#like. just existing in a world of people who prefer to stay in a fraction of the depth you (read: I) naturally do and trying to be myself | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

contentloadingandstuff · 1 year

Text

Genshin Impact Necro AU: Beleth - Story

Finally an update to the AU. I just did the Lantern Rite event, and that *finally* pushed me to remember my neglected characters.

Link to the Necro AU masterlist.

Beleth, also known as Arfill, came to be when one of the Creators, Death himself, understood that his creation was not for him to enjoy. Regardless of his intent, anything created by Life withered and faded into nothingness when he touched it. Hence, he decided to separate a small fraction of himself. Beleth, whose destructive power was small enough to contain it, was to experience and witness his father's masterpiece that was reality.

And enjoy it in his name he did. Eons passed, and Arfill was still discovering more and more about everything around him. He kept records of all of his findings diligently, storing them in the Timeless Void as concepts and thoughts, later to be written down in his countless journals. When the first creatures gained sentience on a level unseen before, Arfill felt the need to share his acquisitions, hoping to find a fascination with the world similar to his among humans. Yet engaging with them directly as a deity contradicted the wishes of Life, so he decided to find a middle ground.

Leading from the back seat, Beleth guided a few of the humans towards the creation of the powerful and knowledgeable nation of Kaenri'ah. Its citizens were eager to discover and learn, much like their unseen ruler. For that, he gifted them a part of his amassed information. The designs and teachings lead to the development of technology, medicine, elementalism and the art of Khemia - creating life from the resources accessible. Khemia was a derivative of Necro alchemy, a fact that Beleth preferred to keep secret. Yet the thirst for development of the people was underestimated by Arfill, and the truth soon came to light. Even though the existence of Necro was made common knowledge, not many attempted to actually research it. There was simply no way to isolate it, as Necro visions didn't appear naturally in the world. The element was not meant for mortals - gods as well, for that matter - to manipulate. So the citizens stayed by their natural Khemia.

The development was also the time when Beleth met Makoto, a goddess with whom Beleth shared desires and values. The two of them wanted the best for their people, to avoid suffering, whatever form it may take on.

Celestia kept an eye on Beleth from the moment it was established by Life. They were wary of his origin and connection to the creator of death, Ush. The divine guardians feared that Beleth's people would break out of the cycle put in place by their superior.

They saw Khemia as an insult towards the natural order of creation. As such, punishment was due.

Beleth could only watch as his entire work, his people and heritage, was burned to the ground. Regardless of his demands or pleas, Makoto tried to protect Kaenri'ah. For her compassion she paid the ultimate price. If not for him, Ei would have met a similar fate.

He felt many emotions at that moment. Feelings he wasn't used to. Rage. Grief. Hate. A disgust for Ti and her rules. He did only what the premise allowed, did he not? The barrier between life and death remained untouched, he made sure of that. And what he got for his diligence to uphold the law? Suffering of his people, who weren't even at fault here. It was him who shared the knowledge, and him who should pay the price. Yet Celestia didn't punish him, for they feared the wrath of the second creator. At least physically. They cursed the folk, twisting them into lowly, idiotic monsters. Celestia hoped that the compassionate Beleth would fear to step out of the line ever again.

They didn't know the good-natured Arfill died along with his nation. What replaced him was a divine being full of the purest disdain for them and their ideals.

With nowhere to go, Beleth returned to the Void to consult his father. He was rightfully enraged by this slight towards his laws, and, with a mere flick of his wrist, brought upon the world something more horrible than the Standard Bearers themselves. His son was taught how to separate the very fabric of reality to free Necro from its confines, and use it to establish a new order in Teyvat. A new order dictated not by Life's idleness, but Death's care for his creations. The freedom to explore and create using everything within the world and beyond its scope.

To make this goal come true, however, Celestia had to be destroyed.

Beleth was powerful, sure, but an entire council of gods handpicked by Life would be too much even for him. So he had to enlist some help.

And what better soldiers than Famine, War, Fear, Pain, Sadness, Plague and Pain? Beleth knew that their introduction into the mortal realms would bring upon death, but he was alright with that. He came to terms with the idea of sacrifice for the greater good a long time ago.

The first step was to breach the barrier Celestia created to separate the Bearers from Teyvat. Beleth decided that the best way to go about it would be to rip it open with the same energy that was used to create it.

And so, during the first days of the Archon War that followed the destruction of his nation, Arfill created a mock Gnosis to lure living gods right to him. Blinded by greed and the need for power, seven souls reached for it. And seven were annihilated during their attempts, leaving behind only souls. The power contained within the Gnosis would be too much, even for Arfill himself. It contained the pure essence of Death himself.

The souls were presented to the Bearers. The elemental powers within would allow them to wield not only Necro, but a different power as well. Before entering the world, each of them took on a different element.

Sunqu, the Bearer of Plague, took on Dendro.

Qablu, the Bearer of War, took on Pyro.

Ubuttu, the Bearer of Hunger, took on Geo.

Adaru, the Bearer of Pain, took on Hydro.

Sibtu, the Bearer of Fear, took on Cryo.

Zerutu, the Bearer of Hate, took on Electro.

Sapal Libbi, the Bearer of Sadness, took on Anemo.

With their new powers, the council could breach the barrier once and for all. Along with Beleth, they lead armies of undead against loyalist gods. The victims, both among mortals and immortals, were countless.

As horrible as the events were, only the oldest gods remember them. With a heroic effort, a group of living gods allied with Beleth snuck into the newly created Sumeru and sabotaged the Ley Lines, wiping the memory of Necro from the majority of the world. A great deal of those who resisted either went insane or were eliminated, leaving only a small group of dieties to remember Beleth's conquest.

The power of the Eight was immense, but the feeble souls couldn't hold them up forever and the loyalist resistence was high. After a long and bloody campaign, their forces were spent, and the Bearers retreated to the Void along with Beleth. Their armies moved north, and settled in the Barren Lands, creating a new human nation from the local inhabitants - one where the dead and the living would walk alongside each other towards a new future.

Generations went by, and the leftover Necro threats dwindled in number. The memories among even the gods did too. Skeletons and violent spirits soon became unnamed monsters, associated more with Hilichurls and Slimes. The exorcists, focused on more recent dangers, forgot about the true demons over time, leaving only the most powerful of them (like Xiao or Shenhe) to face the occasional skirmishers from the Void.

Beleth, having reflected upon the damage of the Archon War, seeks to pursue a different path of achieving victory. Throughout the years new opponents emerged, and a change of strategy was needed. He plans from the sidelines, looking closely at Fatui's progress. Their plan has a chance to succeed, but Beleth isn't willing to see it come to fruition. He waits for the right moment to strike, for an opportunity to snatch all of the Gnosi at the same time. Their power is something he doesn't want to pass up on.

Thanks for reading!

#genshin impact #genshin impact au #genshin au #genshin oc #genshin impact oc #alternative universe #genshin impact necro au #genshin necro au #necro au #canon x oc #oc x canon

8 notes · View notes

chaoticcypher · 1 year

Text

I don’t really know my name, or rather, I don’t know my relationship with each one. I push and pull the emotions that I project onto them, trying to stay in one spot, one set of feelings, for longer than a week, but it never works. Some days I’m content, not bothering to show care toward those that call me one or the other, but other days I feel disconnected from both. Not quite the one assigned to me, but not close enough to the one I picked in a rushed panic some summer ago.

This or that. This or that.

Which one to go with, the one in which everything is tied to, my birth, and official existence, or the one in which I am to the social world, the one that connects me to people. Sometimes, I’m okay with both, other days it brings me physical pain, cutting deep into my bones, slashes ripping me apart, again and again, every time it spills out of someone's mouth.

This or that. This or that.

I don’t know if it’s normal, what many people find so much discontent in, a name which was not theirs to choose but forced upon them. They find it so easy to leave in the past, forgetting it was ever a part of them, but I can’t. I’m okay with that, sometimes, and find neither pleasure nor pain in that name, but those days I’m also aware of how, if I had to pick one, it certainly would not be that one. And some days, it is so much more evident which one I prefer, which one feels more like me. The slashes get worse and worse from that name, the one that I had no choice in, but then a cooling feeling drowns out all the pain, the name I chose, the one that I got to identify with that has no ties to my old self who had no idea of the real world, gets spoken, whispered, even muttered.

This or that. This or that.

I always ask that simple question, but why does it have to be an or, and why does it have to always be the same. People always speak of how life is fluid, how it changes consistently and constantly, but the second you don’t fit into a small box, you're automatically in the other. They remove the entire middle of the spectrum, allowing only for the extremes in which only a fraction of people truly fit. As I grow older, I find more comfort in being unfriended, leaving the need to explain myself to others behind, no longer feeling I need a label to feel valid in this world. I’m okay with change, or at the very least I’m learning to be.

So maybe it doesn’t have to be this or that, maybe it can just be me.

#a short story/poem I wrote about my relationship with my chosen name and dead name #writing #poem #vignette #transgender #genderfluid #non binary #queer #short story

4 notes · View notes

oneisallallisone · 2 years

Text

All I Know, All I Know Greedling x Reader fic Chapter 11

In a land ruled by alchemy, there are some who would call you a sorcerer. You intend to understand what this means. Along your journey you end up getting mixed up with two strange brothers, a military conspiracy, a potentially world-ending event, and the avarice of something more than human.

Chapter 1

Read on AO3

_______________________________________________________________________

All I Know, All I Know

Chapter 11: Imbalance

“You’ve barely touched your meal.”

You sat across Fuhrer Bradley at a long table in his office. A small mountain of pancakes with a side of eggs and toast lay in front of you, untampered with.

“I’m not hungry,” you responded.

“No?” the Fuhrer asked. “I find that hard to believe. After your…ability almost destroyed that poor couple’s entire cafe, surely you need to replenish your strength.”

“I find it hard to believe that you’re concerned about my strength.”

Bradley sighed. “(y/n). You may have caused an immense amount of property damage in my country last night, but you’re still just a child. I have a child at home. And I would hate for him to go a morning without breakfast.”

Hesitantly, you reached out for a slice of toast. “How do you know my name?”

“You’re friends with Edward Elric, aren’t you?”

You froze for the smallest fraction of a second. “I’ve met him.”

“You shared a hospital room with him,” Bradley stated.

“I did.”

“And you’ve stayed in a hotel room next to his, have you not?”

You swallowed your food and did not take another bite. “I have.”

“Tell me, (y/n),” Bradley said, his voice lowering. “What is your intention in getting to know Edward Elric? Because a person as powerful as you could be considered a threat to one of my state alchemists. And I won’t let anything happen to the soldiers under my watch.”

“I’d never do anything to hurt Ed,” you said. “Never.”

“Maybe not intentionally. But from what I saw, it looks like you don’t have the best control over your capabilities.”

It stung. The Fuhrer's words reminded you of what Envy had said, about you being a “waste” for not understanding your powers fully. You knew in your heart that you’d never do anything intentional to turn your powers against Ed, or any of your new friends, but could you say for certain that an accident wouldn’t happen?

So far, you hadn’t gained any new insight into your existence by coming to Amestris. But you did find someone who was willing to train you. Your truthful answer as to why you’d been spending so much time with Ed would be lost on the Fuhrer, though, and it might even put Ed in danger.

“It’s true,” you said neutrally. “I still have a lot to learn about my powers.”

“Well then, I suggest you do that elsewhere. Where did you say you were from?”

“I don’t think I did.”

“Allow me to rephrase: Where might my men have told me you were from?”

You hesitated. “Drachma.”

“Where exactly in Drachma?”

“Why does that matter?”

“(y/n),” The Fuhrer’s voice grew cold again, “I don’t think you are the one in position to be questioning me. Remember that you are in my custody, I am the sole ruler of this nation, and I can decide your fate at any moment. How you answer my questions is going to affect that decision.”

You looked at the table. “I’m from southwestern Drachma.”

“Where?” Bradley pressed.

“There’s a small village called Derevnya. I am from the forest surrounding it.”

“Not the village itself?”

“No. I was raised outside the village because the people were afraid of my abilities.”

“And who was it that wasn’t afraid of your power? The one who raised you?”

You clenched your jaw. It felt like betraying every instinct in your body, giving this information to him. But like he said, he was the absolute ruler of this country. He could order your execution at a moment’s notice. You began to wonder bleakly if you’d ever see Ed or Al or any of the other kind people you’d met on this crazy journey ever again.

“Another village outsider,” you said. “She doesn’t have powers like me. She just…prefers her privacy.”

Bradley raised an eyebrow.

“She is known as Madam Ulyana. People believe she is a witch, so they are wary of her. But she’s skilled in medicines so the people of Derevnya tolerate her presence at a distance. She was the only one who wasn’t scared of me.”

Bradley sat back in his chair. “I see. Well then, (y/n) of Drachma, I order you to return to your country and never return to Amestris under pain of death.”

Your intake of breath was sharp. “What?”

The Fuhrer continued as if he didn’t hear you. “You are to leave immediately and expeditiously. The items from your hotel room have already been gathered and placed into your holding cell for you. You will then be escorted by Amestrian officers all the way to the Drachman border, and from there on you are never to return. You will have no communication with anyone in Amestris either, lest you both face repercussions.”

Your head was spinning. You were being forced to leave Amestris now and you couldn’t even tell anyone?

What had Winry and Al been thinking since you had failed to return to the hotel room? Had Ling and Lan Fan taken note of your absence? How would Major Armstrong feel about the disappearance of one of his most frequent house guests? What would Ed think when he returned to the hotel and you were gone?

What would Fuhrer Bradley tell anyone if they asked?

Tears welled in your eyes but you refused to let them fall. You stood up and nodded solemnly. “Thank you for allowing me to keep my life. I will be on my way.”

#sad boy hours #also hinting at backstory hours!!#greedling x reader #fullmetal alchemist brotherhood #fmab x reader #fmab fic

6 notes · View notes

sadprosed · 3 years

Text

𝑺𝑪𝑬𝑵𝑨𝑹𝑰𝑶 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑷𝑻𝑺.

↬ OF MERMAIDS, MASQUERADES AND MAGIC.

scenarios inspired by various settings, encounters & magic tucked between pages, fashioned by the author. tw for drowning mentions.

+ feel free to change pronouns / roles !

MERMAIDS.

‘ beyond the winds and past the shores, strange magic lurks about. ’

‘ will you go to the lagoon with me ? it’s unsafe to go alone. ’

‘ they say a siren’s call alone can drown a man before she swallows him. ’

‘ quick ! cover your ears. ’

‘ what did you imagine as you heard the song ? ’

‘ i can feel a voice like claws sinking beneath my skin. ’

‘ one can pray to the ocean, but the waters answer in strange tongues. ’

‘ careful, or we’ll hit the reef. ’

‘ the sea-folk are flighty as their fins, and illusive as shimmering scales. ’

‘ i should like to find myself a sailor fit for a feast. ’

‘ sometimes i wish there was more than the endless waves. ’

‘ do you see that ? there, beneath the surface ? ’

‘ that’s no fish, and no woman either. ’

‘ what lies off the edge of the map ? ’

‘ the sea has monsters, but beauties too. ’

‘ i’ve heard that merfolk make bargains, and trade in the ocean’s magic. ’

‘ i’ve never seen a pearl like this one. ’

‘ the ship will go down if we don’t turn about ! ’

‘ what is that, out there on the rocks ? ’

‘ won’t you listen to my song ? ’

‘ mermaids love shiny things. keep a careful eye on yours. ’

‘ if we hide in the kelp, we might see them as they pass. ’

‘ i’ve heard the tales. to catch you means to gain a granted wish. ’

‘ i’ve never seen your likeness, only heard the myths. ’

‘ come with me, beneath the sea and foam, and be mine. ’

‘ some of us live in the ocean, others in rivers and streams and even trees. ’

‘ falling in love with a human is an old tale. tell me a new one. ’

‘ so you gave up your fin for legs ? ’

‘ soon i will be nothing but seafoam. ’

‘ what is a heart, but an ocean of secrets ? ’

‘ you’d let yourself be undone and remade for someone you’ve never known. that is not love. ’

‘ let your dreams sink to the depths. they’ve done you no good. ’

MASQUERADES.

‘ i’ve never seen so many unfamiliar faces. ’

‘ he’s / she’s / they’ve been looking at me all evening. ’

‘ would you do me the honor of a dance ? ’

‘ neither of us need know the other tonight. i prefer the mystery. ’

‘ your choice of costume is rather extravagant. ’

‘ what fun would it be, if i took this off ? ’

‘ i’m certain we’ve met before. ’

‘ i’ve always longed for a night like this. it’s something out of a dream. ’

‘ won’t you come away with me ? there’s a balcony just outside. ’

‘ i’m inclined to think we’ve never met before, and perhaps will never meet again after tonight. ’

‘ you look like you know how to waltz. care to ? ’

‘ i must stand up with someone this evening, and i don’t see why it can’t be you. ’

‘ would you stop staring so intently ? what do you think to find ? ’

‘ i’ll stop bothering you if you agree to dance with me. ’

‘ please take it off. i want to see you. ’

‘ i’ve never been to a masque before. ’

' it seems our attire makes opposites of us. ’

‘ i’ve never seen a more hideous costume than that one. ’

‘ i can’t stay much longer. you see, i’m not supposed to be here at all. ’

‘ you’ll never know who i am. ’

‘ people like you always make a fool of me. ’

‘ oh. i thought you were someone else. ’

‘ i’ll give you three chances to guess who i am. ’

‘ the next time i offer you my hand, you’ll get more than a dance from me. ’

‘ i’ve wanted to dance beneath stars like these for as long as i can remember. ’

‘ what do you look like ? ’

‘ that look in your eyes tells me all i need to know. ’

‘ you won’t like what you’ll see. ’

‘ i recognize your voice. ’

‘ you’ll know the truth before the night is up. ’

‘ i’ve heard the darkest of dances are the best for falling in love to. ’

‘ you don’t know it now, but we’re friends already. ’

‘ can’t we pretend a little while longer ? ’

‘ it’s when the party is over that we learn to know each other most. ’

‘ happily ever after can’t come so easily as a single night dancing. ’

MAGIC.

‘ i’ve caught you. you have to undo the spell for me now. ’

‘ think carefully before asking for something well beyond the reach of mortal power. ’

‘ i think i know a spell for that. ’

‘ i can’t help you. but there are people in other worlds, in the moors and hills and trees, that might. ’

‘ you must gather the necessary ingredients for such a potion. ’

‘ true love is never the answer to the riddle. not when so much as life and death is at stake. ’

‘ i’ve found and made my way here by right. you can’t deny me the answers i seek. ’

‘ be warned: monsters hide between the trees and whisper in magic tongues. ’

‘ it always makes a fraction of sense to be careful what you wish for. ’

‘ i’ve been turned into an unsightly creature, and i need a way of turning back. ’

‘ not all magical stories happen in castles, or cottages in the wood. ’

‘ preposterous. magic and sorcery do not exist but in the minds of superstitious fools. ’

‘ get back from that cauldron ! it’s dangerous. ’

‘ i don’t mess with things like candles and the stars and the moon after dark. it never ends well. ’

‘ i am something ancient. my name has been forgotten by mortal mouths and is found only in their oldest texts. ’

‘ not all fairy helpers are kind, and not all villains are ugly, or even cruel. ’

‘ if you want my help, you must earn it. ’

‘ is this something i could learn ? ’

‘ i don’t want to be ordinary, and i don’t care what the risks are. ’

‘ you think to put a curse on me ? i will spend my life defying it. ’

‘ stay back, witch, and keep your spells from sneaking past your lips. ’

‘ you must chain a magician in more than metal or rope if you wish to stop them. ’

‘ that’s a parlor trick. show me real magic. ’

‘ only you can break the spell. it is something you are meant for. ’

‘ fate is nothing but an illusion placed in our heads, that we might follow the words of others and not our own intentions. ’

‘ whatever has brought me here, i cannot turn back now. ’

‘ soon the clock will strike, and nothing more might be done. ’

‘ magic requires taking in order to give. it will keep demanding parts of you. ’

1K notes · View notes

yelenasdog · 4 years

Text

bonnie and clyde (billy/4 x fem reader)

genre: angst

summary: there were five people at the funeral of billy jones. why did two, more specifically one, of them leave?

words: 1.3k

warnings: just vv sad my guy. literally no fluff i hate it here </3 mentions of death, billy’s funeral, and crying.

a/n: yo so idk if billy’s last name is jones but i saw someone on here refer to him as billy jones and i think it’s just bc of ben’s last name but anyway LMFAO. i for some reason couldn’t stop thinking abt this and so i wrote it (as one does fkefnkerjn). also y/n was not used so if u wanted to read this as an x another character or x an oc it would work as well. enjoy :)

🌃🌃🌃

There were five people at the funeral of Billy Jones.

This was common knowledge who would listen long enough to hear the vigilante talk about the experience he had only seen from afar, his own heart growing tender during, or at any mention of, the moment.

But Billy always failed to explain the situation with a full grip, to its entire truth. As to why, most anyone could figure out.

He was afraid.

Afraid of getting her hurt, afraid of thinking of her for just a moment too long, afraid of his impulse driving him to get his ass right back up and go say he still loved her.

Four was afraid of a plethora of horrible scenarios that could occur if he let the truth about his funeral slide to anyone except One (which was bad enough that he had to know by default as it was).

And the irony of it all, was how miniscule and ineffective something like who had left his funeral early and as to why, would be to anyone else on the team.

Sure they all had their secrets that would seep into the pool that was their little family, Three’s mother, One’s lover, Two and Three’s infatuation with each other (though, that one wasn’t really a secret).

Not to mention, Four despised painting her in a bad light, allowing others to think for a fraction of a second that she didn’t leave because her already frail heart couldn’t handle to see her beloved’s name etched onto a gray stone in a patchy field of a horrible green, couldn’t handle the idea that their Bonnie and Clyde reminiscent days (minus the killing of 13 people, that is) had come to an end.

There were two people at the funeral of Billy Jones who left early.

The first? An old friend from his hometown.

He was a wealthy businessman now, having abandoned the life of pretty crime and rush of his youth. He showed up to Four’s not-so-celebration of life in an ashen tux with an obsidian tie and shiny oxfords, and barely a minute into the service he had begun checking his shiny Rolex, probably counting down the seconds until he would be considered late to some important meeting for whatever corporate hoax he was a part of to be able to stay afloat. How ironic.

Tick Tock, Tick Tock

The sound was like nails on a chalkboard to her, while the action itself felt like somewhat of a betrayal, even though Billy and the businessman hadn’t talked in years. It was a kind enough gesture that he had even come to begin with.

But she didn’t care.

Because before the service had even started, salty droplets were rolling down her reddened cheeks, dampening her hoodie, his hoodie, that she had coiled so tightly around herself and her limbs, almost like a corset.

So when the businessman turned to go after what could maybe have been a measly few minutes, she could barely control her anger.

But she did, for Billy. She sucked it up and stayed put, keeping her eyes trained to his mother who was now speaking, her striking emerald eyes also obviously wet. But in reality, Billy had wanted his former lover to turn around and smack that prick square in the face.

But then 4 took some time and realized that if it were the other way around and she had been dead, he could conjure in his mind how distressed he would be to where he would prefer to focus on wallowing in his sadness for her and her only, not be consumed by anger for some random fellow.

Billy truly wanted to leave One where he stood, wanted to run to where her shaking was escalating from ever so slightly to violently as could be, wrapping her in his strong arms she already missed. The strong arms that she believed should have kept him safe when he was dangling from that damned building with that damned necklace in his mouth.

The image could have been some renaissance painting with how beautiful he looked, even then, on the brink of what the world would know as the death of Billy Jones.

In fact, most of Billy’s and the girl’s adventures could be different renaissance paintings. Alive and free, bursting with vibrant colors and emotions that weren’t able to be captured with words, so rather, they were thrown on a canvas in what was somehow a meticulously put together flurry.

On that rainy day, the weather so fitting to what she had been feeling, she wished for nothing more than to somehow place herself back into those non-existent paintings, to even for a fraction of a second bask in his never ending love like some sort of oasis.

She wanted to run her fingers through his golden curls one last time, kiss his forehead goodnight one last time, to tell him she loved him more than anything in this universe, one last time.

But she didn’t, and she wouldn’t ever get to.

And her one final chance to say what she wanted him to hear, she had missed out on, as that’s when she had left.

It was long after the uptight man in the fitted suit, long after his crying mother had gone from where she was speaking up front, back to the shadows of her baby’s grim event that she should never have had been alive to see.

She had managed to drag herself halfway up to where his casket was sitting just above the ground, trying to not look at the box a second too long.

Rather, she pretended there was a pair of rose colored glasses sitting on the bridge of her nose, helping her pretend that this was all some big misunderstanding, that Billy was just pulling one of his infamous pranks.

He would pop out from behind the tent covering the few who stood with their feet shifting on the damp soil, or perhaps from the headstone of his very own grave. She would gasp or shriek and then smack his arm, lecturing him as he grabbed his chest, doubling over in laughter, the sound like music to her ears.

God, what she would do to hear that sound one more time.

Nevertheless, in the end he would stand up, and wipe her tears from her sweet face, pressing gentle kisses on either of her cheeks to rid her of that pout he hated to admit he loved. She would crack a small smile and he would punch a celebratory fist in the air at the gesture, leaving her to only shake her head at his antics. He would sling an arm around her shoulders, nustling close to her as they would exit the graveyard, never coming back until the inevitable day they both had lived their happiest and fullest lives together.

He would say “You know you love me.” And without a doubt, every time, she would say “Yeah, I do.”

But not this time.

This time, she would let her eyes wander to a tall tree just over the hill, slimming her puffy eyes. She rubbed them and did a double take, and swore that for a moment she had seen what looked like his figure next to one of someone she had never seen before.

And that’s when she left.

She let out an ugly sob, running as fast as her feet could take her to wherever that wasn’t there, the sound of her shoes against the cold ground muted, but the sound of her uneven breathing was anything but.

As for all she knew, it was her mind playing a cruel, cruel, trick on her. Or even her mind trying to give her some sort of closure to move on.

Whatever it was, though, was simply too much for her to process, too much to handle. So she had left, given up on what she didn’t know was her only chance to give a proper goodbye.

“You think she saw you?”

“I hope so.”

🌃🌃🌃

we vibing w this?? i hope so hehe. WAIT PUN NOT INTENDED LMFAO I DID THAT PERIODT! anyway, have a wonderful day/night, and go drink water and eat protein, it’s all abt intention!! i love u! also if u have any questions abt this fic pls do lmk bc ik some of it was kinda weird!

p.s., pls pls pls reblog this! this is my first ben related fic and ik when it’s ur first fic for a fandom they can flop so it would be very cool if y’all could help me out a lil bit :) either way ily, thank u! kk bye

xx hj

49 notes · View notes

myidlehand · 4 years

Text

Hello. I’m back with another Geralt/Eskel thing.

I have this headcanon that sometimes the Witchers get really overwhelmed by everything around them since all their senses are so acute. And I also wrote a line in the previous piece in this series about Eskel helping Geralt thought his trials and I wanted to write something around it. But you can read this and not read Fear without missing anything.

Wordcount: 2581

tags: Eskel/Geralt, Hurt/Confort, Baby Witchers

I’m sorry the editing looks a bit weird, I don’t know what's going on. You can read it on AO3 if you prefer.

I wanna say a huge thank you to @poetastic for always listening to me and reassure me about writing stuff and let me talk her ear off every day. She hasn’t found my off button yet ^^ (it’s crispy m&ms). Go check out her blog, she’s awesome and a kind person :)

Senses

The smell of sweat, acrid and burning cold on his flesh. The dazzling rush of blood in his hands, his chest, his veins. The beat beat beat beat of his own heart deafening in his ears. The air tearing at his lungs with each breath. Darkness too bright in his throbbing eyes. It’s so much, so much, all at once.

He gasps and curls around himself, needing the world to be small and quiet again.

The door open quietly, grating louder than his own bones shifting under his skin.

“Geralt?” He winces at the voice, covering his ears and whimpering very quietly.

Sounds of light steps moving across the dirt, soft but heavy. The burning heat of another body, settling next to him, almost touching but not quite. The coarse fabric of the tunics they all wear shifting and shrieking in his ears. Everything hurts, everything is raw. He scratches at his own skin, fingernail already turning red.

A hand tenderly settles on his and tucks it away gently.

“Don’t do that please”, the voice murmurs.

“It hurts so bad Eskel, everything’s too much”, Geralt gasps and snatches his hand away trying to make himself even smaller but his skin burns every time he moves.

Eskel waits a moment. His senses are quick to adjust to the darkness of the basement where they are sitting in a corner. But he still needs a minute to see well enough from the sliver of light coming from under the door. He turns his body to shield Geralt’s oversensitive eyes from the light. The smell of the dirt is strong and unpleasant, the air feels wet and heavy. He can’t imagine how it must smell to Geralt with his enhanced faculties.

Looking at the small form in front of him, Eskel gets lost in thoughts. This would be the third time they’ve put Geralt under experimental trials. The first two hadn’t been as terrible as the last. Geralt had screamed and kicked and begged for it to stop but when Vesemir had led Eskel to his bed, he had quickly calmed down under his touch. The mages had protested, not wanting him to bear witness to what was happening in the darkness of the trial room, but Vesemir had left them with little choices. Eskel’s voice had been a reassuring presence throughout each of the trials after that first night. Few other boys had been chosen and none had survived past the first few additional mutations. Each trial had been a mountain to climb. Eskel would be led out of the room on the last morning every time when Geralt was finally completely conscious and not delirious with the pain anymore.

He knew the mages and trainers wanted to inspect his brother as closely as they could before letting him loose among the others again and they didn’t need Eskel for that. His task was done. He had overheard and pieced together enough conversations while smoothing Geralt to know his own future at Kaer Morhen depended on Geralt’s ability to survive the trials well. Somehow Vesemir had managed to convince Rennes that Eskel was indispensable to ensure the success of the experiments. His point had been made when the other boys had died screaming alone and Geralt had quietly survived after Eskel had climbed in the bed with him without a pause and held him tight all night long. He had smoothed the skin around his wrist when Geralt had pulled at his restraints so hard they had started to bleed and let his voice become a soft blanket for Geralt to hide under from the pain. His hair had turned white from the traumatic experience but he had survived and it was all that mattered.

If it wasn’t for the older Witcher, one of them would have been sent away already, probably to the Griffin school. That was what happened to trainees who got too close to each other. They got separated and sent to train under new Masters. Most of them didn’t make it to the trial of the Mountain, belonging to both schools and neither of them at the same time. Not all the mutations were compatible. Eskel wasn’t a fool, the Wolves would never let go of Geralt. But neither would he.

Vesemir had come to him this morning, worry plain on his face. Eskel had been dismissed after two very intense nights and days. Geralt had screamed and clung to him more than usual and had to be pried away from his arms that last morning, exhausted but still so strong. Eskel had thrown a last worried glance towards him before the door had been shut on his face. Geralt smelled more strongly like pain and exhaustion that the other times. It left a bitter taste at the back of Eskel’s throat he had come to hate.

Barely a quarter of an hour had passed before the older Witcher had found Eskel and explained that Geralt had run away from the trial room before the mages could examine him fully. There was no doubt he had run to the deepest basement, no one could hide from a proper Witcher, but nobody had wanted to force him to come out. One of the mages had explained the last trial had been designed to enhance all of Geralt’s senses specifically and he was probably just extremely overwhelmed. Eskel remembered how it had felt to open his eyes for the first time and seen colours he didn’t even know existed. How everything had been too bright before he’d learned to contract his pupils. How each of his senses had been assaulted the first few weeks following the trials. Why would the mages need to make it even worse? What purpose would it serve to push Geralt beyond every limit when everything was already so overwhelming for each of them? Maybe there was no purpose he thought. Maybe they just wanted to know how far they could push him before he died. Eskel was led to the right corridor and could smell Geralt’s fear even from three doors down. But if they were to allow them to stay together, Eskel had to do his part. He didn’t mind. He would never mind smoothing Geralt’s worries away.

Geralt lets out another tiny whimper that focuses back all of Eskel’s senses at once.

“I know you’re hurting Geralt, I’m here to help”, he answers as quietly as possible, running his fingers lightly through the white hairs in front of him. Geralt’s gives a full-body shiver at the soft touch. He’s curled into a ball and lets himself fall to his side on the cold floor, too exhausted to keep himself up any longer. Eskel takes his hand away, it’s clearly too much.

“I know you’re overwhelmed right now but I’m going to need you to focus with me?”

“I can’t”, Geralt answers, face buried in his knees, rocking himself a little.

“Of course you can.”

“It hurts, everything hurts.”

“I know, I know”, Eskel answers, lowering his voice even further. “You remember the teachings?”

Geralt shakes his head a little.

“Come on, I know you do. You’re overwhelmed when you try to focus on everything at once. You always want to run first but I need you to slow down for now. For me.”

“I don’t know how. Everything is so loud. I can hear my blood run in my veins.”

Eskel winces at that. If he concentrates he can faintly hear breakfast being prepared two floors up, someone is cleaning vials above them and some people are already training outside. He used to hear all of that constantly but they’ve learned to tune things out instinctively when they aren’t important. Their minds trained to warn them if they pick up on anything dangerous.

Right now, everything is at the same level for Geralt and he can hear much more than Eskel can.

“We’ll do it together. Just one sense after the other. We don’t need to rush.”

Geralt doesn’t answer but unfolds from himself just a tiny bit. His eyes are closed tight, his breath almost panicked.

“It’s just you and me and nothing else alright?”

“Al… alright.”

“Good.”

Sound seems to be the easiest to deal with right now. it’s probably one of Geralt’s most overloaded sense right now, but it’s something Eskel has started to work on as soon as he entered the room.

“Alright Geralt, I need you to focus on me right now. Nothing else okay. Can you do that?”

“I… I don’t know."

“First I’m going to need you to sit up for me.”

Geralt’s shiver at the thought of being exposed so much and shakes his head no.

“That’s okay.” Eskel quickly rethinks his plan. “We’ll go slowly. Can you focus on my voice? You don’t need to move. Just listen.”

Geralt doesn’t answer but Eskel doesn’t need him to. He lowered himself to the floor instead, face right next to Geralt’s own. “Focus on my heart Geralt.”

They are quiet for a few minutes. Eskel makes sure he’s relaxed so his heart will beat at a steady, calming rhythm for Geralt, who’s breathing is erratic and loud in the small quiet room. Eskel can see Geralt’s eyes move under his eyelids, seeking the source of a noise that caught his attention, incapable of focusing more than a few seconds. That won’t do.

After a couple of minutes, Eskel starts to hum a song, extremely quietly. Geralt’s breath stills for a second or two, surprised. Eskel can sense Geralt's entire body suddenly focused solely on him. It’s not a song Eskel sings often but he always enjoyed it. He hums it twice over before Geralt relaxes a fraction and unfurls a little bit more.

“May I touch you?”

Geralt nods, still not opening his eyes but clearly more concentrated now.

“Alright. I’m going to start with your hair”, Eskel warns before running his fingers very lightly on top of Geralt’s hair, barely even really touching them. At first, the simple touch sounds like sandpaper to Geralt’s ear making him wince a little.

“Focus on the sound and make it quieter”, Eskel reminds him. When Geralt finally settles, tuning down the sound, Eskel works his fingers in the white locks and pets them, being very careful to not pull at all when he feels some resistance. Geralt has been tossing and turning all night, his hair is a mess. He lets his finger run all the way to the base of Geralt’s neck and that earns him another full-body shiver, but Geralt relaxes a bit this time. Next, very carefully, Eskel rubs his thumb right above Geralt’s ear where his skin is most sensitive, his palm resting on the hair without moving much. He’s just making very small reassuring circles.

“Alright there?”

Geralt makes a tiny content sound. His breathing has improved greatly.

“Okay, I’m going to touch your face now.”

Eskel’s palm moves from his hair to Geralt’s cheek carefully, his thumb stroking right under Geralt’s eye, at the top of his cheekbone. It feels excruciatingly hot and Geralt frowns his eyebrows, needing to concentrate fully to make the feeling bearable again. Eskel looks, fascinated to see Geralt relax under his touch bit by bit and finally press his cheek a little against his palm. He would like to do this forever but it’s not the goal here.

“You’re doing so well for me Geralt. I’m going to move to your side now.”

“Okay”, Geralt answers quietly, please to hear the praise from Eskel. He misses a breath when Eskel’s warm hand presses against the top of his hip, where the tunic wasn’t covering all of his skin.

“Stay focused on my heartbeat.” He warns gently. After Geralt relaxes again, he starts stroking up from the hip all the way to his ribs in a long, feather-light caress then back down again. Geralt’s skin is on fire, like all his nerves are raw and exposed. But after a minute or two, the touches become familiar and comforting. Eskel moves his hand up and down, up and down and up again, more and more insistent but never forceful.

“Tell me how it feels.”

“Hot. Tingling. Raw… like… like I can feel you still touch my hair and my face and my side all at the same time.”

“Does it hurt?”

“A little, at first. Now it’s okay.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“N… no. But could you… would you sing to me again?” Geralt asks, embarrassed. His breathing is ragged under Eskel's touch but no longer frantic.

“Of course”, Eskel answers softly, giving Geralt a little indulgent smile and starts humming again.

Geralt has let go of his knees and Eskel moves a little closer. Close enough that Geralt can press his face to the hollow of his shoulder and inhale deeply if he wants. Geralt takes the bait, instinctively.

“What do you smell?”

“Dirt? Wet dirt.”

“Focus just on me Geralt, not the room around us,” Eskel answers, not stopping his strokes. Geralt inhales again.

“Soap. But not fresh? From a few days ago. And… and wool. Sweat. But not bad. Just you. Good.”

Eskel chuckles.

“Shut up”, Geralt growls a little. He lets his head fall back on the floor, body and mind almost completely relaxed now. Eskel uses the opportunity to push him on his back, his hand still on Geralt’s side. Geralt goes willingly, feeling Eskel’s body shift a bit to move slightly above him. Eskel is not straddling him, not wanting to undo all his hard work so he pushes all his weight on one side, using his right forearm to lift himself up.

“Open your eyes”, he murmurs and Geralt does without hesitation. “What do you see?”

“Warm Honey”, Geralt barely answers, breathless. His own hand coming up to stoke Eskel’s face this time. Eskel’s smile sweetly. Geralt had the same reaction the first time he saw his new amber eyes. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from Eskel then either.

“Kiss me”, he whispers.

“Are you sure?” Eskel answers with a frown. He doesn’t want to overwhelm Geralt again.

Geralt, always impatient, surges up and kisses Eskel, pushing him up, his left hand coming to grab the back of his neck. Eskel’s hand grips his hip a little more where it was gentle before and his arm, free now that he doesn't have to take all his weight anymore, comes behind Geralt to support him in a sitting position. It’s a little bit awkward but it works. Geralt is forceful at first but calms down after a minute and allows Eskel to kiss him a little more tenderly. It’s the way he prefers kissing Geralt when they are both exhausted after the trial and Eskel has managed to whisk him away in the darkest corner of the dormitory. The other boy pretends they can’t hear them kiss quietly for hours, Eskel’s hands seeking every possible millimetre of Geralt’s body to make sure he’s still whole. Geralt’s body changes quickly after each trial and Eskel always has new things to discover and catalogue.

Geralt breaks the kiss first but doesn’t go far. They push their forehead together, noses touching and breathing quietly for a few seconds, eyes closing again, just appreciating being in each other's space.

“Thank you. For being here for me” Geralt murmurs, his hand stroking the back of Eskel’s neck gently.

“Always”, Eskel answers back in a quiet exhale.

***

Thank you for reading! I really appreciate that you kept reading all the way to the end.

I have lots of different pieces on my AO3 if you’re curious

#eskel #witcher eskel #geralt #the witcher #eskel/geralt #eskel x geralt #hurt/confort #mywitcherheadcanons #baby witchers

57 notes · View notes

springsummerspring · 3 years

Text

Our disposition, personality, and behaviour all have a profound effect on the types of relationships we thrive in. A couple doesn’t need to be identical, but the right balance of traits is necessary for compatibility. This new RP theory focuses on two important characteristics: the dominance level of each person, as well as the woman’s dominance threshold.

Your “Dominance Level” (DL) measures attributes such as your natural tendency to assume the lead and how you exercise authority in interactions. DL takes into account all behaviour, it is not limited to actions within a romantic relationship. For the purposes of this post I will use a scale of 0 - 10 to discuss DL, with 10 representing the maximum possible level of dominance one can have. There are separate male and female scales - a woman who is a 6 is not more dominant than a man who is a 5, and a man who is a 10 is more dominant than a female 10.

How are dominance levels expressed in men?

A 10 has 100% alpha traits, and a 0 has 100% beta traits. As you move across the spectrum, the ratio shifts. So a 2 has 20% alpha traits, a 6 has 60%, etc.

Men who are lowest in dominance (0-3.5 on the DL scale) have the highest ratio of beta traits in comparison to alpha traits. They can be easygoing, empathetic, gentle, and considerate. They can also be sensitive, emotional, unconfident, indecisive, and soft. Keep in mind that these are just a few examples, these traits do not define these men nor are they required to be in this category.

The 3.5s-6s exhibit more alpha traits but their nature is that of a “greater beta”. These men are able to provide comfort and leadership as required in a relationship. Most women have men in this category, especially on RPW. If you are looking for a “medium dominance” category, this is where your man belongs (but to be clear, he is still in the "low dominance" category of this system).

Men who are a 6-8.5 on the DL scale have a higher ratio of alpha traits in comparison to beta traits. There are many types of alpha men: apex, renegade, patriarchal, criminal, corporate, political, etc. and they all have different characteristics that allow them to succeed and take charge in their respective environments. One thing they all have in common is an immense amount of masculinity, which can be both good and bad.

8.5 - 10s can fall into any of the alpha subtypes. They also have the highest amounts of Dark Triad traits, and are the rarest group of men.

How are dominance levels expressed in women?

The alpha/beta ratio does not apply to the female dominance scale. There are no easy, clear cut terms for the spectrum, just various dispositions and behaviours. While the ratio of masculinity and femininity plays a role, the DL is not measuring either of those traits directly. I have chosen both positive and negative examples for each type but again, these are generalisations and only a fraction of the possible characteristics one can have.

Women who are in the low dominance category (0-6) are non confrontational, sensitive, and accommodating. They are psychologically feminine, not only with their men but in their everyday lives, automatically. They can be doormats, passive, weak, and insecure if they do not learn how to prioritise themselves first instead of others. This does not mean that they are incapable of having any of the traits that high dominance women have, just that the concentration of H traits lowers as you approach zero (and vice versa with H women and L traits).

High Dominance Women (6.5-10) are more confident, driven, assertive, and ambitious. They can also be more masculinised, argumentative, self serving, and insubordinate. Some women like to think of themselves as “alpha women” but this is a myth, not an RP concept. Do not fall into the trap of thinking that being high dominance is superior. Both categories have their strengths and weaknesses. Feminists have pushed the idea that male characteristics and virtues are a universal ideal that all should strive for so women are encouraged to be high dominance. The only way that high dominance women can have romantic success with a dominant man is if they can master psychological femininity and deference within their relationship.

Your “Dominance Threshold” indicates how dominant your man has to be in order for you to feel attraction, commitment, and love. I will also be using the 0-10 dominance scale when referring to the dominance threshold. For the purposes of this discussion it is assumed that all women have a range of 0-2 points past their threshold where attraction is possible. The threshold is the minimum but most women who prefer a 5.5/10 would not be comfortable with an 8 or higher.

How are dominance thresholds expressed in women?

Women with low dominance thresholds require less alpha, and more beta in their relationships. This means more affection and softness, more obvious and frequent displays of love and care. These women are repelled by or afraid of extreme displays of male aggression, anger, or arrogance. They also do not like strict boundaries or being controlled. They are suited for betas and greater betas.

Women with high dominance thresholds require more alpha, less beta. They crave arousal, displays of power, raw masculinity, etc. from their man and view the same beta traits the low threshold women love as weaknesses. They are perfect mates for all types of alphas.

When a man’s DL is way too low for a woman, she reacts with disgust or infantilisation. If it is merely a point or two lower you’ll see shit tests. If it’s slightly too high, she’ll comfort test, and when it’s way too high she’ll be afraid. This applies to all women regardless of their threshold or dominance level.

Taking the 4 categories into account (low/high DL, low/high threshold) there are 8 possible relationship combinations. Not all are optimal or RP but all of the dynamics exist in the real world. Moving forward we will use these labels within the subreddit in our discussions and the advice we give.

By using a combination of 3 letters (all of which are either H or L) we can refer to each dynamic with ease. The first letter establishes the man’s dominance level, the second the woman’s, and then the third is for her dominance threshold. So a high dominance man (H) with a low dominance woman (L), who has a high threshold (H), would be described as HLH. A low dominance man (L) with a low dominance woman (L), who has a low dominance threshold (L), would be LLL.

Now onto an overview of the dynamics, which will be described with an emphasis on the effect on the woman. They are ordered from least potential to be RP to most potential to be RP, with 3 equally RP dynamics, there is not one universally ideal dynamic. Please keep in mind that these descriptions are all generalisations of what is most likely to happen, there are always exceptions. Note: future posts will help you identify your dynamic, do not fixate on labeling yourself from this introductory post.

High dominance man, high dominance/low threshold woman (HHL) - she vies for dominance and feels little to no comfort or security. Possible violence as she is likely to stir up trouble by constantly challenging her man.

High man, low/low woman (HLL) - she needs more beta comfort and can’t stay motivated when feeling unloved. She feels he is mean or scary. There is also a strong chance of violence in this relationship which only further discourages the LL woman from being her best and creates a cycle where the man is constantly punishing her.

Low man, high/high woman (LHH) - she walks all over him or bosses around. This is a very common dynamic as it is what usually happens when a woman is out of the CC riding/AF phase and has settled for her beta bucks.

Low man, low/high woman (LLH) - she is repulsed and/or can’t respect him, wishes he was more dominant. Whenever you see an RPW post where the OP asks: “How can I get my main to be the captain” or says “I tried captain/first mate but he’s not taking the lead” then you know it’s an LLH situation.

Low man, high/low woman (LHL) - a lot of feminist relationships are like this, and they can work, and people can be happy in them. There is also a chance that the woman walks all over the man and disrespects him and he just puts up with it. It all depends on how attracted the woman is to her man, and how well he is able to maintain that attraction.

High man, high/high woman (HHH) - potential to be RP if the woman respects the man. “Captain and First Mate” as described by RPW is not an adequate description of the dynamics in HHH relationships. This combination can be a power couple, or there can be violence if the woman does not defer to the man (think Chris Brown and Rihanna).

High man, low/high woman (HLH) - potential to be RPW and a classic fantasy that is not seen as much in reality. The woman is naturally submissive and aware of it. She is drawn to a dominant man and requires power over her. There is a strong sense of ownership and there can also be a paternalistic element to the dynamic. This differs from HHH relationships in that the woman is not a partner in crime, but rather a source of support and feminine energy while the man takes on challenges. At its worst, HLH relationships involve the man taking advantage of and abusing the woman.

Low man, low/low woman (LLL) - this is the most common both in and out of the subreddit. Contrary to what many may assume, most rpw are interested in or already with greater betas! When done right, these relationships are the epitome of the captain and first mate concept. The man leads and the woman occupies the traditional female role, but it may not feel like submission or deferment to her because of the lack of power imposed explicitly. If the man fails to take the lead, the woman may feel forced to assume that role and her respect for her man will decline. If no one assumes the lead, arguments are more likely to happen, and again, the woman will lose respect for the man.

Can you change your dominance level?

You can absolutely eliminate the personality traits that hinder your success. If you are a high dominance woman, you may need to work on being less controlling, argumentative, or disobedient. RPW is great for that! If you are low dominance, you can become more assertive, confident, and more. However, men who want the traditional, RP relationships are not interested in women who do not listen to or respect them, so it’s important not to go too far in the other direction.

Can you change your dominance threshold?

Attraction is non-negotiable. It’s important to be aware of and honest about your preferences and select a partner wisely. Understanding how men think can help you become more comfortable with a man that has a DL way higher than your threshold. If you are with a man who’s DL is below your threshold RPW can help you with respect, loyalty, and all of the other issues that come with those dynamics. Your threshold may change naturally over time based on life experiences, as you learn what you actually like in relationships.

What can we do with this information?

As mentioned earlier, this system will be a great way to have everyone on the same page when it comes to discussing relationships and giving advice. We should all be aware of our biases, and our individual dominance levels and thresholds greatly affect the responses we leave about other people’s relationships.

A lot of women with low dominance thresholds can’t understand masculine, dominant men, and that contributes to them advising women to leave their men in certain instances or worrying that something is abusive. The reverse also applies, women with high dominance thresholds are less able to wrap their heads around how other women can stay with and be attracted to low dominance men.

It is important to be aware of our biases and work to overcome solipsism. It’s not about what we would do in their situation, but what they should do in their situation. Hopefully having the language to identify dynamics will help us all provide suggestions that work well with whatever dynamic a user is involved in.

2 notes · View notes

talpup · 4 years

Text

Lost Song:12

Summary: The war between the Dragons and Griffons ended 233 years ago, and both races right along with it.

Or so it was believed. There are three individuals that will soon change that.

Kai is the last of the Dragons and he seeks to take what he sees as his rightful place and rule over all of Oblvi. Meanwhile, Shouta, the last Sphinx, wants nothing more than to do his job; keep the peace and and teach the young Fourth’s to hopefully avoid the mistakes of their ancestors. And Teris, a Foundling who is just trying to understand and survive in this strange new world that is supposedly her own.

All three have their own wants and desires, but Kai’s plans, Teris’ existence, and Shouta's past mean that none of them may get what they want.

This fic is rated explicit and has warnings of sex, violence, and other possible triggers. For a full list of story tags please check the fics AO3 (link to that at the top of my tumblrs homepage).

12.1

Kai exited a side door and met up with Hari. Whiffs of smoke blew from the Dragon’s nostrils at the memory of Teris and Shouta's arms brushing while the two stood side by side, the Sphinx regularly moving to shield Teris from his view. Teris might be part of Shouta's Ilca. But she was his. And yet Shouta had managed to keep her by him the entire gathering.

He had no doubt Shouta had given Teris that dull, disgusting bracelet. The thing wasn’t even worthy of being on some detestable mutt Hybrid like Nedzu. It certainly didn’t belong on a proud, pure blood Beast like Teris.

Kai swore that if he hadn’t killed the Sphinx by the time he reclaimed his throne. The first order of his reign would be to end Aizawa, finally do away with all Sphinx kind.

The only thing that had gotten Kai through the trying afternoon was imagining what he would do to Teris this evening after Ryuu left. He imagined her pretty lips wrapped around his cock. Making her look at him as he fucked her sweet face. She had done well in combating Shouta's attempt at keeping her from agreeing to dinner. But she had stayed by Shouta's side. Had accepted Aizawa's gift and worn it. For that she would be punished. And Kai could think of no better punishment than having her choke on his cock. It wasn’t as if he could punish her more directly. At least not yet. Though the thought of spanking her ass raw and fucking her from behind while she screamed his name and cried out in apology was something he looked forward to doing when things progressed.

“Did you find out who was doing the inspection?” Kai questioned.

Uneasy as he was, Hari bravely met Kai’s eyes. “We did our best.”

“And was your best good enough?” Kai asked, knowing if it had been Hari would've answered with a name.

Hari swallowed and shook his head. “No, Sir. I’m sorry and take full responsibility for the failure--”

Kai’s hand wrapped around the Arepyiai’s throat cutting off his words and air supply. “You’re damned right you’ll take full responsibility. I left it to you to see the Ilca learned who was doing Teris’ inspection. Yet you’re telling me you’ve failed. That out of my nine Ilca members no one was able to discover a simple name?”

Hari gurgled, but to his credit didn’t attempt to fight off Kai’s choking grip.

The Dragon’s eyes slitted. Gold scales appeared along the back of his hand. Nails lengthened into deadly talons that pierced Hari’s skin. “How am I suppose to threaten or buy a person off if I don’t know who they are? Do you like the idea of my future mate being subjected to some filthy Fourth's roving gaze? Maybe you’d prefer Teris undress and walk the grounds of Traverseen Hall for all to see?”

Hari shook his head as best he could.

“What part of mine do you not understand? Teris is mine. No one should be allowed to look upon her but me. And yet because of your failure--” Sensing someones eyes on him, Kai turned.

Hizashi sucked in a breath, emerald eyes widening further. He had been waiting out in the garden for Oboro to return. The Venti said he had a gift for him. Hizashi hadn’t meant to listen in. In fact he hadn’t heard anything.

Teris had said Kai was kind and gentle. But what Hizashi saw was far gentle and kind. He stupidly ducked behind a shrub as if he and the Dragon hadn’t already locked eyes. He had wondered why Shouta didn’t like Kai. The Sphinx always admonishing Teris on what time she was to return from lessons with Kai; as if she were some child with a curfew. Was this why? Because Shouta knew Kai was violent and harsh?

Kai’s eyes returned to human. The scales on his hand disappeared. Talons shrinking back to nails.

Releasing Hari, Kai took out a handkerchief and he wiped his hand clean. “Return to the dorm. I’ll deal with you later.”

“Yes, Sir.” Hari nodded.

“And Hari.” Kai called.

Hari turned back.

“Set another place for dinner.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Cursing his lack of care, Kai made his way to the distant shrub. “Hizashi. Isn’t it?”

Hizashi’s eyes squeezed shut. Where was Oboro? He sheepishly stepped out from behind the bush. “Yeah. And you’re Kai, right? The one tasked with instructing Teris.”

“Teris makes it more of a pleasure than a task.” Kai said, wondering what if anything the Hybrid overheard.

Hizashi's eyes darted about looking for someone to come to his aid. He was usually great with meeting new people. But after what he saw...

“About what you heard--”

“I didn’t hear anything.” Hizashi said.

Relieved, Kai went on. “Well, I’m sorry you had to see that. I tend to take sterner measures when the protection of a ladies virtue is at stake.”

Hizashi's lowered ears lifted and twitched. “A ladies virtue?”

“You don’t think I go around treating my Ilca so cruelly all the time do you? What has Teris been telling you about me?”

“No, no!” Hizashi shook his head. He laughed, relieved. Though still unsettled, it gave reason to what he saw. “Teris speaks rather highly of you.”

A low hummed sounded in Kai’s throat, such things always nice to hear. “You wouldn’t happen to know who ‘s doing her inspection. Would you?”

Hizashi frowned and shook his head. He didn’t know what Teris’ interview and inspection would entail. But the words coupled with Shouta's darkening mood as today drew near told him it wouldn’t be pleasant. “I wish she didn’t have to go through it. It’s all because they can tell she’s some pure blooded beast from an ancient species. If she were a Hybrid like me and had some telling marker in her human form. Like my ears. Maybe they would have some idea what she was and wouldn’t have to go through it.”

Kai’s lips tightened a fraction. The thought of the dirty Hybrid feeling sorry for Teris and wishing such a disgusting disgrace of mixed blood on her was an insult. “I’m hosting a dinner for her this evening. Hopefully it will help take her mind off today's ordeal.”

“That—that sounds really nice.” Hizashi said, wishing he’d thought of it. Maybe Kai wasn’t so bad.

“I’d like for you to come. I know Teris thinks you a close friend and having you there would undoubtedly make her happy.”

Hizashi brightened. “Is Shouta going?”

Kai paused but was able to keep his irritation with Hizashi and hate for Shouta from showing. “The aim is to lighten Teris’ spirits and make her happy. Do you think his presence would aid in that?”

Hizashi's smile fell. It would if the two quit being so stubborn and admitted their feelings for each other, he thought. But as things currently stood, Kai had a point. “Do you like her?”

“That’s a rather personal question.” Kai replied.

“She’s my friend.”

“Which is why I would like us to get to know each other.” Kai said.

“So you do like her.” Hizashi said.

Kai wasn’t about to belittle his feelings to something as juvenile as like. Nor was he willing to tell Hizashi his plans to Bond with Teris; fully aware the Hybrid would tell her and Teris wasn’t ready to hear it. Instead, Kai said. “I want to see Teris happy and think she deserves the best, same as you. More than that I can and will give her those things and more.”

Hizashi wasn’t sure how he felt about Kai liking Teris. Sure he had suspected it. And with the way Teris talked, he could tell she had a bit of a crush on Kai in return. But he had seen Teris and Shouta together. They could be so perfect if only they stopped being so stupid. Still, it was Teris’ life. If she chose to be with Kai either for friendly release or as a companion, Hizashi would support her. So long as Kai was a good guy. And accepting Kai’s invitation to dinner was just the chance Hizashi needed to decide if Kai was a good guy.

Thinking a short apology to Shouta, Hizashi smiled. “Thanks for the invite. I’d love to go.”

“Good. I’ll see you and Teris at six.” Kai turned away, pleased with the exchange. Distasteful as it would be having a filthy Hybrid in his Ilca dorm, he was well aware what Hizashi meant to Teris. Winning Hizashi over would only help speed Teris’ sense of ease and comfort which would quicken her acceptance of their eventually mating.

12.2

Shouta glanced at the window gauging the passage of time. It had been nearly an hour but Teris’ interview felt like it had gone on much longer. Seated beside her, Shouta hoped the questioning was near its end. That was until he remembered what awaited her after. Sharp eyes looked over the five visiting Council Elders seated at the table before them. He wondered which Elder would be doing Teris’ inspection. Much as he hoped it would be His Purple Highness, Shouta wasn’t holding his breath. He was never that lucky.

Along with the five visiting Council members was Elder Yagi. Also a member of the Council, the Talos was acting more as host for these proceedings than anything else. At the end of the long table was Director Nedzu and Arbitrator Todoroki Enji, who were there more as witnesses to the interview and hadn’t said a word unless direct questions were asked of them.

Facing the line of Council members felt more like facing a firing squad. Though few questions were asked of him, Shouta couldn’t shake the invading memories of his own interview. The fear his younger self had felt got the best of him twice already. Making his heart hammer till the rush of blood drummed in his ears drowning everything else out.

“Tell us, Aizawa. Has Teris shown any hinting of her true form? Scales? Feathers? Fur?” Destro asked.

“No.” Shouta lied without pause or regret.

“Why don’t you speak plainly and just ask if she’s shown sign of being a Griffon, Dragon, or Sphinx?” Ryuko asked the Basilisk.

Eyes on Shouta, Destro prodded. “Well? Has she?”

“No.” Shouta said.

“Having once served the Dragons and raised one myself. I can say with certainty that our young Foundling here is not a Dragon.” Ryuu said.

“Nor is she a Sphinx.” His Purple Highness put in.

“And what about a Griffon?” Destro questioned.

Shouta’s fingers twitched, eyes on some distant detail in apparent disinterest.

His Purple Highness looked at Destro. The Basilisk’s might’ve served the Dragons during the Dragon-Griffon war. But Destro had become leader of the species after the Fall of Crowns. Whether it was because Destro had been leader for only 233yrs and felt the need to prove himself. Or because the Basilisk truly held such beliefs. Destro had been the most vocal Council member when Shouta and Kai faced the Elders. He vehemently argued the then young Sphinx and Dragon should be put to death for the sake of continued peace.

“The Griffon’s are dead. A lost species.” Mera said, wishing for the interview to end so he could go to his rooms and sleep.

“So were the Sphinx's and Dragons until Ryuu and His Purple Highness found and saw different.” Ryuko said. The Amphiteres might’ve served the Dragons during the war. But Ryuko liked to think she and her species had lost their servant mental to the Dragons; while holding no animosity against Kai for his species past deeds. “What’s to say Elder Yagi hasn’t done the same?”

Yagi coughed. The Talos’ long ago injury that was slowly killing him making him cough blood into a handkerchief.

“May I remind you, Yagi didn’t find Teris. She was found in earth and brought to Oblvi by a Derrick. You can hardly fault Yagi for that. Or did you young ones forget Traverseen Hall was build near one of the only two physical gateways connecting Oblvi to earth?” His Purple Highness asked.

Ryuko didn’t mind being called a young one. When one had lived as long as His Purple Highness, everyone was young. Still, she didn’t like her intelligence being called into question. “I’m aware.”

“So why question if Yagi’s done the same? Surely you’re aware any Foundlings or issues coming through either gateway are handled by the area Elder. Yagi just happened be unfortunate Teris was brought through the gateway here. It’s not as if he didn’t inform the rest of us immediately.” His Purple Highness said.

“Unlike some.” Destro remarked.

“I informed the Council of my finding Shouta as soon as I was able.” The Dryad King said.

“After you unspelled him.” Destro said.

“I’m flattered you think my physique strong enough to carry a stoned Sphinx through an untamed forest and back home.” His Purple Highness sarcastically flirted. “It’s not as if I secretly hatched a Dragon egg and raised the youngling for several years before informing the other Elders.”

Ryuu frowned at the Dryad. “Your species served the Griffons during the war.”

“And yours served the Dragons. Save for the Sphinx's, there isn’t a species of Fourth that wasn’t guilty of choosing a side. And every single one of us here helped hunt the Sphinx's down for it during the war.” His Purple Highness said.

“Is that why you unspelled the Sphinx? Out of some sense of guilt?” Destro asked.

“This is an interview about the Foundling. Can we please stay on target and get this over with?” Mera murmured, tired eyes slipping closed.

Looking at His Purple Highness, Ryuu went on. “You were quite high up the ranks, if I remember. A close and trusted friend of the Griffon King.”

“That was a long time ago.” His Purple Highness said.

“But surely you remember well enough what the Griffon species smells like. All we’re looking for is some assurance Teris isn’t one.” Ryuu said.

Shouta's eyes lifted to his mentor. Air catching in his lungs he force himself to breathe.

Everyone at the long table, seated across from Shouta and Teris, turned to the Dryad King. Destro and Ryuu leaned forward to get a better look at the Fourth.

His Purple Highness stared at Ryuu. There was a toying glint in the Tengu’s challenging gaze. With a blink His Purple Highness realized Ryuu somehow knew Teris was a Griffon. How? And why wasn’t he outing her? Was Ryuu setting him up to deny Teris was Griffon in attempt to claim he was a sympathizer to the fallen crowns and traitor to the Council?

“Well?” Mera pressed, eager to be done.

“Teris’ hereditary scent smells like no Griffon I’ve ever smelled.” His Purple Highness truthfully said.

Ryuu’s shimmering eyes smiled at the Dryad King. His Purple Highness expected a follow up question to try and ensnare him.

Instead Ryuu blocked further questions before anyone could ask them. “Well, I’m satisfied. If no one has anything further? Good.”

Mera was already standing and gathering his papers. “In that case. We’re done. Director Nedzu, thank you for the use of the room. Thank you everyone for your time.”

“And her inspection?” Destro looked after the already departing Mera.

“Happening in the next room over.” Mera said with wave and a yawn.

Mera gone, Ryuko looked at the fellow Elders. “So who’s doing it?”

Shouta's shoulders sunk. There went his hope Teris would be inspected by the sole woman in the group.

Teris was so relieved the interview was over she didn’t hear the name of the Fourth inspecting her. She felt Shouta tense beside her.

Lips hidden by his capture weapon, Shouta attempted to assure the both of them. “It’ll be alright.”

Teris barely heard Shouta’s murmur. His deep timber a comforting balm while his words set her back on edge. What had she missed? Who was doing the inspection?

Getting to his feet, Shouta turned and held a hand out to her. “Just keep the bracelet on. Understand?”

Teris nodded. Her eyes lowered to Shouta's upturned hand.

For a second Shouta thought she wouldn’t take it. He silently cursed himself for the unthought action. But then Teris’ warm hand nestled in his. Shouta's nerves ignited in delight. His fingers curled around hers. He pulled her to her feet and didn’t let go. Turning around he led her out the room and down the hall to the next door.

Teris rushed to keep up with Shouta's longer stride. Grateful when he stopped, she faced him, breathing hard.

“Out of breath from a short trek. We should train more.” Shouta murmured.

Teris weakling tried to pulled her hand out of his. “I know you’re an ass. But you’re just saying that to irk and take my mind off things.”

“Is it working?”

“No.”

Shouta stepped to her, hand letting go of hers to wrap around her waist. “How about now?”

Teris’ face heated. The Sphinx wasn’t playing fair. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” Shouta hummed.

Teris shivered, feeling the deep vibration of his chest.

Shouta's other hand slinked up her arm. “Should I up my game?”

“Are you capable of it?”

Shouta chuckled, lowly. “Oh, Kitten. I’m getting up right now.”

He held her tighter. His hardening length prodding her pelvis. Teris sucked in a breath. Her legs squeezed together, hips dancing.

Shouta bit back a groan. There had been something he wanted to tell her. Something important. But he couldn’t think with her rubbing against him. The smell and warmth of her overwhelmed in the best of ways, drowning everything else out. “Keep the bracelet on.”

“You already said that.” Teris breathed.

Shouta swallowed, trying to remember what he wanted to say. His head began to dip, eyes focused on her tantalizing lips. Teris’ head lifted, tilting ever so slightly.

The door behind her opened. Shouta's head jerked up. Teris turned. Eyes widening, she pressed back into Shouta.

Remembering what he wanted to say Shouta whispered into the back of her head. “Whatever the reason, if it becomes too much. Leave. I’ll be waiting out here and will deal with whatever may come.”

Teris looked back at him. She knew Shouta, like Kai, was watched by the Council. But until today she hadn’t realized the Council's goodwill still determined their continued existence. If Shouta went against the Council…

“Are you ready?” A male voice asked.

Shouta looked at the man, fighting a low growl. How the hell was the Anzu preforming the inspection? He wasn’t an Elder. He merely worked for the Council.

Straightening her back, Teris turned and met Hawks’ gold eyes. Shouta felt a wave a pride at the way she fearlessly faced the Anzu.

Hawks watched Teris step to him. Holding her breath, she passed him and entered the room. Hawks’ eyes flicked to Shouta. He smiled at the Sphinx. Shouta's lip twitched, battling a snarl. The Anzu cocked his head at Shouta's unaffected stare.

“Feel free to go about your day. This may take a while. I plan on being exceedingly thorough.” Hawks goaded.

Shouta's hands balled into fists in his pockets. Claws formed and embedded in his palms.

Hawks’ eyes narrowed a fraction at the non-reaction. He smiled crookedly and shrugged. “Or stay and use your imagination.”

It took every ounce of restraint Shouta had not to bust down the door as soon as it snapped shut. The Elders exited the interview room drawing his attention.

While the others filed off in the opposite direction, His Purple Highness made his was to Shouta.

The tension in Shouta's shoulders eased. Annoying as His Purple Highness could be, the Dryad had been something of a parental figure. Well, more like the embarrassing Uncle that made open innuendos in polite conversation and forgot children were around. Still, His Purple Highness had done more than unspell him and argue for his life. He had given Shouta a home. The beginnings of a new pack to help ease the pain of the one he’d lost.

The Dryad King smiled warmly. “That interview couldn’t have been easy for you. You did well.”

“It was Teris’ interview.” Shouta said.

“She did well too.”

“She did.” Shouta agreed.

“You should tell her.”

“Tell her what?”

“That she did well.” His Purple Highness said.

Thinking the too proud Griffon likely thought she did well in everything she did, Shouta huffed. “She already knows.”

As he spoke, the Dryad added, voice mixing with the Sphinx. “And that you love her.”

Shouta looked at the Fourth and blinked. “What?”

“What?” His Purple Highness echoed.

Shouta's eyes narrowed at the Dryad’s overly innocent expression.

Certain Shouta had heard him, His Purple Highness went on. “Still, her interview had to have brought back memories of your own.”

“Maybe a bit.” Shouta begrudgingly admitted.

“I remember the day I found you hidden in a crevice deep inside that mountain cave.” His Purple Highness didn’t speak of the cave-ins, rubble, or multiple bones that had once been Shouta's home and pack. “Curled up and put to stone, you looked so tiny and helpless. It was clear you had been spelled not just for protection, but out of a great love and sense of hope. Even being put in hibernation during what had surely been a terrifying time, you looked peaceful holding that--”

Shouta's eyebrows furrowed. He had been holding something? What? He didn’t remember holding anything.

His Purple Highness chuckled, trying to cover and divert from the slip. He would tell Shouta about and give him the Griffon feather he’d found him with. But not now. It was far too dangerous for both Shouta and Teris. “You were a dirty mess but still one of the most beautiful and precious things I’ve seen in my life.”

Shouta’s scowled with an embarrassed blush. He ducked into his capture weapon trying to hide his flushed cheeks. Grateful his hair covered his warming ears.

“You’re getting sentimental in your old age.” Shouta muttered dryly.

“Deciding what to do with you was one of the hardest and easiest things I’ve done in my existence.” Thinking again of Teris’ feather clutched in Shouta's small hand, His Purple Highness said. “As soon as I unspelled you I thought I’d regret it. But I never did. Not even when faced with the fear and anger of my fellow Council Elders. Even now, after everything. I don’t regret it.”

“You mean after I’ve grown into a gruff grouch?” Shouta said with a toothy smile most found creepy.

“Well… Now that you mention it…”

The two chuckled. Shouta's low and short. His Purple Highness’ light and long.

“I’m almost sorry you’re leaving tomorrow.” Shouta said.

“Well, now that you mention it.” The Dryad grinned.

Shouta's expression darkened. “I said almost.”

“A King has duties to his people, Shouta. There’s a Harvest Moon tomorrow.”

Shouta cursed. With everything going on, he’d forgotten.

Oblvi had four Harvest Moons a year. One for each season. While most species only celebrated one Harvest Moon. Many elementals and species carrying a tie to the land celebrated all four. The fall Harvest Moon would be celebrated with bonfires and dancing. And of course release.

Many revelers would attend in their true form. It’s why humans took to wearing masks on the day. To appear like the ‘evil spirits’ they saw and not be set upon. But that was a long time ago. Thankfully travel to earth was now limited and illegal without proper pass. Though their were occasionally those that snuck through.

“You should come. You could use some fun.” His Purple Highness said.

“Walking around a forest full of loud, excited Fourth's is hardly what I call fun.” Shouta remarked.

“Hizashi is half High Elf.”

Shouta cursed again. High Elf’s were connected to the land. Of course Hizashi would want to and should participate. The celebration was more than just a festival. It had a physical effect on the Fourth's linked to nature.

“Teris should attend too.” His Purple Highness said.

“No.” Shouta's heckles rose at the thought of Teris accepting some revelers invitation to participate in the orgy known as the Sowing.

“I understand that Kai is instructing her. But as her Ilca leader you should be taking part in her learning.”

Shouta's lip twitched, biting back a snarl. Mind still on the Sowing, he imagined all the ways Kai was instructing her. It certainly didn’t help that Teris had returned yesterday smelling of sex and Kai.

“Bring your Ilca and just attend for the tamer beginning festivities.” His Purple Highness said. “Think of it as a lesson for Teris, and way to support Hizashi.”

Though he had denied His Purple Highness in the past, Shouta didn’t like to. He owed the Dryad. Even now His Purple Highness looked out for him. The least he could do was suffer an hour or two at the Harvest Moon Festival.

“Fine.” Shouta growled.

12.3

“Alone again.” Hawks smiled, seductively.

Trying to hide her unease Teris blustered. “If you kiss me again I’ll kill you.”

“I’m hurt. Like that lip you bit when I kissed you. I’m nothing if not professional, Teris. Now undress.”

“What!” Teris shrunk back clutching the neck of her tank top. She wished she’d worn more covering clothes.

“It’s an inspection. What’d you think I’d be looking over? Your resume?”

Teris swallowed. Her show of fear was giving him too much power. The Anzu’s toying smile and dancing eyes told of his enjoyment at her discomfort. Lowering her hand she met his shimmering gold eyes.

Hawks’ eyes narrowed. Anger and distress often caused a small show of a Fourth's true form. It’s probably why the Council Leader decided he would perform Teris’ inspection. Because he was good at playing with emotions and getting under peoples skin. But if Teris was going to bury her unease thus denying the opportunity of some display of her true form, then he had no other choice but to go through with the inspection. Not that he minded.

Teris looked Hawks over in judging distaste. “So are the Anzu some newly recognized species? I thought Hybrid’s were the only ones incapable of perfect human form.”

“Wow! Do you speak to Hizashi with that mouth?”

Teris grimaced. She really didn’t care. But given how much Kai made of it, thought it would be a sore spot to needle Hawks with.

“My species is a new old.” Hawks said, conversationally.

“A what?”

“Not new. Not old. And definitely not ancient. The wings and eye markings a show.” Hawks said of himself.

“Show of what?” Teris asked.

“You can put on that robe.” Hawks nodded to a covering hanging off the back of a chair.

“Show of what?” Teris pressed.

“Do you really wanna draw this out? Aizawa’s probably stayed standing outside. Waiting. Wondering.”

Teris lifted her chin. “I just want my question answered. Show of what?”

Hawks smirked. Proud. Stubborn. Entitled. He ticked the traits off in his head for later scrutiny. “Undress.”

“Turn around.”

Hawks’ smile grew. “I’m nothing if not a gentleman.”

Teris huffed. Hawks slowly turned away. She took a tentative step to the chair. Hawks looked over his shoulder making Teris pause.

“Just don’t go stabbing me in the back.”

“I’ll do more than that if you look back again.” Teris snarled.

“Ooo. Promise!” Hawks enthused. His wings opened and lifted creating a sort of screen between them that put Teris at ease.

Teris pulled off the tank top and hastily put on the robe. Her skin prickled at the touch of the cool silken fabric. It was shorter than she would've liked. Coming to just above her mid-thigh. But at least she wasn’t left in just her underwear. Not trusting Hawks, Teris turned away undoing her belt and pants.

Red feathers parted ever so slightly, a single gold eye peeking through. Hawks observed Teris’ movements more than her undressing. There were moments where she was fluid and graceful; like a cat. And others that reminded him of himself when agitated; quick and staccato. Bird like.

Back turned to the Anzu, Teris bent and pulled off her pants. Straightening, she felt a presence behind her and spun around. When had Hawks moved?

“Shall we begin?” Before Teris could respond, Hawks dropped into a squat in front of her.

Suddenly Hawks wrapped a hand around the back of her ankle and lifted her leg. Teris squeaked. Her body jerked, toes curling. Arms stretched out trying to help balance. She wobbled for a second but quickly steadied herself.

Hawks noted her reactive timing. And how she didn’t need the nearby chair. Though there was still no physical display of her true form.

“What the hell!” Teris squawked.

Interesting. While most voices took on a higher pitch when startled. There was a melodic chirp to Teris’ voice.

“Just checking your reflexes.” Hawks sung, Teris’ chirp bringing out the beastly bird in him. He set down her leg, hand and eyes running up the smooth flesh.

Teris shivered at the touch. When he got to her mid-thigh she stepped away.

Hawks met her glare with a smile. “I guess it would be rude to go any further without first buying you dinner. Other than Kai have you sought release with anyone else?”

“I’ve already done my interview.”

“So that’s a no.” Hawks declared. He got to his feet. “Since I’m staying on at Traverseen Hall for a while. Feel free to seek me out if you tire of Kai. Or just want some variety.”

“That’s never gonna happen.”

“I make it a point to never say never. Extend your arm.”

Teris did so. Allowing Hawks to push the sleeve of her robe up. He rotated her arm, hand and eyes examining the same way he had her leg. His fingers skimmed over the bracelet Shouta had given her. Teris tensed.

Hawks’ eyes narrowed and lifted taking in every minute expression. His fingers trailed down her palm, opening up her hand. Head lowering to the pulse point of her wrist, he breathed deeply. Her hereditary scent was definitely less distinct than it had been yesterday. And there was a muddled something to it that hadn’t been there before.

While it didn’t matter to him since he’d been unable to recognize her species scent. He wondered if any of the Council Elders would've been able to tell what she was if not for the obscuring difference.

His eyes focused on the bracelet she wore. The bracelet that hadn’t been on her wrist yesterday when her species scent was clear and distinctive. He wondered who gave it to her. Aizawa was the obvious choice since she hadn’t had it when she’d come from Kai, smelling of sex and the Dragon. Why would Kai want to muddle her species scent anyway? Then again, why would Shouta?

A talon sprung from his nail-bed, pricking the pad of Teris’ finger. Teris’ hand jerked back. She licked the small puncture. Hawks marked her treatment of the wound. The list of possible species she could be narrowed by small degrees.

“Take off the robe.”

Teris bared her teethed. “No.”

Hawks met her challenging glare with a mask of stern command.

“Why’d you give me the thing if you were gonna make me take it off?” Teris asked. “Trying to lure me into false comfort? Or do you just like toying with people?”

Like toying with people? Hawks thought. No. But I’m good at it. Trained at it. Along with a host of other things. Hawks’ mask of determination melted into one of mock sympathy. “What the Council giveth the Council can easily taketh away.”

Teris’ eyes widened thinking of Shouta and Kai’s lives. At Hawks’ smirk, her expression hardened. “You’re not the Council.”

“You’re right. But I am working for them. We all must obey and dance to the Council's tune if we wish to keep our lives and freedom. Now take off the robe.”

Teris paused. Caught between fearful compliance and proud defiance.

Seeing her hesitance, Hawks took pity and cajoled. “I told you. I’m nothing if not professional.”

“You’ve been far from professional.”

“It’s just a job, Little Bird.”

“Names like that make it seem more than a job.” Teris glared.

“Have you never enjoyed a job?” Hawks questioned. He both hated and loved this one. Teris was fun. The puzzle of figuring out what she was a unique challenge. Only trouble he had with the task was Teris was new to this world. She wasn’t like the others he’d spied on and lured into traps in the past. She was truly innocent and unprepared for the ways Oblvi worked and was run. And he had to pray on that innocence to get his answers.

It’s just a job, Hawks comforted himself. If he didn’t do it the Council Leader would send someone else, and he’d be ruined. Never mind what his Secret Boss who ordered him to watch Teris would do.

Suddenly Hawks was in her face. Teris pulled her head back only to have Hawks grab under her jaw, fingers pinching in her cheeks. He pulled her forward. Their noses almost touching. Hawks’ eyes darted over her face. His hair tickled her forehead.

Teris’ breath caught in her throat. Her eyes widened, unfocusing. The action was reminiscent of the way the scarred man use to grab and examine her, spitting terrifying words in her face.

Hawks’ wings sagged. No sign of her true form. Releasing her, he stepped back. “Robe off. Now.”

Heart hammering in her chest Teris untied the fabric belt with trembling hands. She tried to steady her breathing, telling herself the scarred man wasn’t here. He and his blue flames couldn’t hurt her.

The robe slipped from her shoulders. Hawks watched it puddled on the floor at her feet. Taking a fortifying breath, he schooled his features and lifted his eyes. Teris’ hips turned to the side. She crossed her arms shielding her bra covered breasts. The action squeezed her tits together enhancing her enticing cleavage.

Stay on target, Hawks told himself. This is a job. Not a pleasure. Yeah, but with a sight like that it kinda makes it a bit of both, he argued with himself. She doesn’t want you and there’s a Sphinx waiting outside that’ll tear you apart if you step out of line, he reminded.

Hawks slowly circled her. Booted feet deafening in the silence. Teris shivered. Though she couldn’t say if it was from the chill or Hawks’ roving gaze. She felt him stop behind her and bit her lip, fighting the urge to look back at him.

Fingers plucked the waistband of her panties. Teris spun around.

“Just checking for a tail.” Hawks smiled, crookedly. His eyes sharpened. Still no sign of her true form.

“Are we done?”

“Almost. Just wanna try one more thing.”

“Try for what?” Teris scowled. She yelped and turned, something tickling the back of her leg. It was one of Hawks’ feathers.

Hawks stepped to her. With a practiced snap of the bra strap he had her bra unhooked.

One arm clutched to her chest, Teris spun back around, other hand lifted. Hawks had but a moment to see the mild display. But a moment was all he needed. In place of peach fuzz there were tiny quills gracing Teris’ cheeks.

Her hand connected. The slap sharp and loud. Hawks’ head wrenched to the side. He held his throbbing cheek. The stinging skin hot under the palm of his hand.

Teris bent, free hand grabbing the robe. She grasped the fabric to her. “Out! This so called inspection is finished. We’re done.”

Feather re-attaching to his wing, Hawks turned to the door. The inspection might be done. But he was far from finished.

***This fic will have a LOT more world building than my others. Please feel free to comment or send me an ask if you have any questions.

Thank you to those who have left hearts. And a special thank you to those who have left comments and/or reblogged. They really mean a lot.

Special thank you to @inorganicone2230 who knows of my love for the mythic and encouraged me to start this fic without stressing about the other two I’ve got going. Your friendship means the world to me.

#aizawa shouta #kai chisaki #yamada hizashi #His Purple Highness #bnha #lost song

9 notes · View notes

reading-writing-revolution · 4 years

Text

This is truly magnificent analysis. It's a bit of a long read, but it is ABSOLUTELY magically clarifying. I'll include my thoughts in a follow-up because this is perfectly in line with something I've been thinking about for a while.

Buckle up, this one is a bit of a roller coaster.

Let’s talk population density.

Do you know the population density of the zip code you live in?

What about the population density of where you spent your formative years?

That’s a bit of a rhetorical question, because I’m guessing the answer is no. I certainly didn’t, so I’d be impressed and surprised if I asked someone this question in casual conversation and they rattled off the number to me.

I’d never thought about population density until I traveled to India in 2018. We flew into Mumbai which has a population density of 75,000 people per sq. mi. To give you some perspective, NYC has 27,000 per sq. mi. (post originally said 10,431people but that is per sq. km. not mi.) and as most of my friends are familiar with King of The Hammers, in Johnson Valley, when Hammertown doesn’t exist, it has a population density of 15.2 people per sq. mi.

Mumbai has the highest population density of any city in the world, and until you’ve experienced it, it’s hard to describe. If you have ever been in the first 10 rows of a sold-out standing room only concert, that is as close as I can relate to how people move through the streets of Mumbai. There is literally no such thing as personal space. Not for you, not for your vehicle. I think one of the most fascinating things our entire group realized in Mumbai is whatever you do, do NOT stop. Merge in, merge out, but sudden stops cause pile ups of humans, vehicles, etc. Everything is in fluid motion, when you step into the stream you go with the current, when you need to leave the stream you move to the edges and hop out. What was also interesting was the lack of rage or frustration we saw, and the lack of accidents! I don’t think I saw two people yell at each other the entire time we were there. Same with car accidents, I saw one slight bumper brush. Nothing worth stopping over, as every car had marks from similar encounters.

You would think with so much closeness fights would break out often, accidents would be on every corner. But something strange happens. There is no space for the individual in that type of population density. If you wanted to stop and be mad or outraged, you would literally be trampled. So you move with the flow, or you step outside of it. One person cannot go against the current and be successful, individual needs simply cannot matter for society to function in that type of population density. This is different from NYC where you do see individuals disagree on street corners. Because even as dense as NYC is there is room for the individual. Even our most densely populated cities are nothing compared to other countries. America has space and the individual has rights.

When this country was founded the population density of even our biggest cities was a fraction of large cities in Europe. Which is why our constitution so heavily outlines the liberties and freedoms of the individual compared to places like England where their population density even today is 10 times that of the United States as a whole.

Ever since news of the pandemic broke I’ve found myself fascinated with population density in the US. This fascination started because it seemed obvious to me that the transmission of COVID would happen far faster in our highest population density areas of the country. Wikipedia has a list of cities by population density. Here’s how the top 20 most dense cities breaks down: 9 in New Jersey (NYC metro area),4 in CA (LA metro area), 3 in NY (NYC metro area), 2 in Florida (Miami metro area), 1 in Mass (Boston metro area), and 1 in Kentucky (Louisville). Except for Kentucky these population dense areas directly correlate to the highest areas of infection in the country.

But my fascination with population density didn’t stop at the pandemic. I wanted to understand population densities of different areas. I started looking up places I’d lived and visited that felt both dense and sparse population wise. It should come as no surprise that cities are always the most dense and rural areas are always the most sparse.

Then as the mask debate started unfolding in my newsfeed, I found myself loosely assigning a population density to people as they made their stance on masks known. Those that lived in higher population densities were usually more for masks than those who lived in less population dense areas.

Again, this made sense. Those that live in cities encounter more people in a day going about their routine. If they live in high-density housing, they share elevators, stairwells, mailrooms, lobbies, etc. The needs of the individual matter less the higher the density, so fighting the mask goes against the stream. You can do it, but it’s not easy.

Those I know that live more rural were less inclined to want to wear masks. I’ve found a general rule of thumb in casual conversation is if you can walk to your nearest market (even if it’s a gas station or 7/11), you understand the need for a mask. If you MUST drive to your nearest market, you likely don’t have to encounter many people in a day if you choose not to, and masks feel like just another unnecessary restriction imposed by the government. The individual has more freedoms and rejects government oversight more the lower the population density.

At some point this year I saw some people sharing an image of the US broken up by red states (Republican) vs. blue states (Democrat), compared to a map of COVID cases. At the time, the blue states almost directly correlated to where the highest COVID outbreaks were happening. The conclusion those sharing this map were trying to draw was that COVID was political and made up by the political leaders of blue states. It was largely those living in unaffected areas sharing this map and drawing these conclusions.

What I took from these images was that the higher the density the more likely an area was to be run by Democrats. Which lead me down a rabbit hole. Apparently, someone named Dave Troy noticed the same thing, and wrote an interesting article based on the 2012 election between Obama and Romney. 98% of the 50 most dense counties voted Obama. 98% of the 50 least dense counties voted Romney.

And this Dave guy sounds like someone I would enjoy having a discussion with. Because this data drew him to the same question I had. Where is the crossover point in population density between those that vote Republican vs. those that vote Democrat? The data says that at about 800 people per sq. mi. people switch from voting primarily Republican to voting primarily Democrat. Below 800 people per sq. mi. there is a 66% chance that you voted Republican in 2012. The data doesn’t appear much different in the following years.

So why does this matter? Because how you were raised and how you live has a huge impact on what matters to you from your politicians and your government.

Those I know that grew up in less dense areas had to be self-reliant. When calling 911 means you’re likely waiting 20 minutes or longer for police, an ambulance, or a fire truck. You have to be able to defend yourself, handle your own first aid, and rely on your neighbors to help in critical emergency situations. When I tell people in Southern California that where I grew up had volunteer firefighters and EMTs they don’t believe me.

The more rural you are, the less you rely on government entities for your day-to-day needs. The most rural have well water, septic systems, take their trash to the dump, if it snows, they have a vehicle that can plow, and the truly rural use propane for power and heat. They are not reliant on most services provided by the public utilities. They use guns as tools to protect their animals and their family from prey and from vermin. They do not really encounter homeless people, as even the poorest can usually find a shack to live out of and require a vehicle to get around. These people in less dense areas do not depend on the government to solve their problems. They’d prefer government stay out of their lives completely. Less taxes, less oversight, less being told what to do. To the rural, it seems like every time the government interferes in their life, they lose another freedom, and their quality of life diminishes.

Those I know that grew up in more dense areas are used to calling 911 to handle emergencies. Their streets are swept in the summer and plowed in the winter. Their trash is picked up on the same day weekly. They don’t have space for cars and tools, so they tend to take public transportation or walk. They call someone when something breaks that requires tools they don’t own. They are used to encountering the homeless on the streets as part of their daily life. The truly poor and homeless usually end up in cities as the services to help the sick, mentally ill and the poorest among us are more available in dense areas. So the wealthy interact with the poor in cities far more than they do in rural areas. Those in higher density areas are willing to pay for government services because they are a regular part of their daily lives and make life more manageable. Without these services, the quality of life they know would not exist.

This got me thinking about some research I did a few years ago, when I learned that the average American only lives 18 miles from their mother. Those in NY and PA only live on average 8 miles from their mothers. From Kentucky to Louisiana the average is 6 miles. Less than 20% of Americans live more than a few hours drive from mom. The further you move from home depends greatly on your education and income. For the most part, the wealthier you are, the more you can pay for child and elder care, making it easier to travel further from home. Also, the more educated, the more likely you are to travel to utilize your education in a specialized career field.

So what does this have to do with population density? Most Americans never leave the population density we were raised in. Why does this matter? Because that means most Americans can’t understand or relate to the needs of those that live in population densities that differ from their own.

My friends that have been raised in cities see guns primarily as a source of violence. My friends that live rurally see guns as a necessary tool for their way of life. My friends that have been raised rurally don’t understand the need for taxes and government services, where they come from you take care of your own problems. My friends that live in cities, could not imagine a life without public utilities and governmental oversight of social problems.

Neither are wrong. Their needs and perspective are just vastly different.

I also realized that I’m probably in a small percentage of the American population. I have spent the last 20 years living more than 2500 miles from my closest family members, which puts me into the 20% category plus I was raised and lived in both high density population areas and low density population areas throughout my life.

Here’s my life by population density:

Age: 0-10 Zip: 14613 Pop Dens: 7323.5 people per sq. mi.

Age: 11-18 Zip: 14468 Pop Dens: 345 people per sq. mi.

Age: 18-22 Zip: 14850 Pop Dens: 5,722 people per sq. mi.

Age: 25-32 Zip: 92606 Pop Dens: 4,913 people per sq. mi.

Age: 33-43 Zip: 91773/91750 Pop Dens 2,163/1245 people per sq. mi.

I went to inner city schools as a young child. I was upset that my mother could not put my hair in corn rows with the pretty beads like my friends wore. I learned civil rights songs taught to me by our bi-racial music teacher and came home and sang them for my disapproving father who was raised in Shinglehouse, PA with a population density of 26.5 people per sq. mi.

Then at the age of 11 my family moved out of the city and into the country. We lived on 20+ acres of land and the population was 98% white. I didn’t walk to school anymore, heck, we didn’t really walk to our neighbor’s house because country roads don’t have sidewalks.

Then I went away to college for 4 years where I lived part of that time on the 11th floor of a tower, with a shared elevator, lobby, and I didn’t own a car. I walked everywhere, took the bus or would grab a ride from my few friends with cars if it wasn’t feasible to take public transportation.

After college I moved to Southern California. I spent my first 10 years as an adult mostly living in condos and townhomes in wealthier higher density areas, where I would say the majority leaned slightly left, but there was a fiscally conservative undertone. But I spent most weekends taking my Jeep to lower population density areas to live a life more closely to what I had on the farm growing up. Less government oversights. No one ticketing my Jeep for a few stickers as a commercial vehicle, etc.

Currently, I live in Los Angeles County, one of the highest populations in the country. But I live in one of the lowest density zip codes within that county. We have horse property and rodeos, and one of the only country bars in Southern California. Our population is almost completely split down the middle between left and right. I don’t have a sidewalk but a half a mile down the road they do. I can walk to the 7/11 and the subway around the corner but need to drive to the closest grocery store.

I’ve come to realize that just about every polarizing debate I see my friends having; I can see both sides of the argument. And I’m starting to suspect it’s because I’ve lived in both their worlds. I can relate and understand their needs and where they are coming from because I’ve experienced each of their way of life to a certain extent. Most in this country are raised one way and live that way for life. And how we want to live really comes down to the population density in which we have existed.

I truly believe our population density experience matters more to our political views than education, income, race, gender or sexuality.

As a society we are so wrapped up in left vs. right. Liberal vs. conservative. We figure out which we identify with and lump every social/political issue we agree with into “our” category, and everyone we disagree with into “their” category. I don’t see this really helping us hear each other any better. It more results in people trying to prove why they are right.

Since I’ve started considering people’s population density experiences in life (if I know them and have a reasonable idea) I have found a new filter with which to view information that is far more conducive to understanding their point of view than the filters we currently use.

Mark Twain once wrote, “Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one's lifetime.”

And while I think there’s some truth to that, travel in Mark Twain’s day and age is different than how we travel today. For instance, when I go to Baja, I like to stay in the small towns and eat at the local restaurants. But I have many friends that only go to all inclusive resorts, or stay in tourist areas, never venturing outside of the luxury they are there to enjoy. They don’t spend time in the rural areas seeing what life is really like. Traveling with ULTRA4 and for off road has kept me outside of most tourist areas. Where there’s only one place to stay and you have to explore local eating options. Seeing the countryside and how people live both in US and in Europe. I prefer to travel this way.

Many of us with the means to travel prefer to vacation how we live. The more rural we live day to day, the less spending a week in NYC sounds like fun. But going camping in the woods likely appeals to us. And those that live in cities, tend to not choose wilderness adventures for their downtime. The travel to help us see how other people live that existed in Twain’s time doesn’t really happen in our service oriented society where restaurants and hotels are abundant most places. We can eat at the same restaurants and sleep at the same hotels from one side of the country to the other. We’ve stopped getting outside of our own bubbles even when we travel.

I don’t know what we can do that would expose us to other ways of life like travel in Twain’s age did. But we probably need to figure it out to stop the divide from separating this country further.

From the beginning of 1900s through the Vietnam War between 7 and 9 percent of Americans were in military service. Today less than 0.5% of Americans serve in the military. That was one way that we used to expose Americans to life outside of what they grew up with. College is another way, but as costs have risen, more students continue to live at home and attend community colleges or local universities vs. leaving home to experience a different way of life between 18 and 22.

I find myself thinking about kids who go off to the army or away to college. They are forced outside their comfort zones. Some thrive there, some don’t. But they learn a different way of existing, at least for a little while. The type of travel Mark Twain is talking about. Part of me wonders if we shouldn’t offer some sort of service requirement for our youth between say 18 and 20 that requires them to get involved in something to help the country, away from where they were raised, military or civil service. If they were raised in a city, working on rural projects. If they were raised rurally, working on urban projects. Just to have a frame of reference for how diverse this country truly is and how different our needs are based on that diversity. But this is a topic for another day. You’ve already been too kind reading this far.

I don’t have the answers. But I’m glad I’ve finally put down some of the thoughts I’ve had floating around in my head regarding population density. Kudos to those of you that stuck it out.

If you’re like me and are curious about your own population density experiences, I’ve included a link in the comments where you can throw in zip codes and see what your exposure has been.

https://medium.com/@davetroy/is-population-density-the-key-to-understanding-voting-behavior-191acc302a2b

7 notes · View notes

yoaridk · 4 years

Text

~Disgusting Feeling~ (One-Shot)

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: Invader Zim.

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences.

Warnings: This fic is a ZaDe and has hints of DaTr and ZaGr (if the shipps are not to your liking please refrain from reading), character death and ambiguous plot.

Relationships: Zim/Gaz and Dib/Tak

Characters: Zim (Invader Zim), Gaz (Invader Zim), Dib (Invader Zim), Tak (Invader Zim).

Additional Tags: Drama & Romance, Angst and Tragedy, Family Drama, Tragic Romance, Interspecies, RomanceZAGR - Freeform, Zim and Gaz Romance, Top Zim (Invader Zim), Badass Zim (Invader Zim), Zim Rules the Earth, Zim is an Invader after all, Strange feelings, Dib suffering, Partner Betrayal, Duty is everything.

Summary:

Feelings are not part of the programming of Irken soldiers and their race in general, not when the ultimate goal of their existence has always been conquest and ambition. Love? Compassion? Affect? These were weaknesses that made them vulnerable in their condition. Dib understands it to the worst way he can imagine, Zim is a monster in every sense of the word.

~*~

"It's the most horrible creature I've ever seen in my life."

That´s the only thought in Dib's mind as he lies on his knees in front of the ostentatious throne of his worst enemy. The black surface of polished marble reflects the horror of his gaze when he observes the vile creature, a creature who instead returns the gesture with lazy grace, transmitting power, strength and something that Dib catalogs as a mantle of death around him.

Dib's fists clench, hating the fact of staying in an unfavorable position for not saying disadvantageous and resisting frustration at the vain attempt to stand up. The marks on his wrists remind him of how exhausted he is and how weak his body feels because of the blood he lost during his fight to reach his freedom.

One that unfortunately never came.

“So?” The creature's tone is barely a mocking hiss."Human, did you really believe that Tak had those inferior feelings for you?”

The derogatory tone does´t go unnoticed by Dib, much less the slight tinge of twisted fun that mixes in it. Cruelty is not unknown for him after all, growing up at the expense of it became something inherent in his life.

A misunderstood child whom everyone always labeled as mentally ill. No less than the shame of a successful father and recognized by those same people...

A father that Zim murdered mercilessly when chaos spread throughout the world.

“Where is she? Where do you have her, Zim?” Dib calls in his despair. “I swear if you did something her... if you hurt her, I...”

"You are even more foolish than I thought." Interrupts the Irken, rising slowly to rise even more above the human from the ostentatious throne he occupies. “Hurt her?” The vibrations of Zim's boots at approaching echo through the room. “Oh, dirty beast, don't you know?”

The weight of this affair records a bad omen in Dib.

“Know what?” He doesn't quite understand the weight of words and feels fear settling in his being.

Zim looks at him in a way that suggests he doesn't consider him very clever and Dib's face pales at the alien's tacit expression.

"You're really pathetic." The Irken shows his peculiar zipper teeth in a smile wickedly sinister half. “Do you know how you got here Dib?” The question lacks genuine curiosity and it´s intentions have the whole purpose of being derogatory.

No more than one uncomfortable and silent minute passes in which Dib is not able to answer that question, and in general that is because the answer really remains a mystery to him. The last thing he remembers is running away from the Zim soldiers before receiving an impressive discharge and then losing consciousness and waking up in one of the specialized cells for the members of the resistance. The following is horror and the beginning of hell.

“Your stupid soldiers! They ambushed Tak and Me to one of your traps.” The pieces fit perfectly creating the only plausible answer, Dib has no doubt that that is what happened.

The pleasure dances in the alien factions of Zim at the words of his enemy, ignorance and naivety are the blessing of idiots like Dib.

"You fell directly into a trap, yes, but I assure you disgusting beast that the credit of such ambush is not mine."

Zim's words blink into Dib's gaze briefly as if they had managed to hit a nerve in him and seconds later the alien sees beyond the human, urging him to follow his example, surprise hits Dib so hard that his feet falter threatening with sinking it further into the ground.

“Tak?” Dib whispers with growing disbelief, running around the silhouette of the Irken woman with his eyes, although she doesn´t seem to answer his call. What is happening? “You are alive!" He try again with the hope that this time she dignifies her words even with a simple nod.

The statement doesn´t have the expected effect and Dib frowns, Zim's laugh breaks the charm of the reunion filling the air of uncertainty and malice.

“So you still don't guess?” Zim asks in a hard and ruthless voice, yearning to see the expression of who has been his nemesis for years and a hindrance in all those plans that ended in failure. “Please Invader Tak, help this dirty human to better understand the nature of your loyalty to the empire.”

Dib shudders when Tak's silhouette leaves the shelter that the shadows provide her from the other side of the room, and to his bitter disappointment he realizes that Zim is not boasting with empty words.

“What…?” The face of the human shows some confusion, but any doubt dissipates when Dib seeks sincerity in Tak's gaze and any sign of denial in the face of such an assertion.

Doesn´t find it.

Dib's eyes dodge Tak and get stuck in some empty spot in that room, so remember, recognize and he horrified by the truth. That Tak's offer to overthrow Zim's advances on the planet was nothing more than a tactic to take him straight into a trap, the ultimate end of that alliance has nothing to do with Zim's fall and all with his revenge to him.

Dib's mind and heart are breaks.

“Why? I trusted you!” The boy simultaneously questions and protests, shaking his head as if with that simple action he could expel the betrayal thoughts that flood his mind.

Dib is sad when he recognizes that the small moments of complicity and sincerity that he shared with the alleged ex invader meant absolutely nothing to her, perhaps, he thought, he longed for a bit of company and understanding on the part of anyone in the middle of hell they were living. No one could blame him for placing his trust in the first `person´ who held out a hand with the promise of helping him in his cause.

"I had no choice." She just says, feeling the need that she didn't need to explain more and assuming is better that way. Will help make what comes next much easier for both of they.

"Yes, you had, but you preferred to take sides with the monster you swore to take revenge on." He corrects painfully in each of his words and gives her a look of disapproval.

The invader opens her mouth as if she were going to respond but says nothing because she doesn´t find the valid argument to refute the human's words, however Tak doesn´t believe she can explain and justify her actions. At this point any explanation is left over.

Instead, she regains the determination necessary to end the matter once and for all.

"Well, you already have him Zim, now you can send him to that prison on one of Saturn's moons." The only reason she ended up in that situation was because of Zim's promise to keep Dib alive by banishing him to that prison.

The former invader has a backup plan to amend the damage she has done to the human.

Zim lets out another shrill laugh as if what Tak had just say him was nothing more than a funny joke, then cleared his throat before speaking.

"The plans have changed Tak but I appreciate your help in bringing this scum to me." The alien replies dryly, hardening his countenance. "I will remember your loyalty when I kill the human." With a wave of his hands Zim calls the guards that waiting patiently for his signal.

Three soldiers approach the Irken girl to catch her, two hold her hands and the third one positions and presses the tip of his weapon on Tak's back.

“What? Don´t!” She fights trying to get out of the soldiers grip when they drag her to the door to take her to one of the cells."You're a damn traitor Zim, you promised me you wouldn't hurt Dib!”

The guards take her out before she could finish her prayer. Dumbfounded by the events, Dib cries out Tak's name again and again hoping she can get rid of her captors, but hope dies when He doesn't perceive her voice after a while.

"Tak was as pathetic as you after all." Zim says in a hiss to no one in particular. “Harbor such inferior feelings for a pathetic creature is not worthy of an invader.” He boasts, but his tone keeps disgusted by the simple idea.

After all, feelings are not part of the programming of Irken soldiers and their race in general, not when the ultimate goal of their existence was always conquest and ambition. Love? Compassion? Affect? They were weaknesses that made them vulnerable in their condition.

Dib pays attention to the words of his enemy recognizing hypocrisy in them, Zim has the nerve to take human feelings as the worst blasphemies for his people when he has also professed those emotions.

“What about you?” Dib dares to question with the intention of erasing that smug smile on the despicable face of the alien. “You are nothing but a hypocrite in accusing Tak of pathetic when you also has felt affection for a human, Zim.”

Zim changes his expression of arrogance for one of shock mixed with slight indignation, although it only lasts a fraction of a second before recomposing and facing that human. It doesn't take him a minute to unravel the meaning in Dib's words and frowns at the grief that arises when memories stir within his mind.

The Irken murmurs a curse in his alien lenguage before approaching the human and putting his heavy boot on Dib's shoulder to sink him further into the ground, rubbing it again and again delighting in the groans of pain from his enemy.

“Are you going to deny it, damn unhappy monster?” Dib's face comes down to a grimace of pain and his voice is barely audible to fill the room but if to reach Zim. He hopes to see some hint in him, anything that answers the question he has had for many years.

The alien clicks his teeth towards Dib before removing his boot on him and turning to surround the human, he walks from side by side maintaining the necessary distance between the two although the possibility of escape from the boy is void. A hint of disdain touches Zim's factions in the face of Dib's boldness, it is a subject he continually avoids and has in mind despite the years.

"I admit that I had these... feelings for little Gaz." Zim have a sudden crackles heat inside him as he pronounce his former lover's name. “But you are wrong Dib beast, Gaz was not a human more of your dirty race, she knew how to recognize the inferiority of her species and despise them for their stupidity, I must admit that little Gaz had enough vision to be taken a account by someone so superior like Zim.”

Of course, Gaz , the thought reinforces a smile on the alien. Despite the time, Zim still remembers the approach he had with the sister of his worst enemy; the video games, the time she shared at his base repeating him how ineffective his plans were, Zim's mania for pleasing her mundane and ridiculous desires. And the interaction, the feeling of company that made his stay less boring on that deplorable planet.

Many other details and moments were marked in the alien's memory. Love? His species does not know the term or anything remotely similar to it, however Zim could classify the strange and annoying feeling for the girl as such. Maybe.

"No Zim, if you had loved Gaz, you wouldn't has left her alone before her death." Dib's voice is barely a low growl full of rage that drips down the ostentatious room, Zim lies and is certain that the affirmation of the feeling of Love to his sister on his part is totally false. “And you wouldn't have killed our father on your return.” No, that was not love . Dib finishes the sentence in his mind but his eyes in rage reflect the thought.

Dib's hands sting to circle Zim's slender neck and twist him to extinguish his miserable life to avenge his father and all those who died since his return to earth. Underestimating Zim was perhaps the worst mistake made.

The Irken shrugs as if the claim of the professor's death wasn´t much and in reality for Zim it isn´t, Membrana as well as other humans are obstacles in their way to take the planet and prove to the Tallest their worth as an invader, being this the last and true opportunity.

It has taken several years for him to have that mission again and he doesn´t plan to let his opportunity be ruined.

"You will see Dib, unlike your dirty inferior species, the Irken race has only one purpose in its existence." Zim retakes up the previous action of surrounding the human while he explains, moves with sinuous grace in front of him. “The expansion of the empire and the destruction of all inferior life that crosses the road, for thousands of years the empire has been responsible for the ruin of hundreds of planets. That is the purpose of our race, to grow until everything is part of it.”

Yes, Zim is nothing but a monster. Dib thinks, avoiding the desire to get up and kill the alien right there. The Irkens are really a universal plague: they infest, consume and destroy other planets in order to quench their hunger for domination and power.

“Invaders like Tak and I shouldn´t have such inferiors feelings because they are a setback to our missions.” Zim's eyes narrow and his lips twist in sardonic humor.

“You said you loved her!” Dib replies, also remembering Tak's words.

A dark emotion flames on life in Zim's eyes.

"Of course I did Dib." The Irken tilts a slight smile that denotes little humor on his lips, but is just a grimace at the awareness of what he will say next. “Zim loved his love-pig very much, but as much as I loved your sister, I also realized that this feeling was only an obstacle to my mission.” He stops to observe the frank disbelief in the human.

“What do you mean Zim?” It takes Dib a moment to recognize something else in Zim's speech and just a moment to feel the bad omen in the response he was about to receive.

Zim's expression hardens and Dib understands that his assumptions are true, something doesn't feel right. A strange sensation settles deep within his heart.

"That even if I loved little Gaz a lot, I had to do what was necessary to do my duty as an invader." The malicious gleam in Zim's eyes goes out when he releases his next words. “I admit that ending Gaz's life was perhaps the hardest thing I've ever done. It hurt me to implant those Nanobots in her bloodstream to weaken her defenses and make they think it was an autoimmune disease.” Despite the broken tone, Zim's expression shows no regret."

Dib blinks at the blunt confession. The premise that the death of his sister was caused by Zim generates a state of shock in him.

"You..." Dib throws a dark glance at the alien when the feeling of sickening settles in the mouth of his stomach.

"I understood that if I continued with this situation I would never achieve my purpose and even if I returned to Irk or some other distant planet, I would end up returning to be stay with her." Zim ignores the look on Dib and continues his rant with grim determination.

A low hiss is heard from Dib's lips and in an outburst of renewed determination he gathers forces to stand up and rush against the despicable Irken who dared to boast about the murder of his little sister. The impact bounces and echoes through the cold walls of the room, the force is such that it throws Zim on the floor in just a second.

Dib's breathing is agitated and his emotions turbulent and violent with the desire for death characteristic of the instinct for revenge. But the victory lasts less than a blink when Zim stabs Dib's side with one of his PAK legs.

“Soldiers!” Zim screams angered by such a grievance by a disgusting human and the least he can do with it is to give him the punishment he deserves. Four soldiers arrive to him shortly after that call. “Throw the human into the reinforced containment cell and prepare what is necessary for its execution this afternoon.” Zim's lethal tone doesn´t go unnoticed by subordinates.

A dismissive wave of his hand is enough for the soldiers to abide by the order immediately taking Dib, and the human is not even strong enough to fight after the outburst of previous violence.

Dib is dragged to his destination to find death a few hours later and Zim looks at the human with cold disdain for having awaken the feelings inside. The hand of the Irken migrates to a compartment in his PAK from which he removes an object that he has been carrying with him for years protecting him as an invaluable treasure.

The sharp claws hold the pendant of a necklace with such delicacy, the Invader looks longingly the object and sighs with regret admitting that he still misses his lover's company; He only hopes that the sacrifice is worthwhile to reaffirm his loyalty to the empire.

End.

~*~

A/N:

This thing started as a vague idea and it took me almost two weeks to finish writing it... I was inspired by the Guardians of the Galaxy scene vol. 2, when Ego tells Peter the truth about his mother's death and I said why not? And finally this was the final result.

I had a lot of fun writing this, I think it's been my favorite fic of all the ones I've written so far.

Sorry if the story is flawed, this is a translation or at least an attempt at translation... my English is bad.

Anyway, I hope you like it and in advance thank you for reading

#zagr #zim #gaz #invader zim #fanfiction #iz #one-shot #zim x gaz #zim iz #gazlene membrane #zim y gaz #romance #drama #tragedy #dib #dib membrane #tak #datr

46 notes · View notes

jeannereames · 4 years

Note

Hi i have a follow up question to your latest ask. I tried looking through your asks if you had answered something similar but only found a post about your book which is also good but not exactly what i was looking for haha. Anyway, so I was wondering what sources we have showing or referencing the historical alexanders relationship to achilles? And maybe his mothers too. Is it just in later authors works? Is it based on lost sources from alexanders time? Are there coins or anything? Thanks (:

TL;DR version: we don’t have anything from Alexander’s own day that firmly connects him to Achilles. His coins all show Herakles, and then later himself “Heraklized.”

IF the armor in Tomb II at Vergina is his (e.g., it’s his half-brother Arrhidaios in there, not Philip II), then we may have an artistic reference on the magnificent shield recovered and reconstructed via archaeological magic. The shield’s central boss shows Achilles killing Penthesileia. Is that the “Shield of Achilles” Alexander supposedly picked up at Troy, and then carried in battle like a standard? Maybe. But, either way, it’s a reference to Achilles.

Otherwise, Achilles just doesn’t show up in Macedonian artwork. As he was supposedly from Epiros next door west, that may not be a big surprise, whereas Herakles (who’s all over the place) was believed to be the ancestor of the Argead clan. Alexander’s claim to Achilles came through Mommy, Olympias.

So virtually ALL our references to Alex and Achilles are from literary sources. And those are also ALL later. Which brings us to our source problem….

—————————————

The sources for Alexander are a regular Gordion Knot. We’re gonna get into the weeds here. Stay with me. And you may want to bookmark this for yourself if you need a handy (if saucy) later reference on the Alexander sources.

I’m not sure how much the asker already knows, but let me lay out some basics for everyone, including common terminology. You can probably suss out a lot from context, but just to be clear:

“Primary” evidence means documents and materials from the time period under consideration, and “secondary” evidence means modern authors assembling/editing and writing about those sources. When we look at the ancient world, primary evidence refers to documents (writings, including inscriptions), artwork (vases, sculptures, mosaics, etc.), and material evidence (e.g., “stuff” unearthed by archaeologists).

Obviously, only a fraction of what once existed has survived. Sometimes we know of writings that are no longer “extant.” Extant means a document we still have, or at least have most of. We hear about a lot more via “testamonia” and “fragmenta.” Testamonia are mention of a document (or author) found in another document. And fragmenta are pieces of a lost work (typically) embedded as quotes in somebody else’s work. Unfortunately, ancient authors don’t always admit where they get their information. “Citing” wasn’t a thing, back then.

Now, that out of the way, let’s take a look at Alexander sources in particular.

We have 5 extant histories/biographies for Alexander, more than virtually any other ancient figure. That’s great!

Problem. Not a single one was written by anyone who knew him, saw him, or even lived when he did. Two of them aren’t even in Greek; they’re in Latin. I’ve listed them below from earliest to latest, with approximate dates, and a bit of info about the author. (While I prefer Greek transliterations, I’m using the most common spelling of the names for familiarity.)

Diodorus Siculus, Bibliotheca Historica, specifically books 16 (Philip), 17 (Alexander), 18-20 (Successors). As “world histories,” they do talk about events in other places, including Syracuse, Athens, Sparta, and Rome. As his name suggests, Diodorus was from Sicily, and died c. 30 BCE, just as the Roman Republic was morphing into Empire. We have only books 1-5 and 11-20 of a total of 40. Books 18-20 are incomplete (fragments).

THIS IS OUR EARLIEST EXTANT SOURCE: a guy who lived in the first century BCE and was born almost 300 years after Philip of Macedon.

Let that sink in a moment.

Curtius Rufus, Historiae Alexandri Magni, is the better known of our two Latin histories. The author is a mystery, which complicates dating it. He lived under the empire, while the Parthians existed. A consul suffectus in late 43 CE (Claudius) has been proposed as him, but speculation abounds he might have used a nom de plume—not unlike a fanfiction author. 😊 The best study of Curtius’s work is by Elizabeth Baynam. He probably belongs to the first century, just a little earlier than Plutarch, and his work bears all the hallmarks of the Latin Silver Age.

Plutarch of Chaironeia wrote a lot, including his collection, Lives of Famous Greeks and Romans, which includes Alexander (as well as some Successors) + a massive number of essays collected under the general title Moralia. These include The Fortune of Alexander the Great, and Sayings of Kings and Commanders. Plutarch was a Dionysian priest from central Greece (Boeotia) who lived in the late first century CE, and died c. 120…that’s when HADRIAN was emperor. He belongs to a group of writers typically called the Second Sophistic.

Arrian of Nicomedia, The Anabasis and Indica, written in two different dialects of Greek (Attic and Ionic); he also wrote some philosophic stuff. We know a decent amount about him. He was an Asian Greek from modern Bithynia (the home province of Hadrian’s boyfriend Antinoos), a military man, a senator, a friend of Hadrian, a consul suffectus, and later, an archon of Athens, but most famously, governor (legate) of Cappadocia under Hadrian. He died in Athens c. 160 CE. He liked to call himself the New Xenophon and naming his work on Alexander the Anabasis (after Xenophon’s famous history) is pointed. Although Greek, he was strongly Romanized.

Justin, wrote an epitome of Pompeius Trogus’s expansive Liber Historiarum Philippicarum, which was a history of the Macedonian kingdom, written when Augustus was Empror. An “epitome” is a digest, or shortened version. Trogus’s work was 44 books. Justin’s is much, much smaller, but it’s not a true digest in that he collected what he considered the more interesting titbits rather than trying to summarize the whole thing. We do not know when he lived, precisely, and dates have been thrown out from shortly after Pompeius Trogus all the way to 390 CE! His Latin matches the second century or perhaps early third. This one doesn’t have a Loeb edition, so get the translation by John Yardley with Waldemar Heckel’s commentary on Justin.

In addition, information and stories about Alexander can be found scattered in other ancient sources, notably:

Athenaeus of Naucratus (Greece), Supper Party (Deipnosophistae), which is a weird collection of stories about famous people and food, told at a fictional dinner banguet. It’s long, and fairly entertaining reading, if you’re interested in Greek (and Roman) dining customs. Athenaeus lived in the late 2nd/early 3rd century CE, so he’s even later than most of our historians. Athenaeus used a lot of now-missing sources.

Polyaenus, Strategems. Military handbook from another late author—2nd century CE—but he’s of special interest as he’s Macedonian, our sole extant ancient source from a Macedonian, but keep in mind 500+ years passed between Alexander’s day and his. The Strategems is broken down by leader, which include Archelaus, Philip, and Alexander, plus some of the Successors, too. Until recently, there wasn’t a really good translation (the last was done in the 1800s), but it was finally updated by Krentz and Wheeler for Ares Press.

In addition, he’s mentioned in passing by sources from Strabo to Pliny the Elder to Aelian.

This gives you a good idea of what we do have, and the nature of our problem. It may also help explain what I (or other historians) mean when we talk about the danger of “Romanizing,” even with Greek authors. By the time any of them were writing, even Diodorus, Rome dominated the Mediterranean, and most of them really knew only the imperial period.

Besides the obvious problem of the distance in time, some also had axes to grind. Plutarch is probably the most obvious, as he admits he’s not writing history, but this new thing (he invented) called “Lives” (e.g., biography). More to the point, he’s writing moral tales. Ergo, his bio of Alex is really a long discourse in the old saw, “Absolute power corrupts absolutely.” Likewise, Curtius had a lesson about the evils of Roman imperial debauchery, especially as influenced by Eastern Ways pulling good men away from Roman discipline and clemency.

So what about our now-missing historians who were used by the guys above, and lived closer to ATG’s time? Some of the more important include:

The Ephemerides, or Royal Journal: a daily account of the king’s activities similar to other Ancient Near Eastern traditions, kept by Eumenes, Alexander’s personal secretary. You’ll see them referred to chiefly when talking about Alexander’s last days, as they (supposedly) give an account of his deterioration and death. But they may (and probably were) “doctored” later. Ed Anson has an article about them: important reading.

Callisthenes, Aristotle’s nephew, the official Royal Historian…at least until he got himself in trouble with the Page’s Conspiracy and ATG had him executed (or caged, accounts differ). His history was noted even in antiquity for being flowery and effusive, despite his personal claims to be a philosopher and pretense of austerity. If Alexander wanted a Homer, it wasn’t Callisthenes. Among his failings, he attempted to write about ATG’s battles…badly (so Polybius). Still, this was the official record up till Baktria, used by all the historians still extant. Don’t confuse it with Pseudo-Callisthenes which is the chief source of the Alexander Romance.

Marsyas: Macedonian literati who went to school with the prince, and not only wrote about his childhood (his Education of Alexander was modeled on Xenophon’s Education of Cyrus) and career, but also wrote a work about Macedonian customs that I’d simply LOVE to have. If I could ask for one work from antiquity to be discovered tomorrow, that would be it.

Ptolemy I, of Egypt: Alexander’s general, the guy who stole his body and stole Egypt too in the Successor wars that followed. He was one of Arrian’s main sources when writing his histories. Despite Arrian’s declaration that Ptolemy could be trusted because it would be bad for a king to lie, we can’t trust him. Among other things, he set out to smear the name of his Successor-era rival Perdikkas, and also, apparently, made himself sound more important than he really was. 😉

Nearchus of Crete/Amphipolis, Alexander’s chief admiral and a player in the later Successor wars, wrote an account of his naval trip from India, et al., used chiefly by Arrian.

Aristobulus of Cassandreia: Arrian’s other chief source, he was an engineer, architect, and friend of the king; his main problem seems to have been a tendency to whitewash or explain away critiques of Alexander. It’s Aristobulus who claims ATG didn’t drink heavily, just sat long over his wine for the conversation (uh…I’m sure Kleitos agrees with that). It’s also from him that we get the alternative story that Alexander didn’t cut the Gordion Knot, just pulled the pin out of the yoke and untied it from inside (he didn’t cheat!). Hmmm.

Chares of Mytilene, Alexander’s chamberlain, wrote a 10-book history of Alexander that focused largely on his personal affairs. Boy, wouldn’t that be a fun read? Arrian uses him sometimes, as does Plutarch, et al. Chares is one of the chief sources on the Proskenysis Affair.

Cleitarchus, History of Alexander. Probably the best-known ancient “pop history” of Alexander, but given the ancient equivalent of 2-stars even by historians of his time. His father was a historian too, but apparently, he got more ambition than ability, and was accused of flat making up shit. He lived at Ptolemy’s court later, we think, and a recent fragment tells us he was a tutor. His date is in dispute as late 4th or middle 3rd, and he probably never actually met Alexander. Kleitarchos’s account was used heavily by Plutarch, Curtius, Diodorus, and Pompeius Trogus (Justin’s source). Even Arrian uses him occasionally.

Onesicritus, a Cynic philosopher who studied under Diogenes and later traveled with Alexander. Despite that, his reputation for honesty was even worse than Kleitarchos; Lysimakhos famously called him out publicly, and Strabo considered him a joke. It’s from Onesicritus we hear about Alexander’s sexual servicing of the Amazon Queen to give her a daughter (that’s what Lysimakhos made fun of him for: “Where was I when that happened?”).

These are the main ancient sources you’ll see mentioned, although parts of Alexander’s life are covered in smaller essays, e.g., On the Death (and Funeral) of Alexander and Hephaistion by Euphippus, which is unashamedly hostile to both men. All our fragments from Euphippos come from Athenaeus’s Supper Party, mentioned above.

We also have the Alexander Romance, but that’s a whole ‘nother kettle of fish and not my bailiwick. I refer folks to the work by Richard Stoneman.

There you go! Your handy-dandy potted summary of the ancient authors. To learn more about them, please see Lionel Pearson’s The Lost Historians of Alexander the Great, Scholar’s Press, 1983. There have been articles and material about them in other commentaries and sources, but Pearson remains useful, if somewhat dated, simply for collecting it all in one place, including mention of some minor sources I didn’t cover here.

Finally, I’m including a flowchart I’ve made for my ATG class that lists all the known sources (including several not discussed above); it is copyrighted to me, but may be used for educational purposes. Yes, yes, it really is as crazy as this chart makes it look. And keep in mind, some dependencies are speculative rather than internally confirmed. E.g., as I mentioned earlier, not all ancient sources say what/who they consulted because, againg, citing wasn’t a thing, back then.

#Alexander the Great #Sources on Alexander the Great #Classics #Arrian #Plutarch #Diodorus #Curtius Rufus #Justin #Source problems in antiquity #Lost historians of Alexander #one-stop shopping for Alexander historians #asks #ancient history #tagamemnon #historiography

26 notes · View notes

theaurorfileshq · 3 years

Photo

A L E X A N D E R L U X F O R D / A U R O R C O R P O R A L

AGE: Thirty-Six

BADGE NUMBER: T92M58

BLOODSTATUS: Dhampir/Unknown, Likely Half-Blood on Mother’s Side

GENDER/PRONOUNS: Agender, They/Them

IDENTIFYING FEATURES: Heterochromia (right eye blue, left eye brown), silver wedding band worn on right hand, Tennessee accent, many tattoos including parchment with spouse’s writing, quill and ink well on right bicep, dove and Sacred Heart on left bicep, stanza from Kubla Khan on ribcage, snakes and swords on hands, moon on left forearm, stanza of spouse’s poetry on right forearm.

STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES:

(+): Wandless Magic, Some Vampiric Strengths, Focused

(-): Emotional Instability, Mistrustful, Prefers to Work Alone

BACKGROUND:

(cw: illness, death)

It’s an odd thing to realize when you’re just a child that you’re not wanted. But it’s the earliest memory they have, stark, and clear, something they don’t think they’ll ever forget.

They can still feel the oppressive humidity in a little motel in Tennessee in the middle of summer, they can still smell the blood, remember how the combination had made them feel sick. They were supposed to be asleep, only they don’t really need sleep, not in the same way other people do. They were lying there under a paper thin sheet, eyes closed, pretending to sleep, like they always did. It had been nothing special, at first, grown ups doing grown up things, and then they had smelled blood, strong and coppery, and followed by a tense silence, apologies from their father. And a realization. Their parents, arguing, fighting over what their father was. Their mother, saying she was tricked, that she never would have been with him, never would have had them, if she had known what he was. They had left the hotel room, stepped out into the hall, thinking Lex was asleep, before they could hear anymore. When they “wake” the next morning, their father tells them their mother had had to leave, that it would just be the two of them for a while.

For a while, it is. They never stay in one place too long, never linger, and their mother never comes back, and they think, in their childish innocence, that maybe they’re looking for her, maybe they’re looking for a home they’ve never had. It takes a while for them to realize that they’re not running to something, but from something. They’re being hunted, because their father did something bad, not telling their mother what he is, they’re being hunted because Alexander is something bad, something that a group of people his father knows doesn’t think should exist.

It takes them a long time to understand a fraction of what they are, because their father doesn’t even really know either. Their mother was a witch, and their father is a vampire, and neither of them is fully sure of what that makes them. They test things together, their father makes a game of it. They’re faster than a human, stronger, too, have better sight, sense of smell, hearing. Sleep isn’t needed, but it helps keep them sharper, when they manage it. They can heal at an accelerated rate, but they can be hurt, could be killed. And they can survive off of blood, but they don’t need to. It just makes them better if they do. It’s not the same as it is for their father, they realize when they feed; it’s satisfying for him, tastes good, sustains him. It doesn’t taste right, for them. Coppery, and bitter, it’s not satisfying, it makes them feel nauseous, and then it makes them feel strong, hyper focused, everything clearer. And the comedown leaves them with a hollow feeling in their stomach that begs for more, leaves them irritable and angry, overly emotional, makes them lash out. But it’s easier than having to find two food sources for them, as they keep running.

There are periods of relative safety, times when they stay with other vampires who are alone, when places threaten to start to feel like home before there’s a whisper of the Bowling Green coven, and they have to leave again. There are traces of someone else trying to reach them, too, but Alexander doesn’t find out until years later that it was a teacher, trying to bring them to a school for magic, which their father refused, not wanting to risk anyone finding them. Their father teaches them magic, anyway, without a wand, and dozens of other things, and they grow up.

And then suddenly on a rare night that they’re able to find sleep staying in a motel, they wake up to the smell of blood, and the sound of arguing outside the room, in the hallway. Their father comes in, frantic, saying they’ve been found, he gives them an envelope, says everything they need is in there, tells them that they’re going to have to run on their own for a while, but that he’ll be back for them.

But he still hasn’t made it back to them.

They don’t know what to do, suddenly alone, but their father left them with a plan, in his absence, his care and love wrapped up in a future for them. A name. Someone else, who had been hurt by his coven, someone who might be able to understand, protect them from the others, if it came to that. Someone who, at the very least, might be able to get them set on a better path, one that doesn’t have to include hiding in dark corners, nothing that could be called living.

Camden Savage.

Looking back, knowing the man well now, it’s a shock that he opened the door, took one look at the dirty, terrified teenager, and invited them in. They’re certain it’s because he could smell their strangeness, a brief moment of weak curiosity, and once the others in the house had seen them––they had interrupted a family dinner apparently––their fate had been sealed. The picture their father painted in the letter wasn’t what they found. A vampire who was turned unwillingly by the same coven that had hunted their father, his partner, not a vampire, but smelling strangely of a warm immortality, the vampire’s brother, that same scent clinging to him only colder, and faded, like it wasn’t his anymore, and his very pregnant, very mortal, very bossy wife. They don’t need a teenager with no social skills, with no real control of their powers to look after, but they don’t just let him stay, they make it seem like they want him to stay.

It takes a few weeks before they start to feel like they can relax, that they don’t have to spend their days at the window, waiting for their father to come find them. A few weeks before they start to tell Camden and Deliverance the details of it all. But eventually, it starts to feel like home, somehow in a less dangerous way, knowing this is where their father wanted them, if not with him, knowing that they aren’t alone.

Eventually, they put them in school, a year below where they should be, and it’s terrifying for a dozen different reasons. They’ve spent the first fifteen years of their life without extended interaction with anyone but their parents, and suddenly they’re around other teenagers 24/7. They never stayed in one place, always hunted, always on the move, and they fear that they might be found here, especially when Camden tells them that everyone will already know what they are. That’s the worst part, people looking at them, and knowing what they are, the fear, the curiosity. So they keep to themself, struggling through the work. They’re not good at it, but they try, because all they want is to be normal, to blend into the background. But they don’t blend into the background, people notice them. Someone notices them, and decides that they’re worth more than just stares and whispers.

Adam, a year above them but the same age, in a different house, asks them to hang out, and they say no. He asks them to eat lunch with him, asks them to school dances, asks them on weekend trips, and they keep saying no. Eventually he stops asking, and starts just being around them. He smells strange, but not in a bad way, and his voice is confident, but soft, and he’s okay with silence, too. It’s nice to be around someone who understands what it’s like to not be wholly one thing or another, but they don’t really know how to do what Adam clearly wants from them, and when he graduates and moves back west, writes them letters painting beautiful pictures of what life can be, even in the pain and heartache, they don’t respond.

There’s a path laid out for them, if they want to take it, thanks to the group of people they’ve found themself starting to call family, and they don’t know what else to do once they graduate, so they follow their leads, even if they don’t think they would make a very good auror. Their time in the academy is hard, but they’re good at more of it than they expect; good at it because of all the things about themself that make people stare, make people ask questions. When they graduate and get their first position–one clearly given to them because of their family–even the bright red D stamped on their badge leaves anyone who sees it with more questions than answers.

It feels like it would be easier if they were just one thing or the other, not this strange combination of both that the vast majority of people seem surprised to hear can even exist. They hate being an anomaly. At least if they were simply like their father people would have less questions, the hatred less confused and more purposeful. As it is, though, they can’t fully fit into either world.

The first few years out of the academy, they’re transferred from squad to squad, and they know full well why nothing seems to stick, know full well why they keep getting transferred instead of fired. They don’t work well with others, not out of any intentional efforts, and they still don’t find it easy to control their emotions, but they were alone for so long, and not even a home and a family can undo the years of running and hiding.

But the letters always find them, and one night while they’re home visiting Liv and Camden, they have the urge to write back.

It’s not eloquent, it’s long, and rambling, and it probably says too much for giving him nothing but radio silence for years, but it feels a lot like once they start, they can’t stop. It’s like that with all of their emotions, it’s why they take calming draughts near daily to try to keep things even, but this doesn’t feel like an outburst, it feels like relief. And when he replies, they write back again.

Things start to feel a little easier having someone else to talk to, even through letters. They manage to stay on the Tennessee Squad longer than any other, long enough to feel like they’re fitting somewhere, and this time when a transfer is offered it’s because of how well they’re doing, not because they aren’t managing. Alexander doesn’t believe in fate, but it feels something like that, that it’s the Pacific Squad, so close to where Adam lives. Letters become lunches, and things feel oddly good; work, and all the other things too somehow.

It’s one of those things that creeps up on them, the feeling of looking over at Adam one day and realizing that somewhere along the way, they started wanting to kiss him. And it’s a little revolutionary to realize that he still wants to kiss them, too.

It takes a long time for them to accept the good for what it is, too long looking back on it. They could’ve had so many more years with him, she could’ve had so many more years with him. But Adam was always patient, and by the time they finally tell him they want to be with him, his scent has already started to change. It’s not just werewolf any longer, there’s something else there, something wrong. But Adam insists there’s no reason to worry, even though they know better. So they respond by finally stopping wasting time, and they’re engaged before they’re even technically dating.

Then things seem to move fast, almost as if time has caught up with them now that Alexander’s found something good. They get married, and suddenly they have a new family in all of Adam’s siblings. They get promoted, they’re doing well at work, it feels almost easy to deal with the hard parts, when so much is going so right. They have a daughter, Keira, something they never imagined for themself, and they build their own little family, too. And it’s good.

They have a good year after their daughter’s birth, before it becomes clear enough that something’s wrong neither of them can ignore it any longer. He’s lost some of his joy, things slip his mind too easily, he’s exhausted and in pain all the time. But healers don’t have the answers, and neither do no-maj doctors, no one has anything to cure him, they’re only given potions and medicine to try to make him comfortable. He’s willing to accept it, but Alexander isn’t ready to let go of the good in their life so easily. They try everything they can find, magical and non-magical, they even try their venom, offer to try stronger venom, before Adam gently tells them it’s time to stop, and enjoy what’s left.

He hangs on for another few months, long enough to hear Keira call him dada, long enough that Alexander is almost tricked into thinking things could turn around, and then he’s gone.

And somehow it feels harder, knowing that they’re not alone. There are too many people around wanting to help; Keira still has two families, they’ve still got two families, and it makes them feel a lot like they’re going to explode. They consider running, doing what their father did, but for entirely selfish reasons. On leave from work, with a child who’s barely old enough to talk, they’re alone with their thoughts too much and it’s been a long time since they’ve been alone. They don’t know what they want.

The thing that stops all the panic is when they find a letter from Adam, only to be opened once he was gone, and it feels like the first time they wrote him back again. Calm. A relief. It makes them want to find a way to stay, and keep going. And they know the only way to do so is to find a way to keep that feeling of calm that his letters always gave. But there are no more letters. There’s no more Adam, so they have to find another way.

They extend their leave from work to do just that, and they only force themself back once they’re sure nothing can shake them. It takes a few tries, but they find a combination of pills and potions that dull the emotions enough that it feels possible to be something closer to human without him. They never needed to be human with him, but now, it feels imperative. They take the potions, and they shave the beard he always liked, tame the curls he ran his fingers through every night. The anger isn’t quite as blazing hot as it’s always been, the sadness not quite such a black pit of despair. But the problem with that is that the good doesn’t feel as good, either, happiness feels subdued, a little impossible. They’d rather make that sacrifice, though, if it gives them a chance at continuing on, keeping the other good that they had found, giving Keira the future she deserves, keeping some sense of stability, when lately all of their emotions have been the bad sort, anyway.

#alexander luxford #written by roman #auror

2 notes · View notes

libertariantaoist · 4 years

Link

If the individual has a right to govern himself, all external government is tyranny. Hence the necessity of abolishing the State.

Aggression is simply another name for government. Aggression, invasion, government, are interconvertible terms. The essence of government is control, or the attempt to control.

This brings us to Anarchism, which may be described as the doctrine that all the affairs of men should be managed by individuals or voluntary associations, and that the State should be abolished.

Monopoly and privilege must be destroyed, opportunity afforded, and competition encouraged. This is Liberty's work, and "Down with Authority" her war-cry.

He who attempts to control another is a governor, an aggressor, an invader; and the nature of such invasion is not changed, whether it is made by one man upon another man, after the manner of the ordinary criminal, or by one man upon all other men, after the manner of an absolute monarch, or by all other men upon one man, after the manner of a modern democracy.

In the matter of the maintenance and rearing of children the Anarchists would neither institute the communistic nursery which the State Socialists favor nor keep the communistic school system which now prevails. The nurse and the teacher, like the doctor and the preacher, must be selected voluntarily, and their services must be paid for by those who patronize them. Parental rights must not be taken away, and parental responsibilities must not be foisted upon others.

The anarchists are simply unterrified Jeffersonian democrats. They believe that the best government is that which governs least, and that government which governs least is no government at all.

What other applications this principle of Authority, once adopted in the economic sphere, will develop is very evident. It means the absolute control by the majority of all individual conduct. The right of such control is already admitted by the State Socialists, though they maintain that, as a matter of fact, the individual would be allowed a much larger liberty than he now enjoys. But he would only be allowed it; he could not claim it as his own.

Distinction between invasion and resistance, between government and defence, is vital.

Education is a slow process, and may not come too quickly. Anarchists who endeavor to hasten it by joining in the propaganda of State Socialism or revolution make a sad mistake indeed.

To force a man to pay for the violation of his own liberty is indeed an addition of insult to injury. But that is exactly what the State is doing.

Voluntary taxation, far from impairing the "State's" credit, would strengthen it.

The Anarchists never have claimed that liberty will bring perfection; they simply say that its results are vastly preferable to those that follow authority.

Where crime exists, force must exist to repress it. Who denies it? Certainly not Liberty; certainly not the Anarchists... [A critic] implies that we would let robbery, rape, and murder make havoc in the community without lifting a finger to stay their brutal, bloody work. On the contrary, we are the sternest enemies of invasion of person and property.

Once for all, then, we are not opposed to the punishment of thieves and murderers; we are opposed to their manufacture.

The Anarchists believe in the family; they only insist that free competition and experiment shall always be allowed in order that it may be determined what form of family best secures this object.

The Anarchists believe in civil society; only they insist that the freedom of civil society shall be complete instead of partial.

The Anarchists most certainly believe in the Church; only they insist that all its work shall be purely voluntary, and that its discoveries and achievements, however beneficial, shall not be imposed upon the individual by authority.

Passive resistance is the instrument by which the revolutionary force is destined to secure in the last great conflict the people's rights forever.

I insist that there is nothing sacred in the life of an invader, and there is no valid principle of human society that forbids the invaded to protect themselves in whatever way they can.

[Passive resistance] is the only resistance which in these days of military discipline resists with any result. There is not a tyrant in the civilized world today who would not do anything in his power to precipitate a bloody revolution rather than see himself confronted by any large fraction of his subjects determined not to obey. An insurrection is easily quelled; but no army is willing or able to train its guns on inoffensive people who do not even gather in the streets but stay at home and stand back on their rights. Neither the ballot nor the bayonet is to play any great part in the coming struggle; passive resistance is the instrument by which the revolutionary force is destined to secure in the last great conflict the people's rights forever.

The idea that Anarchy can be inaugurated by force is as fallacious as the idea that it can be sustained by force. Force cannot preserve Anarchy; neither can it bring it

Passive resistance and boycotting are now prominent features of every great national movement.

And this is the Anarchistic definition of the State: the embodiment of the principle of invasion in an individual, or a band of individuals, assuming to act as representatives or masters of the entire people within a given area.

First, then, State Socialism, which may be described as the doctrine that all the affairs of men should be managed by the government, regardless of individual choice.

Murder is an offensive act. The term cannot be applied legitimately to any defensive act.

One thing, however, is sure, - that in all cases the effort should be to impose all the cost of repairing the wrong upon the doer of the wrong. This alone is real justice, and of course such justice is necessarily free.

The moment that justice must be paid for by the victim of injustice it becomes itself injustice.

The abolition of the State will leave in existence a defensive association, resting no longer on a compulsory but on a voluntary basis, which will restrain invaders by any means that may prove necessary.

The essence of government is control, or the attempt to control.

Marx... concluded that the only way to abolish the class monopolies was to centralize and consolidate all industrial and commercial interests, all productive and distributive agencies, in one vast monopoly in the hands of the State.

For, just as it has been said that there is no half-way house between Rome and Reason, so it may be said that there is no half-way house between State Socialism and Anarchism.

That there is an entity known as the community which is the rightful owner of all land, Anarchists deny. I ... maintain that 'the community' is a non-entity, that it has no existence, and is simply a combination of individuals having no prerogatives beyond those of the individuals themselves.

#benjamin tucker #libertarian quotes

4 notes · View notes

fuckyeaharchaeology · 5 years

Text

Field Gear Masterpost

Help!

Can anyone make field school supply recommendations? Specifically things you wouldn’t think about your first time in the field. I’ll be in SW Ohio. What shoes do I wear? I obviously have my trowels and such from the supplies list but I feel like there are things I am missing. What works better in the field, a ball cap or bucket hat? I need help from experienced professionals or at least people who know more than me.

——

Hi, so I don’t know how long this has been in the inbox. If it has been a long time then I deeply apologize and hope that you had a great time at your field school and that you had access to all the equipment you needed! The reason I’m choosing to address this now is because “What are some good field supplies for beginners” is probably the most asked question this blog, so I wanted to make a masterpost concerning field gear.

So this is my field kit, or like 80% of it. I’ve been doing this for over five years, but when i first started I had a small fraction of what you see here. I’m sure if I keep doing this job for another five years my kit will double in size.

Some field schools actually might provide you with supplies, or at least a list of what to bring. But if you plan on consistently doing archaeological fieldwork (ie actually working outside and not in a lab or office) then these five things are essential for your field kits:

Trowel (Obviously). Marshalltowns are the standard and the generally the easiest to get, but there are other brands such as WHS and Battiferro. I own both Marshalltown and Battiferro trowels and love both brands. My advice for trowels is that you should try to avoid getting a blade that is too big because it doesn’t allow you to have as much control over what you’re troweling. I wouldn’t go bigger than 4.5″

Folding ruler or tape measure. The unit of measurement is going to depend on the type of site. For prehistoric sites in the US and sites in the rest of the world, you will need a ruler using metric. For historic sites in the US you will need a ruler using tenths.

Brushes. Pretty self-explanatory. Although I personally don’t use brushes a lot they can be useful and every archaeologist owns at least one. A wider paint brush like this one is a good for novices.

Compass. If you’re a student going to a field school, then you won’t have to worry about bringing a compass. I only added it to the list of essentials because they are very important for Phase I surveys, which are a big component of non-academic archaeology. During Phase I surveys, you will have to hike several miles of land within a specific path of Limit of Disturbance (LOD). A compass will help you to stay on course when the LOD isn’t well-marked. A compass is also essential to setting up a site grid when you don’t have a total station handy. They are a very underrated piece of field gear and we hire a lot of newbies straight out of undergrad who get a rude awakening as to how necessary they actually are.

Pencils and Sharpies. These are like gold to archaeologists. You can never have enough of them because they ALL will be either lost or stolen.

Are you that person who has to be over-prepared for everything? Here’s a list of some additional gear you might want:

Bastard file, for sharpening your trowel. Now sharpening your trowel is a practice that is controversial in the archaeological community. It’s not a common practice overseas, and a lot of archaeologists will tell you to never sharpen your trowel because you could potentially damage the artifacts. But if you’re going to work in the clayey floodplain soils of the US, you aren’t going to be able to dig nice units without a sharp trowel.

Spoon. just a normal spoon. Spoons are really good for scooping up dirt crumbles in features which are too small and difficult for your trowel to access.

Line Level. for your datum string. You will use the datum string for measuring and drawing your site profiles, so it is very important that your datum line is level.

Wooden sculpting tools. If you know you’re going to be working with human remains or articulated faunal remains, then it will be good to get yourself a pack of these since the metal blade of your trowel is harmful for human bone.

Clippers. Roots are going to be the bane of your existence. Trust me.

So that’s your rundown of basic tools. Now let’s talk about what to wear.

Your choice of clothing is going to really depend on where you’re working, what you’ll be doing, and personal preference. Generally you’re going to be okay with a T-shirt and some cargo pants or hiking pants. If you want some extra protection from the sun you can get a handkerchief for your neck or a long sleeve shirt made from a light, breathable fabric. It’s not totally unheard of to wear shorts at a dig, but wouldn’t recommend doing so because you are going to be in the dirt on your knees a lot and you don’t want your bare knees on gravel for 8+ hours a day. If your knees are really bad, then it might be a good idea to invest in some knee pads for extra comfort. DO NOT be that basic bitch and wear leggings or yoga pants in the field. I would also recommend American students wear lighter colored clothing, especially if you will be working in wooded areas, so that you will be able to see ticks on you. Field schools are always during peak tick season and they get worse and worse every year.

Hats are going to be a personal preference. I’m partial to the baseball cap, but bucket hats work just as fine. Wide brimmed hats are great for extra sun protection, but not ideal for surveying several miles of land and shovel testing. At work I wear a baseball cap or a bandana, but when I worked in Turkey I wore a hat with a wider brim because the Mediterranean sun is absolutely brutal.

Shoes are also a matter of personal preference. I own a nice pair of hiking boots that I wear for work, but I have also worn sneakers to digs. You basically want a good shoe with a lot of comfort and support for your feet, and will hold up to 8+ hours of standing and kicking a shovel. If you’re like me and you’re prone to twisting your ankles, then you might want to consider getting some boots with ankle support.

Final thoughts about gear: Protect your phone from dirt by putting it in a plastic baggie, and protect yourself from the elements by bringing bugspray, sunscreen, and plenty of water.

Happy Digging!

~Amanda

#archaeology #fieldwork #submission

126 notes · View notes

theangrypokemaniac · 4 years

Text

Ma and Pa James's Second Biggest Fan (we plough a lonely furrow) continues to find Ma Jess's appeal mystifying, since everything about her is negative:

1. Signing up for Team Rocket suggests someone of a morally dubious character to start with, but the truth lies in the clothing, and she's in black!

Black!

It's code for her personality:

• Jessie wears white:

Pure, beautiful, innocent, sweet-natured, not really bad, dealt a severe hand in life but a fighter.

• Cassidy wears black:

EVIL!!! EVIL, EVIL, EEEEEEVUL!!! FOUL SIRENIC TEMPTRESS!!! EVIL HEARTLESS BITCH STEALING JAMES'S NEVER-BEFORE-SEEN WEEPINBELL!!!

Speaking of which:

2. She was Madame Boss's best agent.

You don't get there being kind.

To reach that standing requires hundreds of successful heists, and we aren't talking nicking gold bars. It's living things.

How many Pokémon do you imagine she stole with merciless efficiency?

How many children did she set upon, pinching every animal they had?

How many innocent lives did she ruin by depriving kids of the pets they loved, never to see them again, eaten away with the not-knowing and the false hope?

The glory of her reign ran on the fuel of blood and tears.

What fate do you envision awaited those Pokémon? It's not exchanging one master for another, it's entering slavery.

Jessie and James aren't the epitome of Team Rocket. They are minnows on the outskirts, despised and mocked by most of their fellow members. The actual group isn't particularly famous for prioritizing Pokémon welfare.

The preferable outcome is being handed out to agents to help catch other victims. Otherwise it's transformation into a war machine, forced to fight on and on to the point of exhaustion and death, no doubt tortured and tested on to boot.

What happens if they don't come up to scratch or are pushed for years until too aged and broken to be of any use? Are Team Rocket ready to pension them off to animal sanctuary?

As if. It's euthanasia or on to the streets to waste away, if not fed to the strongest first.

Ma Jess knew this and worse occurred thanks to her, yet paid it no mind, and felt not a single twinge of guilt in that time of service, then met her end trying to draw another Pokémon into imprisonment.

Some might say it was a case of what goes around, comes around. As her behaviour led to God knows how many Pokémon dying alone, leaving their loved ones to wonder and grieve, so in turn did she die alone in the snow, and Jessie had to carry on without her.

I'm not against Ma Jess, I neither feel like or dislike, but I don't understand how so many fans can happily overlook her murky past of inflicting pain, instead elevating her to a semi-divine tragic heroine, yet apparently Ma and Pa's heinous offences of not stealing and treating Pokémon well are beyond forgiveness.

3. It's the Red Ribbon Army! Save yourselves!

Jessie joined Team Rocket to follow in Ma's footsteps. James went with her. Both moved (upwardly in scale, downwardly in morals) from Sunny Town's gang of petty thief kids to a complex Mafia organisation stretching its wriggling tentacles around the world to crush the air from its lungs.

Why? Ma Jess's baleful influence led the two down that path.

Of course Jessie wants to copy Ma, how and where else can she feel close to her?

There's not even a grave to visit!

Rising in the ranks and Giovanni's favour is both to strike it rich and take her place, becoming Ma in essence. That would make her proud, which is all Jessie ever wanted.

What alternative is there? Stay with Chopper and Tyra forever, ekeing an existence pickpocketing and shoplifting, until mortality comes calling sooner than is welcome, or get loaded quickly and retire early?

James theoretically could've gone home at this point, but when it came to which angry redhead he preferred to beat him up, he chose Jessie.

He was henceforth obliged to go whenever she led, even if it meant following the ghost of her mother into the jaws of evil.

They have an excuse, but what was Ma's for getting involved?

However much they boast and revel in their wickedness, the motto proves the couple still believe themselves on a noble quest, despite everything to the contrary, and why?

Jessie isn't about to accept that Ma Jess, whom she's probably idolized as one of few people to love her and a role model of how a woman should be, was nasty or unpleasant. If she was in Team Rocket, it must be good, whatever the outer appearance.

Except Jessie and James are bad at being bad. They are not master criminals. All their plans fail, rendering them poor and starving in consequence. The inner circle of Team Rocket will always be barred to them because they lack the inner darkness it requires.

The joke is they flourish in any other occupation, whether that be Salon Rocquet, reporters, or flogging merchandise and food at the League. If employed elsewhere they'd be better off, but they have to stay because Jessie can't let go, or bear the thought she might be a disappointment to her mother's name. A different career looks unworthy by comparison.

What, so Ma and Pa have got no son because of Ma Jess? They just wanted him to be a gentleman!

If she hadn't set such a terrible example to her daughter she might have an increased quality of life, but then had she done so Ma wouldn't be dead in the first place.

4. Can't pick 'em can she?

What was it that first attracted Ma to Windy Miller? Does she go for the rustic charm, or the promise of a lifetime's supply of bread to feed the abundance of babies planned?

Don't do it, Ma! He's an alky!

Some birds are like that you see. It's the maternal instinct gone haywire. They find a local reprobate and somehow decide he's really a damaged soul crying out for love, the scapegoat of a cruel society.

He's not evil, he's just misunderstood!

This is why you get nutters wanting to marry the Yorkshire Ripper: they put his 'mischief' down to bad women mistreating his gentle heart, but they of course are devoted to his happiness. They can change him.

You don't know him like I do!

In their fantasy, under the influence of a 'proper' woman he'll transform in to a flower-picking hippie, but not too much, they still like him to be dangerously 'manly' (keeps 'em on their toes), then they can feel smugly superior and more truly female than the 'lesser' breed who failed to tame his sexy pashuns.

And if there's one thing Windy has in abundance, it's raw animal magnetism.

Stop it, Ma! You can't help those who don't want helping!

She put up with the boozing, the flour dust and his somewhat limited communication skills, but what really let him down was the company he kept.

Ever after she would insist Pugh, Pugh, Barney McGrew, Cuthbert, Dibble and Grub led him astray. That's firemen for yer.

Cuthbert? That name's died out.

Sure enough, some point after Ma Jess was stuffed up the spout, old Windy legged it back to Camberwick Green, like the rascal he is, and not a sweet penny piece did she receive in maintenance, the bastard.

At least Ma James got pregnant by a man who stood by her.

She wasn't married to Windy Miller!

Oh, you mean they were living over the brush? I see.

It's all in your head!

Do it my way, and we have Pa Jess. Do it yours, and we're back to a cavernous emptiness. Unless you can supply a picture of the 'real' (pffft) Pa Jess, this is the best available.

Anyway, 'Jessie Miller' just sounds right.

Coincidence? I think not.

5. She went to look for Mew dressed like this.

I could forgive it had she gone in her normal uniform, that's just whimsy, but to have made some effort emphasises that it's not enough!

Some part of her understood a mountain might be a bit parky out, but this was deemed sufficient coverage!

What happened?

She bloody died didn't she?!

6. Ma Boss points the way to doom.

Ma Jess was at least loyal to the mistress she served, but it was a wasted dedication. She squandered her life obeying a heartless virago who could cast aside apparently valued staff without a qualm, whatever thanks she owed them.

The millions Ma Jess accumulated for Madame are probably uncountable, yet she was so worthless that, when dispatched to the mountain, on her own, expected to catch a Legendary Pokémon, by herself, which many doubted even existed, and wasn't likely to come quietly, or put up with orders, but then didn't come back, Madame Boss allowed her only child to sink into poverty and the infamous 'care' of the State.

Everyone knows what goes on there. Entering a home has replaced the workhouse as the place of dread.

Jessie might have been killed or attacked and it didn't remotely concern Madame Boss, unwilling to spare a meagre fraction of her massive fortune to give the girl she made an orphan any comfort or security.

What did she matter? Her mother failed. Why reward that?

In her turn, Jessie became just as obsequious to an undeserving master, who went further than his mama and actively tried to murder her, and still she suffers to please him.

Team Rocket devoured her mother, and now it's swallowed her.

Oh, and Madame Boss got her way upon discovering Mew's fossil, so Ma Jess died for nothing.

7. This.

I'm not surprised Mew wouldn't go with Ma. She probably sensed the vivisection awaiting, and didn't give a toss about the avalanche in revenge.

Mew hasn't got where she is today falling for any old shallow promises from a stranger, thank you.

Suppose the mission had worked, with Mew caught and gift wrapped for Madame's delectation: what then?

Perhaps Mew's power, proving so impressive, would've pushed any cloning scheme aside, leaving Mewtwo unborn and Mew as the mightiest weapon. Or in greed Madame Boss demands more, and in arrogance the scientists promise the earth, the seas and the heavens.

Mew I could see subjected to some non-lethal form of dissection, just to understand how she ticked, that is if they could build the cage to hold her.

As they couldn't, and catching Mew was never a possibility, then Ma Jess's sacrificed herself on a fool's errand, which was obviously one from the outset. If Mew was easy to handle she'd have been captured long before now.

Either Ma dies, Mew's safe, but Madame Boss starts the cloning scheme anyway, or Ma's victorious, Mew is a tool of Team Rocket and the scientists have more sample to experiment upon. Mewtwo is still made, alongside short-lived creations and dozens of unseen freakish abominations preceding.

Now Mewtwo isn't what you call at peace with himself, nor has he received a particularly wholesome experience. One could think Ma indirectly caused that. Her branch of the project may have fizzled to cinders but she still played her role.

What would her legacy have been but to help bring forth the being that wiped out mankind? Where's the future for Jessie when there isn't one?

It's not her fault, but she died in the name of cloning a biological disaster, the creation of synthetic life leading to the destruction of it all.

8. Let's have a gander at Ma in the anime:

• Can afford rent.

• Can afford a tray.

• Can afford crockery.

• Can afford condiments to add flavour to food.

• Can't afford any actual food.

Something's wrong there.

I intended to include affording clothes too, but now I'm not so sure.

I never took Ma to be a brown-all-over kind of woman. At least she gave the fancy stuff to Jessie.

For years I've assumed she wore a brightly coloured jacket, but now I suspect it's a red one heavily patched up, because buying a replacement isn't an option.

Really old clothes are being mended with whatever can be salvaged from even more worn-out clobber.

Best agent Madame Boss has and she's practically living in her own filth.

Team Rocket takes care of its own, eh?

Oh no, let's not get a proper job, one that allows me to provide for my daughter and doesn't ask for my life. Let's stay in this one!

9. Look at Jessie's face!

By her own admission, being tricked into eating snow is the best thing that ever happened to her during an 'otherwise wretched childhood', to the extent she doesn't know it was wrong!

I don't hear Ma and Pa doing that. The only ice James got was an ice-cream sandwich.

What kind of infancy did Ma Jess give the girl for her to be nostalgic about almost dying of malnutrition?

If we say that's a foster mother as in the sub, it means Jessie's fondest memory is after Ma died, which is too brutal for me.

Yeah, thank goodness she's snuffed it.

You think Ma might have taught her not to eat snow! She left her so ill-prepared!

Consequently the sub version makes Ma Jess an awful creature, although I don't see why that Jessie would so desire to mimic a mom she apparently doesn't care about.

10. She's not even bloody here!

I have no picture to signify absence, therefore I must show whom she left behind.

Ma Jess is Pokémon's answer to Bobba Fett: background figure, barely involved, no information, dies early, yet became a fan favourite nevertheless.

If nothing really exists, what is there to like? Why are you contented weaving smoke?

When Rocketshippers put forward the manga as proof, the Anti-Ships used to insist that it 'didn't count' for being set in a 'separate universe'.

If that still goes, and only the contents of the anime apply to the anime, well then it's bye-bye to Ma Jess and Madame Boss, because they aren't real either.

I sometimes think that's true. However traumatic, would Jessie not have acknowledged her mother by now otherwise?

We grasp the characters all had two parents in a nebulous fashion, although not being real people means they don't 'technically' need them, but Ma Jess is the only one who vanished to be granted a face. Why is she then ignored?

She's briefly glimpsed in a passing scene of a single episode of the first series and is never seen or referenced again. The sub doesn't even have that. Where was the use in creating her if only to leave that thread of the tale billowing in the breeze?

We may decide her actions affect Jessie's but we're only imprinting assumptions. She might as well have remained unwritten for all that's made of her.

What we can glean doesn't bode well, irrespective of things left unmentioned.

Her one redeeming deed was dying, thus at least she didn't choose to abandon Jessie. We may presume she'd have stayed with her girl given the chance.

By my reckoning that puts her as Fifth-Best Mother Of Pokémon, behind Ma Brock, Ma James, Dame Ketchum and Ma Boss, in that order.

Then they're those who claim she never died, so she just pissed off like everyone else, rendering her devoid of a single positive quality.

This is the woman you sigh and agonise over for decades.

Ma and Pa are right there, man! Show 'em some love!

#team rocket #ma jessie #jessie's mom #jessie #jessie's dad #madame boss #mewtwo #kanto #snow way out!#the birth of mewtwo

31 notes · View notes