

The cargo hold was mostly empty. Luffa and Zatte had moved most of the supplies to other parts of the ship, leaving only a small, one-person craft.

"Like it?" Luffa asked. She patted the hull of the craft with her gloved hand as they crossed the bay. "My wife captured it from some felinoid raider who tried to impersonate a Saiyan. He thought he could bluff his way to an easy plunder--" She pointed at the bridge of her nose and bared her teeth-- "but all he got was a plasma bolt between his eyes. She's a crack shot."

"Y-your wife?" Guwar asked. "You mean that blue lady on the bridge--?"

"Felinoid!" Luffa growled, ignoring his question. The brown fur on her tail was standing on end, and Guwar suddenly became very aware of his own tail being missing.

"I see that crap all the time, you know? People mistake any humanoid with a tail for one of us," she said. "So weaklings and cowards try to use that to their advantage. Trade on our reputation as a fearsome warrior race. Except we're not so fearsome, are we, Guwar?"

She went to a cabinet mounted to the wall and removed a pair of masks. "Put this on," she said as she shoved one into his hands. He strapped it to his face, letting the flexible hose attached to it dangle from his chin.

"The Saiyans are afraid," she said. "My mother was afraid of the kings, and my father was afraid of my mother, and I was afraid of my father for a while. You and your cult buddies were afraid of me, so what did you do? Run to the biggest coward you could find and beg him for some snake oil. And now he's hiding under his rock, and they're all hiding with him. Makes you wonder what they're so afraid of."

She pulled out a gas cylinder and handed it to him, then found a second and started connecting it to her own mask. As she worked on the fittings, she transformed, suddenly illuminating the bay with a preternatural golden glow. Startled, Guwar took a step back, but Luffa barely reacted at all, as if she hadn't even noticed what she had done.

"I think we're afraid of ourselves," Luffa said. "I know I am. I turned into this thing for the first time and it scared the hell out of me. It still does sometimes. But all I am is stronger. Angrier. More eager for battle. I'm just like you Guwar, only more. Why'd you cut your tail off? Was it because he told you to? So you could fit in better with polite society? Or was it because you were afraid of what the tail means? Of who you really are. Inside?"

She paused her work long enough to tap her fist against her chest, and gave him a knowing look. "Felinoids try to impersonate us Saiyans, and meanwhile we Saiyans are doing our best to disguise ourselves as anything else. We're ashamed of ourselves for being ashamed of ourselves. That's how I see it. I started hanging out with aliens, and I started to notice how crummy Saiyans can really be to people. I never gave it much thought before, but we're all pretty rotten, aren't we?"

"What are you talking about?" Guwar mumbled, but not loud enough to be heard over the steady pulse of Luffa's golden aura.

She pointed at her gleaming yellow hair. "So does this mean I've risen above all that rotten stuff?" she asked. "Or does it make me the worst of us all?"

She didn't wait for him to reply. Instead, she put the mask over her face and tapped the communicator on the nearest wall panel to call the bridge. "We're ready down here," she said, her voice muffled by the mask. After she shut off the channel, she looked back at Guwar and shrugged.

"I can't talk to my wife about this sort of thing, you know. She thinks I can save the Saiyans, but me? I think I'm just part of the problem."

Guwar could hear her voice even more clearly now than he could before they put the masks on. Then he finally realized she was speaking to him telepathically. Most Saiyans had the ability to communicate this way, but they rarely used it. They couldn't read minds-- only Luffa seemed to know how to do that, and only then by making physical contact-- but they could talk to other people with their thoughts. So why didn't Saiyans use that ability more often? Was it fear? Was Luffa right about them? Maybe every Saiyan could read minds like she could, and no one else had the courage to try.

As he pondered this, the cargo bay door opened, revealing the grey clouds of Nagaoka below. Guwar was suddenly reminded of Salziff, the Saiyan who had led him to the Jindan Cult. Salziff had been kicked out of the order, and his Jindan power had been withdrawn, leaving him weaker than he had been before he joined. In his desperate attempt to regain what he had lost, Salziff had turned to performance enhancing drugs, and ravaged what was left of his health. He begged Guwar not to search for Jindan, and said that Guwar would rue the day Salziff told him how to find it. The gloom over Nagaoka looked very much like the pallid complexion of Salziff's face. Guwar wondered if the poor wretch was still alive. Guwar wondered about his own life expectancy, now that the Jindan power had been withdrawn from him as well.

There was an invisible force field that kept the air inside the bay while the door was open. It flickered beautifully for a moment as it deactivated, and Guwar felt the air rushing out into space. Weakened as he was, he still had more than enough strength to keep his footing, but he still grabbed hold of a handrail to be safe. The temperature dropped rapidly inside the bay, but his ki was strong enough to protect him from the cold as well. The great irony of his life was that he was considered a weakling by the standards of his own species, and yet he had so much power compared to most beings in the universe. He felt completely helpless as he watched Luffa stand at the edge of the bay, raising her hands to attack an entire planet.

He could hear her screaming, in spite of the wind, the sound of her aura, even the muffling effect of her mask. Her hands glowed so brightly that it hurt to look at them, so he focused on the air tank she had slung over her shoulder. For a brief moment, he wondered if he could burst the tank and knock her out of the ship quickly enough for her to asphyxiate, but decided that this would be suicidal to attempt. Even if it worked, he would still have to contend with her wife on the bridge, and her fleet around the planet, and the cult on the planet itself. Guwar didn't know about other Saiyans, but Luffa was right about him. He was afraid, because it seemed like no matter what he did, what side he chose, he would always be under someone else's power. At least Luffa's side could save the universe from Rehval's madness, but that wouldn't improve Guwar's prospects much.

At last, she brought her hands together and launched a spectacular beam of golden energy from her hands. Guwar watched it shoot down to the planet like some impossibly straight bolt of lightning. He had never sensed such an amazing power before. It was beyond anything he had ever imagined. It was enough to destroy a dozen planets. And then, when the beam of irresistable light reached the dismal clouds of Nagaoka...

...it dispersed. The energy spread across the clouds and vanished, like so much milk spilling onto a napkin. The clouds parted, revealing a tiny section of Nagaoka's surface, but there was no explosion, no damage. Soon enough, the clouds drifted back together, and the surface was hidden once again.

Luffa stared out of the bay in disbelief, and then after a few seconds, Guwar noticed a yellow glow on the edge of Nagaoka's disk. A second later, he could sense it, too.

"What... what's happening?" he asked. He hoped that this was somehow part of her technique, but the way she moved her tail told him that she was just as confused as he was.

Finally, beams of yellow light started shooting out from the clouds from every direction. It seemed to Guwar that the planet had somehow absorbed her attack, divided it, and fired it back out into space. For a moment, he worried that this was a counterattack from the cult, except the beams didn't seem to be aimed anywhere in particular. He reached out with his ki senses and quickly determined that most of the fleet was nowhere near the paths of these beams. Even so, he did sense a few power levels that winked out of existence as the deadly energy connected with their ships.

Angrily, Luffa stormed to the bay door controls and restored the force field. Air rushed in to repressurize the hold, and she moved on to the wall panel to call the bridge. "What's going on?" she shouted over the thrum of the ventilation system.

"Six ships are reporting heavy damage!" Zatte's voice called back. "One completely destroyed! I... Luffa, that was your energy it shot back at us!"

"I know that!" Luffa snapped. "How does a force field reflect that kind of power?!"

"I told you, it's not a force field!" Zatte said. "It's too big for that, and too... It's more like when I... oh no. Oh, Providence, no."

"What's wrong?" Luffa asked. For every second that passed without a reply, she grew more agitated. Finally, she dug her fingers into the wall and ripped the comm panel out entirely.

"We're going back to the bridge!" she shouted as she tossed the torn panel to the deck. But Guwar didn't move. He was too busy looking at the planet.

"Well? What are you gawking at?" Luffa demanded as she shrugged off her air canister and mask.

"I think you need to see this," Guwar said ominously. A mathematician by trade, he preferred not to give such vague answers, but in this case, he simply couldn't find the words.

"See what?!" Luffa said impatiently as she shrugged off her mask and air cylinder. And then she finally turned to face the bay door, and saw it immediately. The clouds on Nagaoka had shifted, swirling into an unnatural pattern. They were still moving, but it was clear that they were forming an image of a face, and even before that image had come into focus, there was no mistaking whose face it was.

"Hello, Luffa," said the voice of King Rehval.

He was speaking into their minds, just as Luffa had done before. What made it even stranger, Guwar thought, was that the lips on the cloud-image moved as though it were speaking the words.

"I'm so glad that you've finally arrived," the cloud-Rehval seemed to say. "Now, at last, we can put all of this to an end."

NEXT: The Thrice Blessed Who Will Transform the Universe.

#dragon ball #fanfiction #lssjluffafic #super saiyan #luffa #guwar #zatte #trismegistus #xibuyas #nagaoka

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revlyncox · 3 years

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The Wisdom of Love (2021)

Love as presence, embodiment, and interdependence from the perspectives of Black humanists and freethinkers.

This talk was revised and expanded for the Washington Ethical Society, February 14, 2021.

There is an annual occurrence that I look forward to at this time of year: leftover Valentine’s chocolate is about to be on sale. I hope this turn of events brings comfort and joy to many. I do wonder, though, if there ought to be more to this season of commitment than a box of candy. Love is wild, powerful, wise, just, and compassionate. We don’t need to be romantically partnered to pay attention to love.

Knowing what I know of this community, even though it feels like I just arrived, I admire so many of you for your efforts to repair the world. I see healers of the mind and body, teachers, people devoted to caring for family members, scientists, activists, and artists. At the root of each person’s quest, I hear the voice of love: love for family and friends, love for the earth, love for humanity, love of beauty, love of the dizzying possibilities for discovery in our universe. Our minds can provide the analysis and our hands can provide the skills, yet the longings of our hearts keep us engaged and refreshed along the pathways of hope. We need our whole selves—rational, embodied, spiritual, and emotional—to make manifest the dream of a better world.

In this community, there are several labels that circulate, though I also know there are those in our community who prefer not to carry any label at all. We might call ourselves Ethical Culturists or Humanists or Free Thinkers. A few of us might call ourselves Unitarian Universalists. These movements all have a tinge of intellectualism to them, even as we insist that our values must be demonstrated in our actions. We prize reason, and we also need to remember that reason alone, without love, is incomplete.

Egbert Ethelred Brown, who was a Unitarian minister in Harlem in the early twentieth century, saw the wisdom in bringing our whole selves into community. Though early twentieth century Unitarianism and early twentieth century Ethical Culture were different movements, I think what he said can also apply in a place that Adler said is a religion for those who want it and a philosophy for those who don’t. Rev. Brown wrote, “Religion is ethics touched by emotion. If the intellect dominates and there is no hint of emotion, a cold and barren matter-of-factness results. Conversely, if emotion leads, unguided by intellect, we are doomed to a wild sea of fanaticism. Yet mind and soul united create one music, grander than before.” (Quote from “Cold Services,” p. 33 in the anthology Been in the Storm So Long, edited by Mark Morrison-Reed and Jacqui James; see also, Darkening the Doorways by Mark Morrison-Reed; more resources here, here, and here.)

I believe that emotions bring us a great deal of wisdom. We need to consult our feelings and gut instincts to make the best decisions. In particular, I think love in the broader sense offers three lessons that will help us live out our faith: groundedness, embodiment, and interdependence. Love keeps us here, rooted in the world as it is. Love is active, practical, and at one with our physical selves. Love remembers data and frameworks that our intellect may have forgotten, and revels in the unpredictable dance of change and growth. The wisdom of love teaches groundedness, embodiment, and interdependence.

Love Keeps Us Here

To be a community that brings out the best in each other and helps create a society where everyone can grow into being their best selves, we must be rooted in the world as it is, flinching neither from the pain nor the joy that is possible in the here and now. Each of the senses available to us helps us to understand the universe and our place in it. We think, touch, taste, and feel our way into making sense of the world. Love is the capacity that helps us to keep the doors of our perception open rather than escaping into abstraction or obsession. When we are able to truly love the world and the lives it holds, trying to hide is a less attractive option because escaping would separate us from love.

The power of love to draw us into the here and now, to embrace our souls with gentle, cupped hands and breathe fire into the embers, is a spiritual perspective. Lewis Latimer shared it. Latimer was an African American engineer in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. He was also a poet, as demonstrated in this piece, “Love is All.”

“What is there in this world, beside our loves,

To keep us here?

Ambition's course is paved with hopes deferred,

With doubt and fear.

Wealth brings no joy,

And brazen-throated fame

Leaves us at last

Nought but an empty name.

Oh soul, receive the truth,

E'er heaven sends thy recall:

Nought here deserves our thought but love,

For love is all.”

(“Love is All” by Lewis Latimer, p. 39 in the anthology Been in the Storm So Long, edited by Mark Morrison-Reed and Jacqui James; see also biographies here and here.)

Latimer suggests that our loves, plural, collectively form the strongest force that keeps us “here.” I can imagine several meanings to where “here” might be. It is not a fixed point. “Here” moves with life and time. Here is where we put one foot in front of the other. Here is the present moment, this time and place and plane of existence. Here we are, gathered in strength, rooted in the world as it is. Love keeps us connected with the ground of our being.

Love is Embodied

The second piece of wisdom is that love is embodied. Love inhabits physical form and manifests in the real actions of human beings. This is true at the personal level and at the societal level. When we are able to fall in love with the world, to keep faith with humanity while fully recognizing the human capacity for causing harm, affection becomes action. Similarly, when tangible actions and their effects lead to suffering, we know there is something is amiss. Love needs mindfulness and compassion to bear the best fruit.

Humanism, to me, is a movement of people who believe in people. We value human creations like art and literature, we seek human solutions to our shared challenges, and we value dignity and equality as humanitarian goals. Love is an irreplaceable ingredient in this tradition. People can do (have done, are doing) terrible things, individually and collectively. Love helps us to be humanists anyway, to believe that positive change is possible, that society still has something to celebrate, and that creating an environment for healing is worth the effort. We are sometimes disappointed and often heartbroken, yet we persist in the spirit of love.

Within the Humanist movement, there are those who say that it should be exclusively atheist, those who don’t think belief or non-belief is relevant or needs discussion, and those who find room in Humanism for theists who don’t mind saying so out loud as well as atheist and agnostic humanists. In all three cases, Humanism is rooted in human experience and human responsibility to create the world we long for, as well as an insistence on the worth of every person.

Wade McCree, Jr., was the third kind of Humanist. He was a vice moderator of the Unitarian Universalist Association in the late sixties. He was also the first African American to serve as the United States Solicitor General, and so had plenty of opportunities to see the best and the worst in people. He supported the idea of love as a force that helps us to be humanists anyway, even when the evidence challenges the idea of human goodness. He wrote:

“To me, one's religion is expressed in the manner in which one relates to other human beings. If one fights relentlessly against injustice, want, hate, and every form of exploitation, then one is a religious person. The love of God is not expressed by ritual or ceremony, but by loving.” ("By Loving" by Wade H. McCree, Jr, p. 18 in the anthology Been in the Storm So Long, edited by Mark Morrison-Reed and Jacqui James; obituary here)

Across the decades, leaders agree that fierce, open-hearted, actual-feet-on-the-ground love is an expression of their deepest commitments. People are worth caring for. Love longs for the well-being and abundant life of the beloved.

Love for people in general is embodied, and so is love for individual people in particular. For anyone who has ever cared for a child or an elder or a loved one who needs direct physical care, the earthiness of love is undeniable. Lifting, holding, and carrying are physically exhausting. Sleep deprivation depletes people mentally and spiritually. Yet people care for others, often without expectation of return. Within the wisdom of love, a person doesn’t have to produce anything or contribute to the GDP in order to matter.

Advocacy is also embodied. When it’s safe to do so again, people will be walking the halls of legislatures to demand policies that help people stay alive, and this is an act of love. Marching is embodied love. Vigils are embodied love. Using your voice and your dialing fingers for phone banking is an act of love.

Audre Lorde spoke about the intersections of poetry, dreams, care and advocacy - and about how this is different from a purely intellectual project - in her 1984 book, Sister Outsider. She wrote:

The white father told us: I think, therefore I am. The Black mother within each of us — the poet — whispers in our dreams: I feel, therefore I can be free. Poetry coins the language to express and charter this revolutionary demand, the implementation of that freedom.

However, experience has taught us that action in the now is also necessary, always. Our children cannot dream unless they live, they cannot live unless they are nourished, and who else will feed them the real food without which their dreams will be no different from ours. “If you want us to change the world someday, we at least have to live long enough to grow up!” shouts the child.

From Fannie Barrier Williams (who was featured in the Time for All Ages story earlier in the Platform) to Audre Lorde, it is clear that the wisdom of love is concrete, it is not a theoretical exercise. For over a century, Black freethinkers have been saying, with love, that all people deserve equality of access to health care, housing, and public services. Love feeds our commitment to abundant life. Wisdom knows that embodied care and advocacy are aspects of love.

We value people of all ages, races, levels of economic activity, genders, sexual orientations, and abilities. The force of our conviction is made real with concrete actions. Love is embodied.

Love Remembers Interdependence

We can fool ourselves into thinking we are logical all the time. I can appreciate the attraction of making moral choices through what seems like a coldly rational framework. I don’t believe that any of us are as rational as we think we are, but even if we could be, love brings us some of the data we actually need to make good decisions. Furthermore, sometimes data gives an illusion of permanence that doesn’t match the experience of being fully human.

If we only look at short-term consequences, we may fail to take into account the expense of disaster cleanup when we are figuring the cost of energy. Without love, we might not realize that it is against our long-term interests to cause species extinction as we scrape up the Great Barrier Reef. Without love, humans appear to be statistics. When humans become statistics, the result can be disastrous policymaking. Statistics might obscure the fact that Black lives matter, and that justice for immigrants makes us healthier as a nation, and that we have a choice about whether people go hungry and get evicted during a pandemic. Love is what reminds us of the fierce importance of looking out for each other.

Ethical arguments for environmental and social justice might be dismissed as mere sentimentality, because love is made out to be less reliable than money. But of course that’s not true. Our gut instincts are sometimes on to something. When we love without apology, we come to our senses. We remember that the potential results of our actions go beyond the predictive models. We remember the interdependence of all life. We remember our connection with the earth. We remember that community can be life-giving, in all the ways that community is defined. And we remember that the essence of life is change.

Alain Locke is another history-making Black freethinker whose ideas are relevant here. WES members have heard about Dr. Locke before, especially in the work of my Ethical Culture colleague Jé Exodus Hooper. Dr. Locke lived from 1885 to 1954. He was a philosopher, patron of the arts, and a professor at Howard University. Dr. Locke didn’t use the word “love” as often as he used the word “culture,” yet from the essayists and poets we’ve already heard today, I think it’s clear that there is a connection between the practice of love and the way we understand ourselves to be related to others. I am indebted to philosopher Leonard Harris for his journal article to help me understand what Dr. Locke had to say about culture and community.

Two of the ideas Locke wrote about might seem to be in tension with each other until they are closely examined. One idea is that race and culture are social constructs; that is, what draws people together in shared identity is influenced by what we see, hear, and experience; and that therefore it should be no surprise when the definition of an identity is unstable. That’s not a very controversial idea now, but he went out on a limb academically in the 1920’s for rejecting the idea that biological races exist and are biologically caused to express cultural traits.

The other idea provides creative interplay, but is not mutually exclusive with the first. Locke argued that people have an instinct to seek out people with whom they share some kind of similarity, and that even though that similarity is a social construct, this instinct to form communities is good. A shared experience with what it means to be assigned to a group as it is defined in that moment still provides what he called “a consciousness of kind,” with associated common interests and responsibilities, and is enough of a reason to lead to a sense of belonging. He wrote:

The final thing is that we shall see that human society must [have] a … consciousness of kind, and that consciousness of kind is a healthy[,] and a normal[,] and a fundamental social instinct.

(From A. Locke, Race, Contacts and Interracial Relations, Quoted in “Alain Locke and Community” by Leonard Harris, The Journal of Ethics 1:239-247, 1997. This article is behind a paywall, but we might be able to find someone with access. For a free resource on Alain Locke, the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy has an entry that is thorough and peer-reviewed.)

Dr. Locke warned that the social instinct can go astray, and that the construct of an identity begins to be harmful when the identity becomes regarded as static. He goes on:

… normal and healthy instinct has a very abnormal expression from time to time in the false notions, the false conceptions[,] of kind which are not conceptions of social kind--not conceptions of civilization type, of the American civilization type--but [rather] conceptions of racial kind and conceptions of race type [as permanent and invariable].

(Ibid.)

Dr. Locke's support for the healthy social instinct is part of what drew him to be a patron of the arts. The 1925 publication that launched his reputation as “The Father of the Harlem Renaissance” included art, African artifacts, articles by Black intellectuals, and poems by such writers as Langston Hughes, Countee Cullen, and Angelina Grimke. In retrospect, Dr. Harris writes that this publication was “intended as a work ‘by’ rather than ‘about’ African Americans. It was a text exuding pride, showing African-American historical continuities, and revealing a new spirit of self respect.”

In other words, the things valued and created by the people who share an identity should be celebrated, not because they represent an objective reality or timeless virtues, but because the particulars draw people to connect with one another in a healthy, human way that helps people find a feeling of belonging.

Dr. Locke’s insistence that community is both always in the process of being socially constructed and vitally important as a human instinct reminds us that love isn’t just about who we think we are, it’s about who we are becoming, and about continuing to find ways we are related beyond the current social constructions. Everything that makes us who we are and leads us to places where we feel that we can belong is subject to change because we are part of an interdependent network of living, changing, mutually-affected influences and relationships. Even in this constantly-moving dance of being, Dr. Locke says that it is still important that we find community, and that we guard against the absolutes and the inflexibility that lead the instinct for community to go awry.

Love is wise because love remembers connection. When we love truly and deeply, the tug of emotions and relationships help us to account for data and frameworks that short-term thinking has forgotten. Even if identity and community are formed on ever-changing parameters, our human connections fuel compassion and a flexible landscape with room for healing.

Conclusion

I’ll be coming to a close soon, but I wanted to say a bit about Black History Month and how my thinking has developed with this Platform Address. I originally just wanted to say something about love, because today is a day for talking about love. As I researched sources, I came to understand that I had a great deal to learn about the perspectives of Black Humanists and freethinkers. While I am very far from being an expert on Black history, I believe all of us have a responsibility to study the whole history of the movements of which we are a part. The poets and essayists I have drawn from today bring lenses that are vitally necessary for understanding how we, in our close communities and in our larger society, have arrived where we are, and give us important perspectives from the history of the Humanist and free thought movements. I anticipate that I have made some errors. I look forward to learning more.

If you happen to be enjoying some discount chocolate later this week, I hope it will remind you that love is wise. Love goes beyond romance, beyond sentimentality, even beyond human concerns. When love works in harmony with all of our senses—the clarity of reason, the skillfulness of our hands, the renewal of our spiritual path—the combined wisdom helps us to be our best for each other.

Love keeps us here. In our caring relationships, we hold secret pockets of ourselves, treasures that help us stay connected to the forces that create and uphold life. May love call us back to our truest selves. May we carry resilience and hope for one another.

Love is embodied. Whether our bodies are part of a movement for justice or part of a team that cares for one person, our actions make wisdom visible. Love knows that people matter.

Love remembers interdependence. Cause and effect transcend the next quarter and can’t be measured by a single yardstick. We take the big picture into account when the wisdom of love invites us to take a second look.

Let us love deeply. Let us love boldly. Let us love wisely.

May it be so.

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