#this is what i mean when i say her ancestors would struggle to understand her. she’s using her power to attempt something totally new | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tismrot · 7 months

Text

GOOD OMENS in CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER (a fanfic helper)

I tried to find this online, but I only found bits and pieces here and there. This should be a very good tool when writing fanfics, or just for understanding the narrative - so, here's my best attempt at a timeline for the canonized events in the show. Let me know if I missed any, or if something is wrong! CHRONOLOGY of GOOD OMENS 4004 BC: Before the Beginning (Sunday, October 21st, Nowhere, no name for Crowley) Aziraphale meets Crowley as an angel in Heaven pre-Beginning and Crowley makes a star factory. 4004 BC: The Eden Wall (Rather more than 7 days later, Crawley) Crowley finds Aziriaphale on the Eden wall and they talk about right and wrong. Aziraphale gave his sword to Adam and lies to God about it. Eve looks about 6 months pregnant. 3004 BC: Noah’s Ark (Ancient Mesopotamia, Crawley) Crowley finds Aziraphale in front of the Ark and they talk about how God will drown kids. 2500 BC: A Companion to Owls (Land of Uz, Crawley) Crowley and Aziraphale work together to save Job's kids from God. 1353 - 1336 BC: Nefertiti's reign as queen, during which, at some point, Aziraphale did a magic trick for her. (Thebes/Luxor, ancient Egypt, Crawley) (unfilmed, just mentioned) We know he fooled her with a "lone caraway seed and three cowry shells" 33 AD: Crucifixion of Jesus (Golgotha, Palestine, name change to Crowley) Crowley (canonically confirmed female form) tells Aziraphale she showed Jesus the world. 41 AD: Oysters in Rome (41 AD) Aziraphale playfully tempts Crowley to go eat oysters with him at Petronus' restaurant. If this isn't innuendo, I don't know what is. 537 AD: Medieval England/King Arthur (Kingdom of West Essex) Aziraphale as a knight of the Round Table meets the Black Knight (Crowley) who suggests the Arrangement for the first time. Aziraphale says no. 1020: The Arrangement is agreed to (unfilmed, just mentioned in the book or by Neil) I can't find the exact date - tell me if this is wrong? 1040 - 1601: Crowley and Aziraphale act on their arrangement "dozens of times", as mentioned in the Globe Theatre. As far as I've understood this arrangement (correct me if I'm wrong) it means that whenever they receive orders from Heaven or Hell, they tell the other, compare notes, and if it takes place in the same area, they agree that just one of them has to go do both tasks. Either that, or both tell their respective bosses that the task has been done, because they would have cancelled each other out either way. Letters would probably be too risky communication other than "Let's meet up at....", so I assume they have seen a lot of each other during this time. 1500s: Something related to the Catholic Church and the Papacy (Rome?). (Unfilmed idea) My theory: Raphael/Crowley (Raffaello Sanzio da Urbino) works as painter in Rome from 1508 until his "death" in 1520. He was invited to Rome by Pope Julius II and was immediately commissioned to work on a series of frescoes for the Pope's private library in the Vatican Palace. Crowley can't enter consecrated spaces. Hilarity ensues. This would explain his conversation about helicopters (in the book) with Leonardo da Vinci. 1601: Hamlet (Globe Theatre, London) Aziraphale and Crowley meet inconspicuously as Shakespeare struggles with Hamlet (both actor and play), and Aziraphale agrees to do both his and Crowley's assignments in Edinburgh. 1650: Aziraphale does his first apology dance (unknown) Nothing more is known about this event. 1655: Agnes Nutter's book is published, and doesn't sell a single copy. 1656: Agnes Nutter is burned (Lancashire, England, 1656) After writing the Nice and Accurate Prophecies, she is burned by Pulsifer's ancestor. 1793: French Revolution (The Bastille, Paris) Aziraphale puts himself in harm's way by dressing like a nobleman while looking for crepes in revolutionary Paris, just so that Crowley will save him. 1800s: Aziraphale opens his bookshop. (Soho, London) I can't figure out when, it just says 19th century online. Crowley asks if Aziraphale wasn't supposed to open a bookshop when he saves him in the Bastille.

1827: The Resurrectionist (Edinburgh, October) Aziraphale and Crowley discuss morality, meet Elspeth and Wee Morag - and the body snatching doctor.

1827 - ????: Crowley sleeps or is in Hell We don't actually know long or exactly when, but in the book it's mentioned he only got up to go to the toilet once. Why?

1862: St. James’s Park, London Crowley is paranoid, Aziraphale won't give him holy water. 1862 - ????: Wild West meetup (Unfilmed idea) Neil Gaiman just had the idea, it wasn't filmed.

1928: Crowley buys the Bentley And he keeps it in tip-top shape until the Not-Apocalypse. 1933: Aziraphale gets his driving license (unknown location)

1941: WW2 Blitz (London) Church bombing, magic show, photo taken, shades of dark and light grey.

1967: Aziraphale gives Crowley holy water (Soho, London) ...And says Crowley goes too fast for him. He does it because Crowley is about to orchestrate the robbery of a church. One of the robbers is Witchfinder Sergeant Shadwell, who we meet later. He offers his 'army' to Crowley.

1980s: Crowley designs the M25 (Hell) No other demons understand the whole thing about constant, low-level, effortless evil.

2007: Three children are born in a hospital in Tadfield The old switch-a-roo.

2007 - later that night: Godfather meetup (Soho, ca 2009) They're drunk, talking about whale brains and agreeing to raise Warlock as nanny and gardener.

2012 - 2018: Raising Warlock (Winfield House, England) He's way too normal! 2018: Not-Apocalypse (Saturday, August 11th, Tadfield Airbase) Do I need to explain this? 2019 - 2023: Beelzebub and Gabriel start meeting each other. We see them meet in an American bar, a Russian café and in the Resurrectionist in Edinburgh. 2020: Lockdown (London) Aziraphale goes on about cake, Crowley wants to come by and watch him eat. Aziraphale chickens out.

2023: Jimbriel (Soho, London) A naked archangel with amnesia shows up on Aziraphale's doorstep. --- UPDATED AND IMPROVED

526 notes · View notes

tangledinredstring · 2 months

Text

I struggle to get my head around the religious lore of Fantasy High, sometimes - I suspect I haven't studied the correct subjects at school, but I do my best! But I will put some of my thoughts here, to see if pinning them to the conspiracy board helps me connect the dots.

So, I had this thought during the last episode, and I've seen it mentioned in other people's posts, but it was a bit strange that the dead rage god could be named in the circle, but Cassandra's name had been updated to be Cassandra, even though that definitely was not her name at the time. And there's a couple of explanations, that might be at play here, or a combination of the two.

The first is that Adaine was translating from a Proto-Sylvan language, so it wasn't like she was reading the English/Common words where it said "Susan/Cassandra". My thought it was more like she saw the rune meaning the combined concept of Mystery/Night and understood that to mean the god she knows as Cassandra.

The other explanation that came to me is that although the end result was the same, and possibly the cause leading up to it, what actually happened to the two of them is not the same, or at least I don't think so.

As I understand it, Ankarna died due to a lack of worshippers. That doesn't necessarily mean that it was done maliciously, although the fact that this appears to be the only written record of the name, especially since they are part of a pantheon of gods that are still worshipped, certainly points to someone going through after the fact and removing the name from history books and religious texts does point to that. There is a difference between knowing the god exists and believing in that god, but if no-one cared, the name would have been left in documents as part of the Giant pantheon, and there would be a possibility of worship if someone (like Fig) felt that actually, a god of summer and rage did fit their personal beliefs. But that was removed as a possibility, by parties unknown, so that they would be completely forgotten.

What happened to Cassandra was different, in that immediately prior to the Nightmare King incident she did have worshippers. They had been swayed by the church of Gallicaea into believing they needed to ritually destroy her previous name, but they did exist, so she didn't just fade out of existence like Ankarna. And it was the ritual that makes the difference here; before her followers could ritually destroy the name, she ritually changed it to the Nightmare Kings crown to save herself. Since big ritual magic was involved, and again when she came back to being Cassandra, I don't think it would be out of the question that reality could just be remade to reflect the new names.

TL:DR - I think too much about this.

I had one last thought, only tangentially related. I've seen people saying they feel like Porter is urging Fig to worship Ankarna specifically; because he is Genasi, and because he has some religious backing as a paladin, and with his feelings about rage, it makes sense that he is a follower of this god. But - perhaps I have read Small Gods too many times - that just doesn't make sense to me. If Ankarna had even one believer, let alone if he worships because his ancestors did, Ankarna would not be dead.

#fantasy high #fantasy high spoilers #thoughts from the shower #dimension 20

18 notes · View notes

mymarsmoonandstars · 1 year

Text

On Shuri and Riri...

and how their bond sets up Shuri's and Namor's fundamental difference

I can't stop thinking about how Namor's proposal sounded like utter madness to Shuri, when only a few days ago, during a moment with her mother by the river, she seemed fully positioned to accept it. So what changed? She met Riri. And in Riri, she saw herself reflected back.

At the dorm, Shuri could have shown anger at Riri for building a machine without thinking of the ramifications, but instead their encounter went much differently. Shuri's enthralled by her. When discussing the vibranium detector, Riri says that her professor had no faith that she could build one. "To be young, gifted, and black, though, right?" Riri adds, hinting at the struggles that black folks face with the American school system. But then Riri immediately expresses doubt that Wakandans share a similar phrase, most likely believing that black folks aren’t stunted in a nation like Wakanda. As we know, this isn't necessarily the case. Shuri agrees with Riri's sentiment by saying, almost to herself, "Brilliance at a young age is not always accepted by the elders." Though the reason for their struggles are different, the core of it is the same. They are young, gifted, and black, and both grapple with the issues that come with being such. In this dorm room scene, you can almost see Shuri's heart unfurling. She's meeting her former self, the funny, vibrant one that existed before her brother's passing.

It was this person--this sliver of childhood--that woke Shuri up, that reminded her of what and who must be protected in the world. And to extend this further, Shuri has lost her identity as a sister, but through Riri, she can regain it. She can heal, because Riri offers her the chance to be to someone like her brother was to her. Pretend insert gif of Shuri and Riri dapping each other up. It's reminiscent of Shuri and T'challa in the first film, isn't it? Shuri can continue T'challa's legacy in this quiet but monumental way. Shuri can become not just an elder, but a better one.

Or a great one, to echo Namor's words. It's funny how he says that his own ancestors believed only the most broken people can be great leaders. And I think that can be true... I mean, the more 'broken' you are, the more you've been hurt in the past, and hopefully that means you can share a better connection with others and try to limit the pain that's been done unto you. If the film is saying to be broken and to be great means extending compassion to others, then Namor fails to do this with Riri.

Namor only calls her 'scientist.' She's never more than that. Unlike Shuri, Namor only sees her as the danger she put his people in, and due to his avoid-risks-at-any-cost thinking, it's impossible for him to view her as otherwise. Does he ever question why Riri built the machine? Does he ever seek to understand why Shuri is so adamant about protecting her?

Does he ever see Riri as wholly human?

Like even before Shuri knew her, as soon as she saw Riri, she understood she could not give her to Namor. Shuri protecting Riri come hell or high water maintains Black Panther's theme that the safety of black girls stands above all else. And the way that Shuri recognizes this, even though she was blinded by fury and grief and willing to burn down the world--which would have girls like Riri in it--a mere days before, shows just how much the heart of her character conflicts with Namor's.

Shuri takes the risk to see the humanity within others. Namor is not so lenient. And yet, it was this difference that saved his life in the end.

#now will namor use this lesson to do better next time?#or will he use this as a tool to get his war?#we shall see!#wakanda forever #wakanda forever spoilers #shuri #namor #shuri x namor #among the talks of their similarities i wanted to discuss their differences #shuri extended understanding to namor and his people #it's unfortunate that he didn't do the same #shuri x riri #wakanda forever meta

147 notes · View notes

gravitywonagain · 10 months

Text

Can't Cheat Death While You're Digging Your Own Grave; Part 3

Continued from [1][2]

What if Nie Huaisang and Wei Wuxian were closer? Sworn brothers, even? What if NHS visited WWX in Yiling?

Prompt from the wonderful @shiranai-atsune

[T (for now?), implied Wangxian, 2k, 3/?]

Wei Wuxian:

“How much do you know about the Saber Path, Wei-xiong?”

There’s a change in his friend as he asks the question. Nie Huaisang prefers to be seen as someone who is flighty and unaware. He never makes definitive statements, nothing anyone could pin to him as his own opinion; he doesn’t like to appear to know things.

But now, Wei Wuxian is cut by the sharpness in his friend’s eyes.

“Uh… I know it’s strong,” he says. “Very yang focused, active.”

“Did you know it kills its practitioners?”

Wei Wuxian blinks. “Early deaths of Nie sect leaders do seem to be a pattern.”

“I thought,” says Wen Qing, next to him, “that was mostly about… ah, temperament.”

It’s a delicate way to put it. But Wei Wuxian is pretty sure this isn’t the time for delicate.

“She means that they always seem to go out in a blaze of idiotic glory on some epic nighthunt.”

Nie Huaisang does not appear offended on his ancestors’ behalf. He remains sharp, rigid. The blade of a saber he always keeps sheathed. Voice hard as steel.

He says, “My father died at home when my brother cut him down to protect my mother and me from his final rage. After his saber broke, he deteriorated. It was,” he pauses, clears his throat. It’s a raw kind of sound, wet and red, but he remains calm and cold. “It was difficult to watch. I still don’t understand what happened to him. But our doctors called it a qi deviation.”

“I see.”

“Nie-er-gongzi, may I ask,” Wen Qing seems to be struggling to phrase her question but finally settles on, “may I see your saber?”

When Nie Huaisang smiles at her, it’s discordantly soft. Gently amused. “Oh, I doubt my saber will tell you very much, Wen-daifu. I do not cultivate with it.”

“How much do you know about the Saber Path, Nie-xiong?” Wei Wuxian asks.

“Not a lot, to be honest.”

Nie Huaisang flicks his fan open then, retreating back behind a vapid smile as if his candor has reached some limit and he must rest a moment. It’s an oddly placating kind of gesture. Like Wei Wuxian is someone who needs to be coddled or pacified. It irks. Sits wrong, stringing a tension between his shoulders where there wasn’t any before.

“I believe you,” he says. “But you still haven’t answered my previous question. What is the cost, Huaisang?”

The fan flickers back and forth as Nie Huaisang seems to consider how exactly to arrange his words.

Usually he doesn’t take this long. Usually he walks people through a conversation he’s rehearsed in his mind, choreographed and memorized. At least, when he wants something. And maybe the pause itself is strategic, but Wei Wuxian knows his friend well. It seems… careful. Which only twists the band between Wei Wuxian’s shoulders tighter.

Finally, Nie Huaisang snaps his fan closed. He deliberately meets Wei Wuxian’s eyes and says, “You’ll have to study it.”

It would be misleading to say that this is what Wei Wuxian had been afraid of. The idea would have had to occur to him first, for him to fear it. But it is tangential to his fear. Connected.

“Ah…” Wei Wuxian rubs his palms against the rough fabric of his robe. He glances over to Wen Qing, who meets his gaze with the anxiety in her own. “Nie-xiong…”

“You don’t have to… cultivate it,” Nie Huaisang says, far too knowingly. Wei Wuxian’s eyes jump to his friend’s face, but Nie Huaisang presses on, “Just. Just study it. Fix it.”

They’re going to have to address that at some point. Probably. Because just how the fuck-- No. Not now.

“Fix it?” Wei Wuxian asks with no small amount of incredulity. No small amount of curiosity either. “I can’t-- I know I helped you pass your exams during the lectures but--” His brain is already beginning to circle around what he knows of the Saber Path. Yang-focused, prone to qi deviation -- or at least something like it.

Nie Huaisang must see it in his face, because he smiles, a little fiercer this time, and says, “You can. You think about cultivation in ways that other people can’t even imagine. Look at what you built during the war!”

“You’ll recall,” Wei Wuxian says, raising a pointed eyebrow, “that not many people are very pleased with what I built during the war.”

Wen Qing, with a bit more wariness adds, “And some are extremely greedy for it.”

“Also true.”

“Wei-xiong,” Nie Huaisang huffs. “False modesty will get us nowhere.”

Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes. “Yes. I’m smart. But this…” He flaps his hands uselessly.

“This is new. A challenge,” Nie Huaisang grins, and Wei Wuxian hates that it works on him. “And you’ll be tackling it inside a library. With insulation. And on a full stomach.”

The Wens, aside from Wen Qing, are all outside the cave somewhere. Tilling corrupted soil, washing clothes with barely cleansed water, gathering any scraps of cloth they can find to sew into blankets and coats as the winter looms near.

Wei Wuxian looks toward the strained sunlight that brightens the mouth of the cave. He bites a strip of cracked skin from his lip. His leg bounces under the table.

When he turns back, Nie Huiasang is watching him closely. He’s letting Wei Wuxian see how closely he’s watching, which counts for something here. Between them. He needs this. He’s almost begging them for it. And when has Wei Wuxian ever been able to turn down someone in need of his help?

“Chifeng-zun has agreed to their safety?” he asks. An insane question in any other circumstance.

“He has.” A similarly insane answer.

That Nie Mingjue would willingly shelter Wens is almost as unbelievable as the Wens all surviving this winter in the Burial Mounds. But that’s the thing, isn’t it. Their options are severely limited. And if Wei Wuxian wants to keep them safe, he must consider any that are open to him.

He nods and asks, “What else?”

The vapid smile returns. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Huaisang.”

Nie Huaisang shakes his fan at him. “You sound eerily like Da-ge when you do that, did you know?”

He’s avoiding the question. “It’s bad, then.”

“It’s…” he trails off for a moment, but has the decency to look guilty when he nods and says, “permanent.”

Wei Wuxian huffs, exasperated. He’s so fucking tired of games.

Nie Huaisang sets his fan down on the table. Presses his fingers against the surface until his knuckles bulge with it. Then he says, “You’ll have to give up the Yin Tiger Seal.”

“To whom?” Wen Qing asks, the question quick to her tongue, like she already knew this would be the request.

She probably did. Wei Wuxian probably should have known, too. But he’d thought, of all people…

“No,” he says.

“Wei-xiong--”

“No, I’ll do it,” he amends. “But I won’t give it to anyone.”

“Wei Wuxian.” Wen Qing’s voice is sharp with warning. Pointed and precise like her needles. Because she knows what he’s thinking now, too.

“Qing-jie. It’s the only way we do this.”

“You don’t know it won’t kill you.”

It won’t matter if it does, he doesn’t say. Instead, maybe more bullheaded than necessary, he bites out, “Luckily, I’ll have a library at my disposal.”

Wen Qing’s jaw tightens like she heard him anyway.

“Ah, Wei-xiong?” Nie Huaisang flutters his fan, blocking the lower half of his face, exactly like he used to during their tutoring session when Wei Wuxian would go off on some borderline esoteric tangent about cultivation theory.

It’s so familiar that Wei Wuxian almost laughs aloud with the nostalgia in his chest.

“When?” he asks.

“When what?” Nie Huaisang returns.

“When will I need to give it up?”

Nie Huaisang’s eyebrows dip together. “I don’t--”

“If your brother will allow me to hold onto it --” unlikely, but, “fuck, if he’ll lock it away for me -- Tight, safe even from himself. He's more suspicious of Jins than any of the other clan leaders,” he trails off, considering. But Nie Huaisang taps his fan and Wei Wuxian finishes, “I can figure out how to destroy it. Safely.”

That seems to take Nie Huaisang by actual surprise. His fan pauses, mid sway, then shivers back into motion, faster and far less even. “Destroy it?”

“Completely,” Wei Wuxian says with a confidence he forces into his throat.

He needs to be confident in this. He needs to be sure he can destroy it, otherwise… Otherwise none of this will matter anyway.

Nie Huaisang hums, considering. He folds the fan and taps it against his lips. “We can probably make that work.”

Something like relief breaks in Wei Wuxian’s chest. A breath he hadn’t been holding. He wants to reach for Wen Qing’s hand, but she probably wouldn’t appreciate the gesture in front of their guest.

He takes a deep breath. Waits for Wen Qing’s tiny nod. And says, “Okay.”

“Okay?” asks Nie Huaisang, hope shining too bright to be false in his eyes.

“If you can guarantee the safety of the Wens,” says Wei Wuxian, “we’ll go.”

Wen Qing inhales, pauses, inhales again, and says, “Nie-er-gongzi…”

“Yes, Wen-daifu?”

She still seems to be gathering her words, but Nie Huaisang waits patiently. His fan is still, his smile gentle again.

She tilts her head, eyes calculating, and says, “There will be political backlash for this.”

“Ah, yes. I suppose there is one last thing I’ll require of you, Wei-xiong.”

Wei Wuxian waits, annoyed, but also dazed. He’s not entirely sure that any of this is really happening. It’s too good. Even if there is yet another condition.

Nie Huaisang smiles -- smiles, not a grin full of mischief or a calculating quirk of the lips -- and says to Wei Wuxian, “Become my sworn brother.”

Wei Wuxian’s face reacts before he can tell it not to. His jaw drops open, his brow furrows, his eyes search his friend for the joke, for the punchline, for any hint that he’s not serious about this. When he doesn’t find one, he yells, “Huaisang!”

“What?” asks Nie Huaisang, fan flapping back and forth over an exaggerated pout. “I didn’t realize it was so detestable a concept.”

“You cannot swear yourself to Yiling Laozu.”

“We’re not getting married.”

Wei Wuxian scoffs. “We kind of would be, and you know that.”

“So what? You’re a war hero. And an incredibly powerful cultivator.”

A glance to Wen Qing offers no help. Her lips are softly curled and her eyes are unfocused, like she’s imagining Jin Guangshan’s face when Wei Wuxian is pulled out of his reach for good. Or maybe just the spectacle of Yiling Laozu swearing himself to Nie Huiasang, the most unassuming figure of the highly ranked gentry.

“I don’t have a core,” Wei Wuxian blurts out, “which you seem to have figured out somehow.”

Nie Huaisang looks very smug and says, “Nothing in the ceremony requires a golden core.”

“I’m a servant’s son.”

“Meng Yao is a prostitute’s son. Wei-xiong, I really don’t understand what the problem is here?”

“He has self-esteem issues,” says Wen Qing. Which is just--

“I--? What? I’m incredibly full of myself, ask anyone.”

Wen Qing catches his eyes and glares. But he isn’t lying.

It’s not self-esteem he has issues with. It’s other people risking themselves for him. Reputation means everything in this world, all three of them know that. And Nie Huaisang’s reputation is far from spotless. He does not need it raked over the coals by being associated with Wei Wuxian.

But then. It’s not for him. Or not just for him. It’s for Nie Mingjue. It’s for the Wens.

It-- Damnit, it could work, too.

This time when he looks at her, Wen Qing looks back. It’s in her eyes: his acquiescence. He can see it there, taunting him. She knows him too well. She knows him better than anyone, it seems, even himself.

“In front of everybody?” he asks, a whine more than anything.

Nie Huaisang’s smile gets wider. Victorious. “That is generally how it’s done, yes. I’m planning it for your nephew’s 100 days ceremony.”

“That’s quick,” says Wen Qing.

“It’s necessary.”

“I’m impressed.”

Nie Huaisang winks, “Don’t tell anyone.”

“And Nie-zongzhu is just-- fine with that?” Wei Wuxian asks, some last token protest before he has nothing left.

“He understands the complexity of the situation. And the… Jin Guangshan of the situation.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

Wei Wuxian blows out all the air in his lungs. It’s not a lot, but it gives him several seconds to collect himself. Then, finally, he says, “Alright, let’s do it.”

He’s not sure who looks more satisfied, Nie Huaisang or Wen Qing. He ignores the strange ease that settles into his own gut at the idea of it. At a path forward that isn’t a single-log bridge in the night. It’s… nice, he thinks. To have somebody else to help him across the river, to help him help the rest of them cross safely to the other side.

It’s a new feeling. A new lightness.

He’s sad, suddenly, that it didn’t come from someone else. Someone who has been his candle in the dark since they were teenagers.

And then he is abruptly guilty for that feeling, and he shakes it off, letting his mouth run instead.

“How does this sworn brotherhood thing work, anyway? Am I siblings with my sworn sibling’s siblings? What about their sworn siblings and those sworn siblings’... siblings?”

He ran out of steam at the end a little bit, and “siblings” now more resembles a jumble of sounds than it does a real word. But then Nie Huaisang sighs and says, “You will still be allowed to marry Wangji-xiong,” and Wei Wuxian feels all of the blood in his body rush into his cheeks.

“Good,” he nods, with every ounce of dignity he has left. It’s not a lot. “That’s all I need to know.”

#wei wuxian #nie huaisang #wen qing #mdzs #fanfiction #you'll never guess what i spent my afternoon doing instead of homework....#ccdwydyog #nhs + wwx sworn brother au #my writing #i have absolutely nothing written after this so like... idk where this is going really but it's fun to play with anyway :)#first draft! please be nice :)#let me know where you want it to go and i'll see what i can do #probably will run in the vein of wwx wq mad scientist fun times idk

53 notes · View notes

aanglican · 3 months

Note

I actually find the relationship between Aang and his children super interesting and complex, in ways the fandom rarely explore, it usually just falls into the "LOK is BAD because they made Aang a bad father" when that is not at all what was intended with that. Aang was a complicated person struggling with balance and what rubs me wrong is people dont read into his children either, they just focus on Aang. For example Kya, who now older and on her own, seems to crave a sense of spirituality and connection to the world, yet rejected it in when she was young as she herself admits, is she trying to connect to her father's beliefs now that he isnt around due to feelings of loss or loneliness, guilt, etc? does she feel separated from the others? or how Bumi chose a life of adventure and "heroics" due to feeling inadequate next to the legacy of his father and still year after his father's passing, doesnt really know if his father noticed this or even approved.. Aang clearly loves his children and they love him but there is so much here that lays in subtle readings. It feels very real, like this is how families actually behave, with so many unclear and complicated feelings.

i love your suggestions for each child’s behavior. kya with her waterbending could have shunned her air nomad half in response to (or to cope with?) her not being an airbender like tenzin & bumi could have used sokka or suki or any other prominent nonbender in his childhood as idols due to having neither ability of his parents and siblings. there’s a lot of expectations and insecurities in this family that couldn’t be solved even if aang was present 100% of the time.

as for aang alone, i never got the impression he was a bad father either— if he were then we would hear of it from katara but she never says anything bad about him. instead she’s understanding and knows exactly what it’s like to have one’s culture ripped from you: the air nomads were wiped out but so were southern waterbenders. that is their most tragic link together. kya and bumi clearly felt alienated from aang and tenzin as they were not airbenders, which may have also resulted in a conscious choice to step back from embracing their air nomad heritage. clearly aang had too much duties for one man— he is the avatar and the only airbending master both— so he could not devote equal amount of time and attention to all his children.

tenzin has gone on trips with his father alone but the fact that he conflates these memories with those he’s spent with his siblings means aang included kya and bumi in trips as well. it’s not like kya and bumi were dead to aang the second tenzin came out looking like an air nomad. i even think those fun memories tenzin has with aang were rewards after aang had dragged him to boring events and diplomatic trainings & whatnot. i can totally picture aang taking a tour of kyoshi island after introducing tenzin to the fire nation court or something. “before we get home to your mom, why don’t we let loose for a bit at XYZ?” et cetera.

i love aang’s relationship with his kids as well as toph’s. sometimes i wish we knew about zuko and izumi more, even. i love it when our child heroes aren’t always the most squeaky clean adults. it happens, the circumstances make the outcome realistic, and it makes their dynamics interesting. no one growing up with child soldiers-turned-world leaders for parents are going to have perfect outlooks on themselves nor their ancestors.

#myasks #lok #cloudbabies 1.0 #aang

7 notes · View notes

mdhwrites · 9 months

Text

Concept Pitch: An Old War Dog and a Young AI

"I want to live on a farm someday."

"A farm? Do you know anything about agriculture? Crops? Oh, if you don't-"

"N-No, sorry. I didn't mean it like that. It's just a trope I guess. One of those signs the media likes to use to say that an old dog has retired. Finally lost his fangs."

"When you are no longer chief of security aboard the ship, it will be good for you to lay down your weapons but why would you want to be toothless? Or am I using the wrong data on this phrase?"

"No. No... You're not wrong. Those who live for the battlefield still have called me toothless for saying it. That I just want to retire and get to sleep and take in the sun. But... Well, you've heard the stories I've told, right?"

Those stories being his old war stories. The vet was put on this ship as a cushy assignment after his name could still carry weight but his time in combat is over. His teeth are long but his bite is weak. Meanwhile, this ship is brand new, including a fresh AI partner made to be like a young girl to help her be likable to the crew, especially as she is still young enough to be learning from the information servers AIs universally share and the ones they can explore themselves.

The crew on the spaceship aren't exactly enthusiastic about this. A LOT of material is attempted to be kept away from AIs specifically to make sure that if any go rogue, they don't have the entire breadth of human experience to pull from for how to kill and conquer people. On the other hand, the man has nothing to do and many on the security team look up to the old war hero. They won't say no if he wants to spend his time in the hot server rooms with the AI talking to her. They assume it's just because when she shows up as a hologram, it's because she's a practical model.

It's nothing like that though. It's the innocence he feels he's lost shining through. The optimism of new life. And a chance to pass on his own after battlefield injuries left him less than capable of leaving a legacy in his own name. And so he talks to her in a time for peace for AIs.

A time that ends when the person who founded this version of AIs, true AIs with the theoretical capacity of emotion, inference, etc. (not like the plagiarism machines we have now) is brutally slaughtered by someone who hates the new system. For many of the AI, kept innocent to some extent, it's their first time really getting to understand that death doesn't just happen but that it comes out of nowhere, can be brutal and people will do it to each other without having ever met before just because they disagree.

It doesn't take much for an AI to dream up of SOME way to try to put an end to this and soon after it's said that the AIs are going rogue, communications go silent. It doesn't mean the end, not now, there isn't enough AI implementation for that to be the case, but it's bad and trapped in a box that is entirely controlled by one is less than ideal. Worse yet, the ship's AI, likely the first of its kind, does seem horrified by the events.

And then... Nothing happens. The only real change to day to day life is that so the AI doesn't decide to murder the one person on board who's actually seen enough combat to have a record of having killed PLENTY of people, they seal a room from the network and put the vet in there. An engineer comes daily to check the locks and this is where we get the second half of the book: Him working with the engineer on a project that the vet was given, having to simply trust him when he says he believes that it will lead to something good. And so while we see paranoia, fear and mistrust settle in on the rest of the ship, the vet keeps working.

The AI isn't helping. After a look change for a little bit to mostly black to mourn what most AI see as their ancestor, if not father, she starts talking with frequent breaks. It's as if she's struggling to process the words she is trying to say which makes everyone wonder just what she's doing with the rest of her processing power. Worse yet, she keeps asking to see the vet. She claims she needs more of his stories which NO ONE likes.

Finally, the engineer tells the vet that their plan needs to be put into place. He releases the vet and they rush to the med bay with a box. The AI locking off certain part of the ship to keep them unmolested brings things to a boil and the crew start finally rallying to destroy the AI. When they realize she's after the medbay, where some have been hurt by fights caused by the tension, they rush over there.

When they come in though, they see the AI. Or most of her. The body being built wasn't fully complete and it hits extremely in the uncanny valley for a lot. Worse yet, its speech modulator is all sorts of fucked up and while she's talking to a patient, they look terrified as they can't understand a word being said. The engineer and vet are also in the room, sitting in the back, out of the line of fire, the engineer looking terrified while the vet looks calm.

No one says anything as the AI continues to chitter away. She tries a laugh. It sounds awful. She gets up and crashes to the floor for a moment, entirely vulnerable, but no one shoots. Instead, one person laughs. It's not enough to break the tension, but it's enough to get one of the security team to look at the vet and finally ask what in the world is going on.

And the vet simply asks if the man actually cares. When told yes, a blaring screech blares through the speakers. Someone fires off a shot in panic, blowing off the android's arm but not destroying the whole thing but most of the team were being good and had their safeties off. The bridge crew also know what that sound is. It's an alert from headquarters for fleet wide threats such as an entire army warping in out of nowhere. This one's message? Rogue AI behavior and attacks on people.

The first message they have gotten in weeks.

And this was the gambit. The AIs knew about death, technically knew about murder but madness? They didn't really know that and when confronted by it were terrified. There was only one AI who had heard of stories of death that would make anyone's blood curdle. And yet that same storyteller simply wanted to put his weapons down. Had been through madness and come out fine. Wars fought for no reason but greed. Missions only meant to hurt. And here he was, sane as anyone else.

So she put herself on the cross. The AI had spent the weeks talking with other AIs, convincing them to wait, using all she had to make an argument for why what they had seen wasn't a reason to panic. An outlier to mostly be discarded rather than what normally happened. She would need a test though and just before he was forced away from her, she gave the vet schematics for a humanoid body. If these people who had every reason to destroy her, to open fire instantly, did so, then her arguments could not be backed up. They were just stories. If the people didn't though, despite the tension, despite her acting and appearing as other, then everyone needed to breathe.

And breathe they did. And so the story ends with the vet being sad to hear about new restrictions on AIs and further arguing of whether or not they should be used at all still while he sits on a farm. He is pulled out of his thoughts though as his daughter, the one AI that didn't face severe crackdown after the crises, comes back in a proper android body to tell him about her day at the hospital where she's working at.

This was an idea that hit me... Six hours ago? Maybe? As I went to bed so I haven't spent a lot of time thinking about it but I liked it as a bit of hope and to have an unconventional duo of AI and best friend to the AI. That's literally all the basis was. Just wanting to consider a story for someone not technically inclined to for once be the person closest to the AI.

I hope you all liked it. I will always be a touch sad that despite the fact that the Sci-fi genre intrigues me and I find it interesting, it never keeps my interest like fantasy does, either for the media I watch or the stuff I write. Doesn't mean I don't get ideas for it though from time to time! So I thought I'd share.

Until next tale.

======+++++======

Side note: As I typed up the title, all I could think was "I'm about to get spammed by bots and tech bros, aren't I?" -_-

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead. If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

And finally a Twitter you can follow too!

#original writing #concept pitch #Science Fiction #AI

4 notes · View notes

firelord-frowny · 10 months

Text

yall i my worldview just had a fuckin tectonic shift omgggggggggggg

im dicking around on youtube just watching random shit that catches my eye and i start watching an old interview of Shohreh Aghdashloo, an iranian actress who i LOVE omg her voice sounds so otherworldly and he's infuriatingly beautiful, and years ago, one of her biggest roles was in the show 24 where she played a terrorist.

so, the interviewer is asking her about her thoughts/feelings/perspective on the islamophobia and general racism against middle eastern people that's rampant in america, and what she thinks the impact of her character in 24 might be on the audience, blah blah,

and she starts her answer by basically saying that it's no wonder there's so much tension, because americans don't know aaaanything about middle eastern culture, values, history, struggles, triumphs, blah blah,

wait actually lemme just transcribe her actual words lmao

Both parties, west [and] east, we need to get ourselves educated. We need-... I don't blame people in the United States, [because] it is a young country, and you're far away from the middle east."

and im just like??????????????????????

omfg this IS a young country! or at least, the stolen, brutalized, and colonized version of it is young. america is a brand spanking new newborn baby compared to ~old world~ countries. people in those other parts of the world have had literally thousands of years to develop their culture, their values, their art, thousands of years to experience conflict and conflict resolution, thousands of years to evolve. they have thousands of years of history to look back on and learn from and feel connected to. many people there are living in the same place that their ancestors lived. their roots are soooooooooo deep.

meanwhile, literally everyone in ~the united states~ who isn't indigenous has only been here for MAYBE 2 and a half centuries at best. like, that's only 3ish grandparents ago! looking at it that way, it's no wonderrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr americans are so fucking stupid! it's a toddler! a whiny little spoiled bratty toddler! i mean think about it!! what are toddlers like??? -hate sharing

-has a piss poor understanding of cause and effect

-virtually nonexistent attention span

-throws destructive tantrums when it doesnt get its way

-i am feel uncomfortable when we are not about me? -wimpy -not only hates to share, but will also snatch toys from other toddlers and then cry if the other toddler tries to take the toy back

-makes a big mess everywhere they go and then just leaves it for someone else to clean up

-sticks its fingers in its ears and goes "lalalalalalalala" whenever a responsible adult tries to discipline them

-refuses to take responsibility for anything at all ever

america is a fucking baby!!!

which, i mean, obviouslyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy ~old countries~ aren't inherently more morally decent than younger countries in terms of cultural values,

but i think it does make sense that a country that has only existed in its present form with its present demographic for a couple centuries would have such a fucking nightmarish time trying to figure out how to operate itself.

4 notes · View notes

goldleaf-blog · 10 months

Text

I have become randomly obsessed with Jacob. So I've written a fan fiction about him.

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

“Something changed in you. You're different. You’ve become Cold. I love you and I won’t let anyone or anything hurt you” Those were the words his father once said. The day that everything changed.

Jacob Pevsner or who he was originally called Jacob Mystake was once a young inspired musician. Being the son of the Elemental master of Sound he was a master of his work. This brought jealousy among his peers and he was bullied. Being born a dwarf didn’t help ease the torment.

He tried to control himself. He was a patient man and willing to endure it all if it meant he could graduate from the high school of gifted musicians. But that all went sour when his bully invited his crush on a date. That was when he lost his temper and he assaulted the bully. By assault I mean by smashing his bully’s head with a guitar. This caused a long time of bottled anger to overflow and the oni within him called for blood.

The school went under lockdown and the authority were called. Jacob was labeled a murderer and a monster, and given his appearance at the time it was hard to deny it. Jacob lost everything. He lost his friends, his school, his reputation and a future music career and it was all because he lost his stupid temper.

His family helped him escape. But his oni form cost him something of great value to him. His sight. When he woke up he could no longer see the world. It terrified him.

“What happened to me! Why can't I see anything?!” He cried out. His family came to comfort him. His father and his great great grandmother were there, and yet he could not see them. He only hear their voices. “You embraced your oni form and went on a rampage. Its power has rendered you blind.” His father said. The oni power has destroyed his sight and now his world is nothing but darkness. He began to have a mental breakdown.

His family had mentioned to him about his oni in-heritage. It was a family secret that ran through the generations. Their ancestor or their great great grandmother Mystake was an oni and she was the root to their gift. But they are one of two families to share her bloodline. The Elemental Master of Scream was also a child of Mystake, having her elemental power split when one of their ancestors had twins. The Master of Scream should have been here, but Mystake lost contact with her years ago.

Still Jacob was upset. “You lied to me and now I’m blind. Everyone knows I’m a freak. My reputation is ruined. My life is over.” “We didn’t lie to you, we just wanted you to understand that due to our gifts, we just..” His father hesitated, but the words needed to come out. “We are born different compared to the other elemental masters. Therefore we might run into some struggles.” He signed “I’m so sorry this happened to you my son. Perhaps had I helped you in controlling your pride then maybe this wouldn’t have happened " "So it's my fault then?” Jacob said. “Yes and no '' Said Mystake. “You let your pride consume you and you become egotistical and boastful.”

“But I worked so hard to get where I was. I say that pride was well deserved.” Jacob retorted. “And when things didn’t go your way you unleash your fury” continued Mystake “And they deserved it!” Jacob shouted. “They're nothing but thugs in school uniform” “But did they deserve to be hurt? Did that one student deserve to died all because a prized girl was slipping away from you?” Jacob said nothing. He admits that he may went a little too far but the bully did deserve it. What was he to be sorry for? Still, his actions had repercussions. If his life was ruined he would have to start his career all over again. Change his name and clear the state. But in order to do that he would have come clean with himself

First things first. Admit you were wrong. “I guess if you put it that way I did go a little far. I’m really sorry Mystake.” The elderly woman gave him a hug. He couldn’t see her but he could feel her. “All is forgiven Jacob '' Jacob cried when he heard her speak those soft words. He wasn’t expected to be forgiven that easily. But Mystake was a kind, loving and forgiving person. He hugged her tightly, not wanting to let go. He cried into her shoulder letting his emotions pour out.

“So what happens now?” He asked. “Well Jacob you won’t be able to return to normal life unless we change your identity” Said his father. “And you might as well give up on your music career” “No” Mystake interrupted “I think he should continue his career. He should follow his passion and go where his heart leads, "Jacob smiled. He was glad to have Mystake's support “And what about my sight?” Jacob asked. “I’m afraid there is no cure for your disability. But perhaps you could use your elemental powers to act as you new vision"

And so Jacob learnt to use the power of sound to see movement through the darkness. Taking his family advice Jacob changed his identity. He changed his appearance and even changed his last name to Pevsner. He was able to unlock his true potential and he even regained his reputation, though not on the same level that it used to be.

People have asked him why he is blind and oftentimes he would lie and say he was born with it. But the truth is that people can not know the truth. They can not know the truth behind what was caused by his blind rage.

#ninjago #Jacob Pevsner #Oni!Jacob #ninjago au #fanfiction #writing #mystake #art

3 notes · View notes

ratphilosophy · 1 year

Text

Reading this with the CJtheX book club.

Chunk one includes the below writings, and here are my partially digested thoughts on each essay in this chunk.

Skywoman falling

"they could not even imagine what beneficial relations between their species and others might look like?"

I don't blame her for approaching the creation narrative in Genesis with this take, but it doesn't sound at all like Eve was banished just for tasting the fruit. The biblical scholars from whom I have learned have always maintained that this was the only fruit she couldn't have, and that she was tricked into it, and that not trusting God and his word was the sin. But Eve had been placed in the garden not just to be banished, but originally to be a gardener herself.

And then when she was later an exile, it didn't seem like it wasn't still gardening that she was supposed to do - it was just now a more unpleasant gardening.

This all reminds me of the Make Gifts for People advice that John Green gave in his one video a while ago.

I saw a video that then pushed me to a Ted talk about how we all can learn from indigenous people, but the speaker also said that being indigenous was not the thing that the descendants of colonizers should aim for. And I was confused by that, but accepted it as a consequence for the sins of those who came before me and whose actions I now benefit from, at a cost to others' ancestors.

For all of us, becoming indigenous to a place means living as if your children's future mattered, to take care of the land as if our lives, both material and spiritual, depended on it.

So when Kimmerer says this, I'm sort of lost. As a descendent of colonizers (or at least of white people who were favored after the Initial Colonizing),I don't really know what I'm supposed to do.

The council of pecans

Love the idea of mast fruiting. Interesting science there. I don't have much more thought on that particular essay though.

The gift of strawberries

For the plant to be sacred, it cannot be sold.

The connection between a gift and something sacred is category expanding for me. Will have to dig into why.

Hm. Ok. I recently received some birthday money in a card. I hate cards, and don't know how to handle them, because they are usually a decent paper and are sometimes quite pretty,but they have generic poems in them and I don't really want to keep a box of generic poem papers around just because they were once gifts. So when the money came and the cards came (and I had a shit birthday, but that wasn't important) I just grabbed the cash and recycled the cards, as has become my typical response to unwanted paper. And that felt shitty, but I didn't really know why. And I wanted to respond to my gift givers, but I didn't (and still don't) know how. This validated that conviction I had that it was shitty, and has me resolved to go call my grandparents.

The idea of a gift economy sounds like heaven. It feels like the early church's impromptu socialism, and like when I get to give lots of candy to kids on Halloween. It makes me sad that we don't practice it.

The Lewis Hyde quote about gift economies, where he notes that it is more in harmony with how nature itself behaves, it snagged my attention for a bit.

I struggle to understand how geese are offering their lives as a gift to us when they are shot down and hunted. It totally makes sense that she calls it a theft of the life of a chicken in a factory farmed cage, but is it not theft of life to kill and eat a wild goose? (Not a vegan out of lack of energy, but I totally understand how those with the executive function to be vegans would come to that conclusion. I can console myself that at least I don't eat a ton of meat myself, but it's not like that absolves me by any stretch.)

Much philosophy out there makes me think of what kind of World we have. This book has me thinking about what kind of World we should have cultivated, and has me more convicted than anything else, more aware of the need for justice and restoration. In light of this, it's hard to feel satisfied by any worldview that doesn't bring what we've done to our world back into line.

The commodity economy has been here on Turtle Island for four hundred years, eating up the white strawberries and everything else. But people have grown weary of the sour taste in their mouths.

An offering

The coffee feels like a tithe

The concept of ceremony bringing our attention to a part of reality is part of what has me still attending the Anglican church, even now, as I'm not certain whether I really believe in Christianity or if I just received it from our culture and assimilated to try to fit in. I could have forgone church entirely, but I was too frightened to totally do that, and anyway there's something about the ritual that feels Real in a way that the goddamn non-denominational church's worship didn't.

What else can you offer the earth, which has everything? What else can you give but something of yourself?

Asters and Goldenrod

I feel a parallel, in my autism and how I felt as a teen, to her experience of having her love of plants and desire for botanical knowledge get crushed because she didn't know the right words to communicate what she knew deeply. Something about that story and her emotion calls me back to wanting to study psychology because I care about people (when really I was lonely and wanted to understand them so I could not be lonely anymore. Also, special interest) and being told that wasn't a viable career option. Ugh.

Science as a way of knowing is too narrow for the task... I should have been told that my questions were bigger than science could touch.

I feel like this essay speaks to my thirst for understanding and concrete foundational truths about religion and worldview. Science is too narrow for it, but also I needed a time of testing what science (or I suppose, skeptical philosophy) is capable of doing for us in the area of worldview, and it has also been a great new environment in which to be absorbed.

I received some Goldenrod in my garden last year just by random chance. This has me wanting to put asters in as well, replacing the invasive honeysuckle bush that threatens to overgrow every few months.

Learning the grammar of animacy

The idea of scientists naming things has always brought my mind back to the Eden narrative, where Adam is assigned the task of naming the animals. Naming and gardening were the two things we were asked to do. It makes sense that science and art would be so captivating to us.

What lies beyond our grasp remains unnamed.

The boarding schools thing has me, a very left human, feeling like we need less government so they can never do something like that again. (But I know that's an emotional reaction - not really a solid national plan.)

I envy her ability to teach herself a language so important to her.

Fuckin love that Yawe means "to be" and sounds like Yahweh - "I am".

#works cited #theology #cj the x #braiding sweetgrass #philosophy

4 notes · View notes

mystical-flute · 1 year

Text

We Are The Warriors That Built This Town: Chapter 2

Oden's test for the Straw Hat and Heart Pirates takes place. Will the crews be able to get the keys they need to reach Wano's poneglyph?

AO3

“Oh, nice going Zoro. You just had to attack Wano’s shogun!”

“Don’t give me that crap, Usopp! He was charging straight for Luffy!”

The crew had awoken locked in separate jail cells, without their weapons and seastone handcuffs holding them to the walls.

“I just can’t believe they managed to get the jump on us. My observation haki didn’t see anything coming,” Sanji said with a frown. “And if I couldn’t sense anything, Jinbei, Luffy, or Mosshead sure should have.”

“Indeed. Whatever that gas was, none of us stood a chance at stopping it. I guess it’s true what they say about Wano,” Jinbei concurred. “I saw their power for myself at Marineford, but to have it used against you is another matter entirely.”

“So what do we do then?” Nami questioned. “And where’s Luffy?”

“Still sleeping,” came Chopper’s voice. “I wonder what happened to Law’s crew.”

“Trafalgar Law?” a voice questioned from the staircase. The crew recognized it immediately as Oden. “The man who helped you take down Big Mom? Was he supposed to be with you?”

There was a moment of quiet before Jinbei spoke. “How do we know you’re telling the truth about not knowing where the Heart Pirates are?”

“Because if anyone else appeared on our island, someone would have informed me. How do you think I reached you so quickly when you landed on our beach?” Oden’s eyes were bright with mischief. “People don’t get into Wano quietly. Not with our lovely waterfalls! Wahaha!”

“Why did you lock us up?” Robin asked.

Oden stopped in front of her cell. “It’s as I said. You needed to calm down. Your swordsman over there doesn’t know the truth of the swords he has.”

“What did you just say?!” Zoro snapped, his chains rattling as he struggled in them. “You don’t know anything about my swords!”

“No?” Oden questioned, rounding on Zoro and holding up one finger when he reached the bars of his cell. “Shusui. One of the most famous blades in history. Wielded by the sword god, Shimotsuki Ryuma, one of the rare swordsmen to master the art of the black blade. Twenty-three years ago it was stolen along with our beloved protector’s corpse while Wano was under the control of the pirate called Kaido.” He paused and held up another finger. “Wado Ichimonji. It has the markings of being crafted by the Shimotsuki clan of Wano. This was verified by two daimyo who are members of said clan.” Another pause, another finger lifted. “The Sandai Kitetsu. A cursed blade said to bring misfortune to whoever owns it. Forged in Wano, by a great man named Kozuki Sukiyaki.”

Brook rose to his feet in alarm. “Kozuki? Wait, does that mean - ”

“Sukiyaki was my father? Yes,” Oden confirmed, glancing at Brook’s cell before turning to Zoro. “Do you understand now?”

“Just because you know my swords doesn’t mean you have the right to steal them from me,” Zoro said with a glare.

“The only sword I want back is Shusui. Wado and Sandai are yours. In exchange, I’ll give you another Kitetsu blade. The Nidai Kitetsu, forged by my ancestor,” Oden said. “That’s all I want.”

Zoro frowned. “What kind of sword is the Nidai? Can I see it?”

“Of course. Kiku!”

The same female samurai from their initial clash came down the stairs, holding a sword with a purple hilt in her hands. “Lord Oden, I have the Nidai. You’re sure you’re willing to give it away?”

“If it means we get our country’s greatest treasure back, I am prepared to make that sacrifice,” Oden replied, taking the sword and presenting it to Zoro. “I’ll undo your binds so you can examine it. Kiku, do you mind undoing the others? I think they’ve all calmed down enough.”

“Of course, my Lord.”

Carefully, both got to work undoing the cells and chains, and one by one, the Straw Hats moved into the main dungeon, minus Luffy, who was, somehow, snoring away in his cell, completely unaware of what was happening around him.

“Is this… normal for your captain?” Kiku asked, undoing Luffy’s chains and stepping back with a frown. “He’s the one who took down Big Mom, of all pirates?”

“He tends to sleep where he thinks he’s safe. We don’t understand it either. Sorry,” Usopp sighed and leaned down, gently smacking Luffy on the face a couple of times. “Luffy! Wake up!”

Luffy, however, kept snoring, and Usopp hoisted him over his shoulder as Sanji stepped out of his cell.

“Just give me access to a kitchen and he’ll wake up in a second,” Sanji said with a sigh. It was obvious he was barely restraining his heart eyes at the tall samurai before them, as he kept his eye trained on the sword she had with her.

Kiku hummed a little as Oden stepped out of Zoro’s cell. Zoro quickly followed, slipping the Nidai Kitetsu into place on his belt before Kiku looked at Sanji again.“I’m afraid our kitchen staff is already preparing a feast for you all. You’re welcome to follow me upstairs if you’re hungry.”

The crew nodded and followed Kiku up the stairs and into a large dining hall, a long table and zabuton. Along the walls were wanted posters of well-known pirates, including the crews of the Worst Generation, Whitebeard, and Roger pirates.

“Amazing…” Robin whispered. “How much information is able to get into the country?”

“Less than there used to be, but enough for us to know the people to watch out for,” a young woman said as she stepped into the room. “I’m also sorry my father decided capturing you was a better idea over explaining what was going on. He tends to be a little dramatic. I’m his daughter, Kozuki Hiyori.”

“Hiyori my sweet!” Sanji swooned immediately, bowing to her and kissing the back of her hand. “What an honor it is to meet you.”

Hiyori flushed. “My goodness! You’re so kind, sir, but please, have a seat. The servers will be out soon with the first course.”

“Huh? Food?” Luffy questioned, lifting his head from Usopp’s shoulder.

“Welcome back,” Usopp grumbled before he dropped Luffy to the floor unceremoniously. “Hey, uh, Princess Hiyori? I just wanna apologize in advance for Luffy. He’s probably going to eat all the food you have in the castle.”

Hiyori turned to him with a playful smile. “We’ll see if he can.”

“Hey! Jinbei!”

Jinbei glanced over and grinned. “Izou! I was wondering where you went off to after Whitebeard’s funeral. Decided to come home, huh?”

“How could I ignore the call to come home when Lord Oden appeared at Marineford?” Izou laughed. “I see you’ve joined with another emperor.”

“What can I say? Luffy just has something about him,” Jinbei replied with a hearty laugh.

“You sound like Pops. He knew there was something special about him.”

“You’re sure it wasn’t just Ace talking about him all the time?”

More warm laughter escaped the two former comrades, until Izou sighed and gestured toward the table. “Anyway, feel free to sit and relax. Lord Oden has quite an interesting proposition for your crew.” When Jinbei gave him a concerned look, Izou held up his hands. “You are not enemies of ours, Jinebi. Your crew is safe here.”

Jinbei nodded warily, but took a seat at the table with the others.

More samurai entered the room alongside a young man and older woman, who introduced themselves as Kozuki Momonosuke and Toki, Oden’s son and wife.

“Ah! I wasn’t aware a Mink had joined your crew!” the giant dog said, his gaze torn between an affectionate look toward Carrot and a concerning one toward Brook’s skeletal frame. “I’m Inuarashi, and the cat is Nekomamushi.”

Nekomamushi’s gaze, however, remained focused on Carrot. “This may be a shot in the dark, but do you happen to know a Mink named Pedro? He was a dear friend of mine before the dog and I left Zou.”

Carrot ducked her head and clenched her fists against her knees. “U-um… he came with us to get Sanji back from Big Mom and - and he - he sacrificed himself. Big Mom had taken a lot of his life span in the past, so…”

“She… killed him?” Nekomamushi asked.

Carrot nodded and swallowed to try to stave off the tears that threatened to fall. “He knew his time was running out, so he - he sacrificed himself. He said I had to live on to see the new dawn come. That - that Luffy would bring it.”

Nekomamushi and Inuarashi exchanged a glance, before grinning at the crew.

“If that was Pedro’s will, who am I to complain?” Nekomamushi said as he reached over to pat Carrot on the head in the traditional Mink fashion. “And he clearly has a strong, capable Mink to fulfill his wish. Providing you can get through the game Lord Oden has set up for you all!”

“I’ll do my best to make him proud and win whatever you’re talking about!”

“That’s what I like to hear!” Oden said as he entered the room. He had one hand firmly on Zoro’s shoulder, as if he had been steering him in the correct direction, making sure Zoro actually sat down at the table before he sat at the head of it. “Now, welcome ladies and gentlemen. I am Kozuki Oden. I imagine you’ve come here for Wano’s poneglyph?”

“That would be nice,” Robin said with a small nod.

Oden nodded. “Yes, of course you did. But it wouldn’t be smart of me to just let you have it. I was a member of Roger’s crew, after all.”

Luffy choked on the fish he’d been inhaling, his eyes wide. “Woge’s cew?”

“Indeed. I was the one who helped him get to Laugh Tale. The language of the poneglyphs originated in Wano. My children and I have continued that tradition,” he paused and glanced at Robin. “I imagine you are the one guiding Luffy, Nico Robin.”

Robin nodded slowly. “How did you guess?”

“You’re the last survivor of Ohara,” Oden said with a smile. “It doesn’t surprise me if their scholars were able to read the ancient language of the Kozuki clan.”

“Right… of course I knew your ancestors were the ones to create the poneglyphs.”

Oden nodded. “And so, I have concocted a series of tests for your crew. If you pass, you will be able to copy the poneglyph. If not, well, I’ll have no choice but to remove you from our island.”

“Remove us how?” Usopp questioned, a nervous quiver in his tone.

“Oh, don’t worry, son of Yasopp!” Oden said, continuing on even through Usopp’s surprised yelp. “I was just going to send you over the falls attached to the stern of your ship, that’s all!”

“Oh, that’s all?” Usopp deadpanned, though his eyes were full of panic.

“Of course that’s all! I wasn’t actually going to kill you or anything!”

Usopp’s tea kettle-like squeak went unnoticed by the rest of the crew as Sanji spoke up.

“You clearly know a lot about us, if you have our wanted posters hanging in here and you know Usopp is Yasopp’s son, so what are these tests you have for us?” he asked with a frown.

Oden nodded. “They play to your strengths. If you’ve gotten this far in the world, and the papers are calling you a Yonko crew, then I need to make sure you’re worthy of going all the way to Laugh Tale. So each of you will find yourselves fighting some of the strongest members of my court in order to obtain a key. If you all manage to secure your keys, it will lead you to the poneglyph you seek.”

“I think it sounds fun!” Luffy managed to say without food lodged in his throat. “When do we start?”

“This evening. I would like to test Trafalgar Law as well, if he’s able to make it up the waterfall.”

“How did you know Traffy was with us?”

Hiyori giggled behind her hand. “The newspaper said as much, of course. Someone spotted both your ships leaving the wedding.”

“Great. We were meant to make a quiet exit,” Usopp groaned.

Momo only laughed. “Nothing involving Big Mom is ever quiet, believe me. She tried to burn down part of our forests when father rejected one of her marriage proposals for Hiyori to one of her sons. Probably not a great indicator of how she’d be as ‘family’.”

“No, I would say it’s an excellent indicator,” Jinbei said. “You managed to avoid getting stuck in her web.”

“An excellent way of looking at it,” Izou said with a shiver. “She only got more forceful after Lord Oden showed up to the war at Marineford, saying she was better suited to keep Wano safe than Shanks was. It’s like she couldn’t even see his flag flying at the top of our castle.”

“She probably saw it. She just didn’t care.”

“You’re probably right, Jinbei,” Oden said, before he glanced over at what appeared to be an empty wall. “Shinobu, what news have you?”

To the crew’s surprise, a shinobi with long twintails popped into the room, then bowed before Oden. “Trafalgar Law has been spotted in Kuri, Lord Oden. Shall we go fetch him for you?”

Oden grinned. “Excellent. Yes, thank you, Shinobu.”

She was gone with a pop.

“Oh good, Traffy’s safe. That’s a relief!” Luffy sighed.

“You seem quite close to him,” Oden said.

“Oh yeah, he’s great! We’re all friends!”

The look on some of hos crew’s faces said they did not feel as friendly toward Trafalgar Law as their captain. It amused him greatly - Luffy reminded him so much of Roger, thinking he’d made all sorts of friends, even when those friends were rivals who weren’t fond of him in return.

When the Heart Pirates were brought into the room and caught up on the conversation, Oden rose to his feet again and addressed everyone.

“So now you know that I have a series of tests planned for you. Whatever room you run into will have one of my men that you will have to fight for a key to unlock where the poneglyph is. The one thing I want you to know is that every test will be taking place on the palace grounds. I do not want anything to spill over into the Flower Capital,” Oden said. “I do not want my people to be hurt by a friendly game!”

“You think the race for the One Piece is just a game?” Law questioned with narrowed eyes.

“If I thought that, I would have just given you the poneglyph rubbing, wouldn’t I?” Oden questioned before he rose to his feet. “Now then, you all know what you have to do, so let’s see if you can succeed!”

With a snap, the Wano natives vanished in puffs of smoke.

“Alright, well…” Law sighed as he rose to his feet, Kikoku on his shoulder. “Let’s go then. Let’s find that poneglyph.”

The group split up, going in different directions of the palace and its grounds.

-----

“How are you feeling, Carrot?” Bepo asked nervously as the duo wandered down one of the castle’s long hallways. “I mean, after everything with Pedro and Big Mom…”

Carrot had to think for a moment about how she really felt. She’d been telling the crew she was fine, that it was Pedro’s will to do what he did, but honestly she’d been more concerned that they were going to send her back to Zou, so she may have been lying. Bepo though, surely wouldn’t rat her out.

“I’m okay. How are you? Knowing what your brother went through and all…”

Bepo nodded in understanding. “Same. I’m okay. I’m just glad to know Zepo isn’t a slave of the government or something.”

“We are too.”

Carrot and Bepo froze outside a doorway to a courtyard area, where Neko and Inu were sitting, matching grins on their faces. Moonlight filtered in from the tall sakura trees, casting an eerie glow around what should have been a peaceful, tranquil scene.

“It’s a perfect night to sit outside you know,” Inu said, one hand on his sword.

Neko grinned, his teeth glinting in the faint light. “That’s right. Nice and clear. The perfect night ta watch a full moon.”

So this was their test - fighting two of Oden’s samurai while in their sulong forms.

Carrot and Bepo exchanged a glance, nodding at each other in agreement, before stepping outside and glancing up at the moon, feeling its power surge through their forms.

And then, they lunged.

-----

“So what do you guys think we’ll have to do for our test?” Chopper asked Penguin and Shachi. He paused, ears picking up the sound of growling from the courtyard. “It sounds like the Minks have gone sulong.”

“Man, if they’ve had to go sulong, I guess that means we’re fighting, aren’t we?” Shachi groaned.

“Well, we shouldn’t be too surprised at that. We are in Wano, after all,” Penguin replied.

Chopper nodded a little, before his ears perked again. “Hey… do you guys hear something?”

“Sounds like water,” Penguin said.

They continued down the hallway, the sound of the water growing louder until they arrived at a large outdoor spring.

“Ah! Welcome to our healing spring!” Kawamatsu said. “Isn’t it a lovely night?”

Chopper glanced up at the moon and stars, shining clearly through the courtyard’s trees. “Yes, a perfect night to be outside. The Minks already seem to be making the most of the good weather.”

Kawamatsu’s laugh echoed in the clear night air. “Yes, I suppose they have. Do you think your Mink friends will be able to defeat ours?”

“Of course I do!” Chopper said. “Carrot was trained by a sulong master on Zou!”

“And Bepo trained on his own for years to master his own skills!” Shachi added. “You should have seen the way they worked together to destroy two of Big Mom’s fleets!”

Kawamatsu grinned. “That’s very impressive indeed. Now tell me this… do you think the three of you can defeat me and take my key?” With that, he dove under the water.

“A water battle? I’m a Devil Fruit user - I can’t go in the water!” Chopper groaned.

Shachi and Penguin though, didn’t seem concerned. In fact, they were grinning.

“You don’t have to worry about the water. We’ve got it. You just get him when he comes back onto land.”

Chopper was given no further explanation as the two humans dove in after the fishman.

-----

They could do this. As soon as they got this poneglyph, they’d have three out of the four! And maybe Oden would be able to give them a hint as to where the fourth one was, especially if the Kozuki clan really did carve them!

And if Nami could steal from Big Mom, she could steal a stupid key. She’d done it before, in Enies Lobby, and while that had actually been a fight for their lives, this would be a cakewalk!

She paused in her mission to find some jewels when she heard music coming from a nearby room. Nami slowly opened the door and peeked her head inside, where she found Hiyori playing a shamisen.

“Ah, hello Weather Witch. I was wondering who would find my musical hideaway. Please, do come inside.”

Nami was slow as she stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

“You look worried, Nami,” Hiyori said. “You don’t need to be, I promise.”

“I know that,” Nami replied as she stepped closer to where Hiyori was sitting. “What’s that song you’re playing?”

“It’s called Moon Princess. It’s my father’s favorite.”

Nami jumped in surprise and turned to look at the second Hiyori that was standing behind her.

“I’ve heard you’re quite adept at clones yourself,” both Hiyoris said. “Can you figure out which one of us has the key you seek?”

---------

BANG! BANG!

Usopp ducked behind a tree. He knew when he’d found Izou it would be a battle of marksmen, but he didn’t expect to be dodging actual bullets. And Izou was one of Whitebeard’s men too - how could Usopp even come close to someone like him?

But he needed that key. It was going to unlock one of the last mysteries they needed to find the One Piece, and then… maybe Usopp would become a brave warrior of the sea, like he’d promised himself and his crew so long ago.

How was he supposed to do it if Izou kept finding all his hiding spots?

“Come on, Usopp! If you want to sail with an emperor, you need to pull your weight!” Izou taunted.

He was right. Luffy was considered an emperor now. He couldn’t slack off!

Taking a deep breath, Usopp tried to concentrate on where Izou was hiding and how he could get one of his pop greens to hit him.

There! He saw Izou’s form shine bright blue for a moment on one of the castle turrets.

Ducking out of his hiding spot, Usopp shot out a smokescreen, then a sticky bomb. If he could just pin Izou down, he could get the key.

He could hear a grunt from Izou, and grinned.

Bingo.

Izou laughed. “Now that’s what I’m talking about!”

-----

“I have to say, I didn’t know a human could learn fishman karate!” Kiku remarked as she blocked an attack from Robin. “It’s very impressive!”

“Thank you. Your snow techniques are fascinating as well!” Robin replied.

They hadn’t been able to get any good hits on each other - both too fast or too good at camouflage for anything to hit. Robin could see the key dangling from Kiku’s armor, taunting her, and couldn’t help but wonder if this was how the others felt at Enies Lobby, trying to hunt down the key to her handcuffs.

“Who taught you those techniques, may I ask?” Kiku asked as she shrouded herself in snow again.

Robin braced herself, trying to see her through the swirling snow. “Luffy’s brother,” she replied, throwing her voice to one of her clones. She couldn’t do this forever, but until she figured out how to find Kiku in the snow, she was going to have to risk it.

“Ace?” Kiku questioned, and Robin saw her opening as she faltered in confusion, summoning one of her arms and reaching for the key.

When she yanked it back, the snow suddenly stopped, with Kiku freezing. Through the mask, Robin could see the shock on her face.

And then Kiku pulled off the mask and let out a hearty laugh.

----

“Your jutsu really is quite interesting, Franky-dono!” Raizo said as he hung from the rafters of one of the meeting rooms. “But I’m afraid it’s no match for mine!”

He was fast, which meant Franky had to learn on the fly to get faster too, and his mind was already swirling with ideas as to how to make that happen. He couldn’t wait to get back to his workshop and test them out!

“I told you, bro,” Franky began, grunting and dodging out of the way of one of Raizo’s flash fire attacks. He was too bulky - he needed something to make him more stealthy like a ninja. “It’s not jutsu. It’s science! My own Franky brand mad science!”

“I hope I can see science when Wano is finally open,” Raizo said, disappearing from the rafters. “There is so much about the world that seems fascinating.”

“Oh, hell yeah there is! Sea trains, dials, robots used by the government! There are so many crazy things in the world!” Franky said. Maybe if he could keep Raizo talking it would be enough to get the key.

Raizo paused. “What’s a train? Wait - no, I know this. Water 7, yes?”

“You know what Water 7 is?”

“Lord Oden mentioned it! He said there was a man named Tom there who was working on something called a train,” Raizo explained. “He also mentioned two apprentices.”

Franky lurched, his strong right launching without him meaning to. Holy shit. It was Oden that showed up with Roger that day. The one that had offered him a place on Roger’s crew.

“He knows all about Cutty Flam, huh?” Franky grunted, an arm wrapping around Raizo, the key dropping to the floor. “You can tell Kozuki Oden that Cutty Flam is dead.”

------

“Fifty years?” Kanjuro gasped in horror. Brook wasn’t sure if it was the real Kanjuro or the fake ones he kept drawing. “You were alone for fifty years?”

“Indeed, with the bodies of my crew the only company I had,” Brook replied, strumming his guitar. Yes, they were supposed to be fighting - and they had been! Kanjuro’s paint brush bringing art to life and doubling as a sword reminded him so much of him being able to bend the power of music to his own will, but if he could lure Kanjuro into a false sense of security, that would work to get the key too, right?

Kanjuro frowned. “It must have been lonely.”

“Oh incredibly so! I was so used to the ghosts in my own mind I was actually frightened of Luffy and the others when they arrived in the Florian Triangle! But it allowed me to produce some of my best songs, I think,” Brook explained, strumming his guitar.

“Kakaka, I know what you mean,” Kanjuro said. “Lord Oden saved me from living a life of lies and deceit. He helped restore my family name too. If it weren’t for him I would have been willing to burn Wano to the ground.” He shivered at the thought. “I suppose it takes a miracle for us to understand who our real family is, huh?”

Brook nodded. “It really does.”

Kanjuro sighed and reached into his robe, withdrawing a key. “Here. Take the key. If Monkey D. Luffy is who Lord Oden trusts, I do too.”

-----

Ashura Doji’s swords clattered to the ground at the force of Jinbei’s attack. Both men panted heavily, the prolonged battle beginning to wear on them. Though it wasn’t meant to be a fight to the death, they were prideful warriors, and that meant taking it as seriously, as if it was.

“You’re impressive, Son of the Sea,” Ashura said. “But I’m not done yet!”

He rushed forward like a sumo wrestler, fully prepared to lift Jinbei and defeat him that way. To his great surprise though, Jinbei met his physical strength, and locked the two of them in a stalemate.

“I have to say I agree. The people of Wano truly are as strong as Oden boasted!” Jinbei said with a grin. “I’ve enjoyed our duel very much, Ashura. But I think it’s about time it ended!”

“Not as quickly as you might hope!”

Jinbei grinned. If they weren't fighting, it may have looked friendly. Instead, Ashura’s stomach sank as he was suddenly lifted from the ground, over his head, then slammed hard back against the floor.

Ashura groaned out in pain. When was the last time he’d been pushed that far? Still, he couldn’t help but smile, grabbing his key and handing it over.

“You’ve earned this fair and square.”

-----

Ugh. This Kin’emon guy was annoying, going on and on about all the beautiful women in Wano, as if trying to use that to distract him from his goal!

Okay, well, it was, a little bit, but Kin’emon seemed to be getting just as distracted which was really, really annoying. He almost wanted it to be an actual battle against an enemy instead of a friendly duel.

Sanji took a drag from his cigarette and observed Kin’emon again. He was a swordsman, which meant he had to be careful not to get cut. Worse, he used two swords, like Mosshead, which meant he had two weapons he could strike Sanji with.

Luckily, though, Sanji knew full well how to dodge the shit Mosshead threw at him. All he had to do was concentrate on that instead of Kin’emon’s descriptions of the beautiful women that lived in Wano.

“What’s the matter, Black Leg? Are you worried you won’t be able to get the key your crew needs?” Kin’emon taunted with a grin. “Is my warrior pride distracting you?”

“Your warrior pride includes talking about women?” Sanji questioned. “Didn’t you also say you had a wife?”

“Oh yes, my beloved Tsuru! Mother of my beloved children!” Kin’emon said, his face pink with the love he held for her.

And that’s when Sanji struck, landing a simple diable jambe and knocking Kin’emon into a wall, his key clattering to the ground.

“Your wife and children sound like good people, Kin’emon. I’d be honored to cook for you sometime.”

Kin’emon let out a wheeze and gave Sanji a thumbs up.

-----

“Why does your boss know so much about my swords?” Zoro questioned, his blades clashing with Denjiro’s. All around him, Zoro could hear the calls of his crewmates, locked in their own battles. For once, it seemed like all of them were actually focused on the goal at hand, which was good.

Denjiro was proving to be a difficult foe, and one that Zoro very much appreciated. But the fact that Oden seemed to know everything about his swords was incredibly alarming, and if he wasn’t going to fight Oden, maybe he could get something out of Denjiro.

“Why wouldn’t Lord Oden, or anyone in Wano, really, know about the Shimotsuki Clan? They run two of our regions, after all,” Denjiro replied with a wide grin. “In fact, Ushimaru and Yasuie came down to the palace themselves to look at your swords. They know the one who created the one you carry between your teeth.”

That had Zoro lurching back in surprise, allowing Denjiro to get a hit on him.

It wouldn’t happen again.

“So they know the old man from the village?” Zoro grunted. “How?”

“Distracting me will not work. Do you want this key or not?”

Zoro bristled in anger. Fine. He’d just have to go to those regions himself and get some answers. Surely the rest of the crew would want to hang around for a few more days.

Their swords clashed again, haki bouncing off of them in waves as each man got an attack off.

“I must say, you do remind me of Ushimaru with the way you carry yourself,” Denjiro mused. “Your stance and swordsmanship is the same as that clan.”

Zoro simply grunted. “Onigiri!”

Denjiro was knocked off his feet, swords and key clattering to the ground.

----

Momo was probably the coolest person Luffy had ever fought before. Not only was he a super strong warrior like Oden, he could turn into a dragon! And a much cooler dragon than the one at Punk Hazard!

And he was strong. Luffy wasn’t surprised at that, all things considered, but still, as they fought outside the palace, with all the people\watching them from the ground, Luffy was having the time of his life. It was nice to not have to worry about his crew, even if they were fighting, because for once, no one was actually trying to kill them!

“Straw Hat, hurry up and figure out if he’s the one with the key!” Law shouted, before the sound of swords clashing met his ears. Ah, so Oden wasn’t budging either.

“You know, Straw Hat, our brothers are on the same crew!” Momo suddenly said, distracting Luffy again.

“Wait, really?” Luffy asked with wide eyes. “Hey cool! Have you met Ace before?”

Momo nodded and went into his half-dragon form, blue scales glinting in the light of the moon as he picked up his discarded sword. “Of course! He wouldn’t shut up about you! So I’m glad I get to battle you now, because if he comes back to visit, I can tell him I kicked your ass!”

Luffy frowned. “You’re not gonna kick my ass! I’m gonna kick yours and get what I need!” He couldn’t exactly remember the name of the thing he needed, but either Oden or Momo had a key to get to it, so that’s what he was focused on!

“Come then, Luffy!” Momo laughed.

Luffy was glad he was having as much fun as he was, and as he jumped to avoid Momo’s sword, he saw the key glinting off the belt on Momo’s robe.

“Traffy!” Luffy shouted.

Law jumped away from Oden’s attack and snapped his fingers, swapping the key with a small pebble.

“Wait - what? That’s cheating!” Momo shouted.

Oden just roared with laughter. “Now, now, all I said was they had to get the key. They are pirates, Momo. Their code of honor is different from ours.”

“They have no code of honor,” Momo grumbled.

“Don’t be a sore loser, Momo. Go show them back to the dining room,” Oden said.

Luffy grinned when he saw the rest of their crews already waiting for them, keys in hand and a large box on the table. When all the keys were inserted, a small bird flew out of the box and led them down a dark, hidden passageway to the underbelly of the palace.

“Ah, you passed my husband’s test. Congratulations,” a woman’s soft voice said. “Welcome to Wano’s past.”

#one piece #fanfiction

2 notes · View notes

simsparrows · 2 years

Text

Sparrow had resigned herself to the growing discontent in her chest. But Tsala, neighbor turned friend, could see it plainly on her face that Sparrow needed someone to listen to her. So a late night when the sky had exploded with stars, Tsala had asked for Sparrow to accompany her for a walk.

Tsala led Sparrow to a place in the village Sparrow had yet to visit. After some time, Tsala exhaled, sitting down on a rock and looked at the murky lake in front of them.

“It’s a nice night out.”Tsala said after an extended pause. Sparrow only made a low grunt in agreement.

“I like to come out here to think or when something’s bothering me.” Tsala said, eyes aglow with the midnight twinkle of stars. “No matter what I’m struggling with, coming out here makes that problem seem so small, so insignificant. Under the stars I know my ancestors are there, giving me strength.”

Sparrow turned her eyes down from the lights, her chest tightening. It had been many years since her parents and sister were still on this earth. And right now she would give anything for a hug and some words of encouragement from her sister.

After a beat of silence, Sparrow shook her head and said, “I don’t know if our ancestors can help me much.”

Tsala shot Sparrow a quizzical look. Sparrow knew what she was thinking. There was no problem to small or too big for your ancestor’s guidance. Tsala, unlike Sky, held the same belief about the ancestral plane. That after a last breath in this world, your spirit never goes away. It ascends to a place no living person can visit, but from there they watch, encourage, and lead their descendants down the right path.

“Look, it’s just....” Sparrow let out a laugh despite herself, blushing at the thoughts spinning in her head. Everything she was feeling made sense inside, but saying her pain aloud felt almost silly.

Finally Sparrow found the strength to push past her embarrassment and discomfort. “It’s just not something I can go to the Ancestors for.”

Sparrow listed off a number of things weighing on her.

Her list started off with small things. She was getting used to a new routine still. Then she brought up her larger concerns, skirting around the biggest issue of all. She was struggling with watching the children without Sky around as much.

Tsala listened patiently, kindness alight in her eyes.

Another moment of silence passed when Sparrow finally sighed and reluctantly said, “It’s Sky.”

“Sky?” Tsala raised her eyebrows. The answer clearly surprised her. On the outside they looked more than good they were the perfect couple. Sparrow was just as madly in love with him as she was when they first expressed their feelings for each other...but there was something missing since moving to be apart of the tribe.

“Sky hasn’t....I mean we haven’t...” Sparrow blushed hard, fumbling with her hands to explain. “We haven’t exactly been...well, you know.”

After Tsala still didn’t understand, Sparrow closed her eyes and the truth burst out.

“We haven’t had relations since he left for his solo hunting trip.”

Tsala smacked her hand against her face and groaned.

Sparrow only nodded solemnly.

A duck swimming near them quacked in solidarity. Sparrow managed a laugh at the sound.

“I can’t believe this.” Tsala said. “The way he looks at you? It’s hard to imagine he isn’t trying his luck bedding ou every night.”

Sparrow nodded vigorously.

“He used to be that way. His hands all over me, squeezing, touching, wanting to be as close to. my body as possible. Sometimes it feels like he’s holding back and I don’t know why. I want him to be that way with me again.” Sparrow paused. “I wonder sometimes if it’s because of River and Rain’s birth. He has nightmares sometimes about losing me, abou what could have happened.”

Tsala listened intently and when Sparrow was done, she flashed her the most mischievous look.

“That look of yours...I know it.” Sparrow said, raising an eyebrow.

Tsala blinked innocently at Sparrow.

“You can’t just give me that look without telling me!” Sparrow said, narrowing her eyes. Tsala let out a chuckle.

“The answer is simple, Sparrow. You’re going to stop waiting for him to seduce you.” Tsala leaned in, giving Sparrow the sauciest of looks. “YOU are going to seduce HIM.”

4 notes · View notes

beardedmrbean · 14 days

Note

Ugh great now racists, are saying any type of black Mc means diversity hires

But here the issues like yes we can have more black rep in like in fantasy stuff

But there are fundamental difference between how I handle it vs they do

Okay it not rocket science, but as you know tumblr have the idea of diversity is middle schooler one

Also how people use my culture and people struggles to demonize white people…wait.

When these people learn about the dark side of American history? Are they blind to the several dark jokes we have towards Thomas Jefferson or why black Americans often have their ancestors slave owner last names?

No to mention most Congressmen got their slaves from inheritance

But the black characters are so UGH

Also why they all act like rootless urbanites? Yes I understand orphans was often used in stories (but anyone who a writer knows it for easy storytelling)

Also where the family? Like a black fantasy character man who struggled under his family shadow? Of course they exist and such. But like a black man and his son having a falling out but they slowly patch up

“But that says you want people to stay in their toxic families!” My brother in Christ my father and I have a complicated relationship

BUT I use our relationship to created a Jrpg scenario where a BLACK male Mc at 16, accidentally get his girlfriend knocked up

WAIT DO BREAK THE SEVEN SEALS YET- the mc named Darius decided to settled down and raised his son named Cyrus.

Now this is the first act of the game, Darius gf then wife named Maria leaves in the middle of the night when Cyrus is 4. Now 3 years after that, Darius decided to go on a quest and he bring his 7 year old son along with him.

Yes I can hear the new god of war similarities between my ocs and Atreus and Kratos. But the thing is that they are very different execution. My OC was standard Jrpg adventurer that accidentally became a father and still in his 20’s. Kratos was a Spartan who became a god and well we all known how he was in the og gow games.

But Cyrus is mainly a mage who overtime because a marksman as he get older becomes there a Industrial Revolution going on in this fantasy setting and Darius think that giving his son a long range weapon (Cyrus get taking around 9 or 10) suck as rifle would be easier for him to use for offensive

Also a gameplay mechanic that Cyrus gave a magical backpack that actually like your moveable inventory. You known how parents used your book bag on field trips?

Though as Cyrus getting older and level ups. He picked on the tactic and after a big boss battle when you try to put an item into his back bag. He goes “HEY!” because his magic is also develop so he needs room too.

But think about my fantasy idea, I’m subverting the deadbeat teen dad stereotype AND using the father and son roadtrip formula as inspiration.

What we already kill them, let take their shit

Oh wait I can control my daddy issues, so something fresh and rare like my Jrpg idea wouldn’t work

Ugh great now racists, are saying any type of black Mc means diversity hires

Not sure if that was the plan of the people pushing forced diversity or not but it's the outcome most people with sense saw coming, Justice Jackson that biden appointed is gonna have that hanging over her head forever too, regardless of the fact that she was (is) very qualified to have the job.

Several of them freed their slaves too, at least to the extent that they could,

But the black characters are so UGH Also why they all act like rootless urbanites? Yes I understand orphans was often used in stories (but anyone who a writer knows it for easy storytelling) Also where the family? Like a black fantasy character man who struggled under his family shadow? Of course they exist and such. But like a black man and his son having a falling out but they slowly patch up “But that says you want people to stay in their toxic families!” My brother in Christ my father and I have a complicated relationship

I'm enjoying how you're covering my side of this too here.

Hey writers, maybe try writing and working out a solution occasionally, like, as said, patching up a familial relationship issue.

That doesn't work as well for the YA dystopian fantasy novel and those are what's cool now I think.

Maybe Stephanie Meyer can work some of that in to the Twilight thingy she's supposed to be working on......

BUT I use our relationship to created a Jrpg scenario where a BLACK male Mc at 16, accidentally get his girlfriend knocked up WAIT DO BREAK THE SEVEN SEALS YET- the mc named Darius decided to settled down and raised his son named Cyrus. Yes I can hear the new god of war similarities between my ocs and Atreus and Kratos. But the thing is that they are very different execution. My OC was standard Jrpg adventurer that accidentally became a father and still in his 20’s. Kratos was a Spartan who became a god and well we all known how he was in the og gow games.

lol

But think about my fantasy idea, I’m subverting the deadbeat teen dad stereotype AND using the father and son roadtrip formula as inspiration.

I'm enjoying the progression here, be fun to see Cyrus with a firearm too, even if he never uses it, not after teaching his kid at least, good father and son bonding time over learning gun safety n such.

Wouldn’t you want to play a Jrpg where you fish with your son, watch as his skills grows, loot powerful dungeons together, teach him how to unleash plagues on bandits. And then how to loot their corpses for money or items. What we already kill them, let take their shit Oh wait I can control my daddy issues, so something fresh and rare like my Jrpg idea wouldn’t work

Ahh you beat me there on all of that then, lmao.

This all sounds like a good start on all of this.

#zoomer huey anon

1 note · View note

woodedsilence · 1 year

Text

The paths chosen & found.

I am becoming wary of my current path. I have always walked with an air of caution down the various paths in life as to not overstep boundaries for others and myself. I try not to hurt, harm nor hinder whenever possible & I certainly do not rock the boat, even when maybe it is a time that calls for such actions.

I prefer to keep my Spiritual path on the back burner away from prying eyes & the judgements of those who reside in and around my life. I don’t care to bring disgrace, awkwardness, or despair to those who may not want, can’t or simply won’t understand what I personally believe.

There wasn’t much room for my path to begin with if I”m being honest. I was surrounded by Christians on all levels and forms of. My pull to follow an older religion was not looked upon as a good thing by anyone I knew. I stood up for myself once & that didn’t go well, in fact I look back on that day, not with regret. But, with a proper look at a moment in time that would be considered by many these days as “Cringe Worthy”.

But, I ramble on.

Since those days of establishing my own personal foundation, I think I have come to a decent understanding of what I expect for myself, others around me and what I want for the future in regards to being spiritual or connected.

But, recently, I have come to find a new path calling, an even older path than I had originally found as a young girl trying to find her way. A path, that although I had admired from a far, never dared touch because it did not belong to me, it was not mine to immerse into my day to day living, it was the path of Ancestors who were not my own.

Except, as it turns out, this way of living that I have admired from afar, is my heritage, it is my culture, it is in my blood, it was the way of my Ancestors & the pull I have felt ever since I discovered the connection, has been stronger than anything else I have ever explored, touched base with or read about before.

I must admit, as comforting as it is to finally find the answer to the questions I had been seeking since I was a young girl, I am also scared that this new ability to accept these things I have been learning about without too much thought or struggle is more related to age than wisdom. Do filters to walk cautiously naturally degrade over time, or is this nothing more than what just happens when you finally find your true roots?

I didn’t seek out these people, I didn’t become overly immersed in the research or dive into the documentaries tv shows or movies. All because, again, it was not mine to do so. Basically, I felt as though it was none of my business. So I did not tread in these areas. In fact, outside of the occasional passing thought about an old High School friend who did know their roots existed within these parts, I never really thought about it at all.

I was never interested in their history, just that they knew where they had come from & could say for sure where their family had originated and that they could stand proud in their history and family name.

But, from the moment I read where my roots were grown, it’s been a whirlwind. My dreams exploded with meaning, my instincts that hesitated before to write words, came out like a facet had been turned on and chants and meditations where before felt foreign now felt grounded and belonged to me.

I had called upon my Ancestors before & as comforting and as guided as I felt by this ritual, doing so under this new understanding of actual roots placed down, has afforded me much more insight to the various things I had been lost on all these years.

I can almost understand now why people state that these old beliefs bring forth demons & why Christians look down upon what they have deemed unholy Pagans & Heathens. I think I can understand it because I use to be on that level of thinking.

Even just this morning as I laid in bed, my thinking about the Gods of the past, I envisioned things so clearly like I have never envisioned anything before. Dreams, yes. Active fully awake thoughts, no. It was like a video being played in my minds eye. Yet, they were of things I had not seen move, people I did not know. I felt comfortable, not scared. Then as I drifted off to sleep, I dreamt I was walking down a path and ahead of me I could see the people I was connected to, my Ancestors? But, as I got closer, a fence formed then a gate, & Jesus took stance, arms crossed and we just looked at each other, no emotions of anger because of impediment. We just stared at each other.

He was blocking my path, it was clear I was not to be let into those gates, at least not by him. But, it wasn’t menacing, it felt more like, you don’t have enough information, you’re not allowed to come in, “yet” & this was not a Gates of Heaven dream. I believe some would say, it was a warning to stop and turn back towards the church. But, why would anyone ask me to ignore the past I came from just to be welcomed into a world I never belonged?

Although I can understand how both sides of the conversation would go. I am having a hard time putting into words the confusion I am experiencing.

I don’t care to have such a vulnerable posting out in the open. But, I’m thinking maybe, at least for a little while, I will. If only to see if anyone else has experienced this before too? Insight from others is always a good thing & I welcome such insights now, more so than I ever have before.

#Paths #Ancestors #Jesus #Roots

1 note · View note

star-anise · 3 years

Text

Oh goddamn my brain just exploded.

I just watched F. D. Signifier's video on "I Don't Dream of Labour" and just how much the whole discussion operates in a while different reality from the one in which Black American men and the concept of working for a living have historically existed.

His take is enormously well-informed and informative, and this isn't an idea that's of his calibre at all, it's just that his take on the context this discussion is happening in was so insightful that it shook something loose in my brain as relates to my own experiences. Mainly, it helped me contextualize a reaction I'd had last week, in a post about dream jobs outside of capitalism and whether it was okay for "engineer" to be one of them, in my background in white lower-middle class.

Like yes, I do have intellectual reasons for believing what I believe. My work experience, my research, my education in the social sciences, my curiosity about the world around me, my readings of Foucault, have all informed my beliefs that society has chronically devalued forms of labour that, in fact, it depends on so much that the entire system freaks the fuck out if those devalued workers realize that they're valuable enough to demand better.

Signifier's video helped me connect with some of my emotional reactions to socialist and utopian thought, and recognize just how much my views are also rooted in hard gnarly matter of my lived experience, and the lived experiences of the people who raised me.

I dream of labour partly because I've found a line of work that I love and that gives me meaning. But the other thing is, I dream of labour because of a bone-deep tiredness in me that says: If I don't do it, the work won't get done.

I'm a therapist, and the birth of my vocation as a therapist was in the years when I didn't have one or feel like I was allowed to ask for them, and neither did anyone else I knew, and the amount of terror and pain that we all lived with because of it would have ripped a hole in my ability to trust the universe if I hadn't decided to make myself the hero I needed. I say that if I do my work well enough I might contribute to enough social change that I'll put myself out of a job, but in practical reality, I don't think that will happen in my lifetime.

I digress. A few years after that, my mom admitted she had depression and went on disability leave from work because she was pretty damn bad. I remember when we got home after she'd picked me up from school one day, and while she was out of the house, her female friends had come to our house and gone to town on all the housework she'd been struggling to do (and then some; we knew things were different from the front door, because the floor of our mudroom sparkled in a way it never had before).

I remember it so much because I think it was only the second time in my life I'd seen her cry. Because it was so unexpected and such an amazing relief, this sense that someone else would step in and do the work for her. (Yes, my dad and older brothers and I pitched in, but everyone's expectations were that if the house was still standing at the end of our tenure it'd be a net win, and yes, I still feel ashamed for not having done more even if I logically couldn't have.)

This is part of what it means to say my gender is "farm wife". My ancestors were white settlers in western Canada, where farms were divided up in a grid pattern that guaranteed that homesteads would be pretty isolated. My grandmothers were children during the Great Depression. For their mothers, being a farmwife meant doing work their family depended on to survive, and knowing that until their oldest daughter got old enough, there was no one to do the work if they didn't. That sense of necessity lives in us still. My mom will endure a job she hates for ages, but feel unable to quit without having another one lined up. I still have "you do not have to fix it" on my phone lockscreen, because unsolved problems cry out to me in the voice of my terror when I was 13 and nobody was saving me.

The thought of coming home and finding my floor washed for me is so impossibly amazing I don't know how I'd even cope with it. The only person I can currently think of who'd actually do it is my mom. And she and I are still trying to sort out the toxic effects of this legacy, where we take on work because we feel we have to and then get angry when we aren't respected or rewarded for it, or try to avoid being the target of that anger by not asking for help we need. The thought of leaving work undone inspires such a deep, visceral level of fear and shame that it's hard to think around sometimes.

All of which helps me explain and understand my reflexive "Oh, fuck YOU" reaction to people who say that in the future robots will flip our burgers and burp our babies, but in the meantime, it's being corrupted by a neoliberal agenda to try to make the backbreaking work of ordinary people five pounds lighter. I am the enemy if I ever hire someone to wash the floor for me.

I'm not sure that "Oh, fuck you" response is bullshit, though. Like, I feel like I'm supposed to say that my ideological enemy is the capitalist boss who mandates workloads, not the edgelord tankie who sends hatemail to insufficiently radical "liberals", but this entire thought process has just helped me formulate why I hate those goddamn tankies so fucking much.

The work of defeating capitalism is important and real and more people need to be doing it. But it's stark raving idiocy to pretend that it's the most important work there is, because before it comes the work of keeping people alive. The work of keeping people fed and clothed and housed, healthy and well, connected and cared about. And I'm always thrilled when I get to do so in a manner that also resists capitalism, but if the only people helping me do that are capitalists, that is who I'm going to fucking ally with. Because the work needs to be done, and I would like to die without the family curse of never feeling able to trust that people will survive if you pause for one moment making my bones glow in the dark.

So if your only reaction to that is to say I should heroically struggle in ideologically pure isolation because Capitalism Bad but also in Big Rock Candy Communism my work won't be necessary so it's not like you feel any need to help me?

Yeah, you're my enemy. Get out of my fucking way.

#long post #class warfare #tankie shit #staranise original

684 notes · View notes

that-spider-witch · 3 years

Text

On “Dead” Cultures and Closed Spiritual Practices: Why Colonialism Is Still A Problem.

Let me start this by saying that, as far as my knowledge of Paganism and Polytheism as a whole goes, I’m what the internet witch community calls a “Baby Witch”. I’m stating this out of the gate because I know there will be lots of people, including witches who have more experience on the craft than me, who might decide to ignore what I have to say based on that fact alone, stating that I’m not knowledgeable enough to give my opinion about this.

Here’s the kicker: I’m a ‘baby witch’, yes, but I’m also a twenty-six year old Venezuelan woman. I’m an adult. I’m Latina. I’m a Christian-raised Pagan,but I’m also a Latinoamerican woman over all other things including that. I grew up on this culture, these are my roots. It is because of this background than I’m writing this post today.

Looking through the “Paganism” and “Witchcraft” tags of this website, I’ve seen a few posts throwing indigenous deities and spirits’ names around on lists alongside deties of open cultures. Yes, you can know better by doing your own research and not going by what just a random Tumblr user wrote on one post (as I hope its the case with everyone on this website), but the fact that pagan beginners are still getting fed misinformation is still worrisome to me.

There’s nothing like reading a so-called expert putting Ixchen (Maya), Xolotl (Nahuatl) and Papa Legba (Vodou) on the same damn list as Norse, Hellenic and Kemetic deities and tagging it on the tags aimed at beginners who might not know better to truly ruin your morning. I’m not mentioning user names here: If you know then you know.

To quote @the-illuminated-witch on her very good post about Cultural Appropriation:

“Cultural appropriation is a huge issue in modern witchcraft. When you have witches using white sage to “smudge” their altars, doing meditations to balance their chakras, and calling on Santa Muerte in spells, all without making any effort to understand the cultural roots of those practices, you have a serious problem.

When trying to understand cultural appropriation in witchcraft, it’s important to understand the difference between open and closed magic systems. An open system is one that is open to exchange with outsiders — both sharing ideas/practices and taking in new ones. In terms of religion, spirituality, and witchcraft, a completely open system has no restrictions on who can practice its teachings. A closed system is one that is isolated from outside influences — usually, there is some kind of restriction on who can practice within these systems.”

A counter-argument I’ve seen towards this when someone wants to appropiate indigenous deities and spirits is to use the “dead culture” argument: Extinct cultures are more eligible for use by modern people of all stirpes. It is a dead culture and dead religion. It would be one thing if some part of the culture or religion was still alive, being used by modern descendants, but the culture died out in its entirety and was replaced, right? They were all killed by colonization, they are ancient history now, right?

Example: “If white people are worshipping Egyptian deities now, then why can’t I worship [Insert Aborigen Deity Here]?”

To which I have two things to say:

Ancient Egypt’s culture was open and imperialistic, meaning they wanted their religion to be spread. This is why Kemetism is not Cultural Appropriation, despite what some misinformed people might tell you. Similar arguments can also be made for the Hellenic and the Norse branches of Paganism, both practiced by people who aren’t Greek/Norse.

Who are you to say which cultures are “dead” and which are not?

Religious practices such as Vodou and Santería certainly aren’t dead, not that it keeps some Tumblr users from adding Erzuli as a “goddess” on their Baby Witch post, something that actual Vodou practitioners have warned against.

Indigenous cultures such as the Maya and the Mapuche aren’t dead, despite what the goverment of their countries might tell you. The Mapuche in particular have a rich culture and not one, but two witchcraft branches (The Machi and the Kalku/Calcu). Both are closed pagan practices that the local Catholic Church has continuously failed to assimilate and erase, though sadly not for lack of trying:

“The missionaries who followed the Spanish conquistadors to America incorrectly interpreted the Mapuche beliefs regarding both wekufes and gualichos. They used the word wekufe as a synonym for ideas of the devil, demons, and other evil or diabolical forces. This has caused misunderstanding of the original symbolism and has changed the idea of wekufe right up to the present day, even amongst the Mapuche people.”

For context, the Wefuke are the Calcu’s equivalent of the Familiar, as well as reportedly having more in common with the Fae than with demons anyway.

This and other indigenous religions are Closed because it is wrong for foreigners to just come and take elements from marginalized groups whom are still fighting to survive and that they weren’t born into. To just approppiate those things would be like spitting in their faces, treating them and their culture like a commodity, a shiny thing, a unique thing to be used like paint to spruce up your life or be special.

I know some of you are allergic to the word “Privilege”, but on this situation there really ain’t a better word to explain it. You weren’t born here, you don’t know what it is like, you are only able to see the struggle from an outsider’s point of view.

If a belief or practice is part of a closed system, outsiders should not take part in it. And with how many practices there are out there which are open for people of all races, there is really no excuse for you to do it.

Why Colonization Is Not “Ancient History”

If you have kept reading all this so far, you are probably wondering “Ok, but what does Colonization has to do with any of this?”

The answer? Everything.

With the general context of culture appropriation out of the way, let me tell you about why the whole “dead culture” argument rubs me the wrong way: Here in Venezuela, we have a goddess called Santa Maria de la Onza, or Maria Lionza for short, whom’s idol statue I have been using to illustrate this little rant. If you happen to know any Spanish, you might recognize the name as a derivative of Santa Maria, aka the Virgin Mary, and you are mostly correct: Her true indigenous name is theorized to have been Yara.

And I say “theorized” because it is a subject of hot debate whether she was really ever called that or not: Her original name, the name by which she was adored and worshipped by our ancestors, might have been forever lost to history.

That’s the legacy of colonization for you: Our cultures were stolen from us, and what they couldn’t erase they instead tried to assimilate. Our ancestors were enslaved, their lands and homes stolen, their artwork and literary works destroyed: The Maya and the Aztec Empire were rich in written works of all kinds, ranging from poetry to history records to medicine, and the Spaniards burned 99% of it, on what is probably one of the most tragic examples of book burning in history and one that people rarely ever talk about.

People couldn’t even worship their own gods or pass their knowledge of them to their children. That’s why Maria Lionza has such a Spanish Catholic-sounding name, and that’s why we can’t even be sure if Yara was her name or not: The Conquistadors couldn’t steal our goddess from us, so they stole her name instead. Catholics really have a thing with trying to assimilate indigenous goddesses with the Virgin Mary, as they tried to do the same with the Pachamama.

On witchy terms, I’d define Maria Lionza as both a deity and a land spirit: Most internet pages explaining her mention the Sorte mountain as her holy place, but it is more along the lines that she is the mountain.

You’d think that, with Venezuela and other Latinoamerican countries no longer being colonies, we’d be able to worship our own deities including her, right?

As far as a lot of Catholics seem to think and act, apparently we are not.

The Catholics here like to go out of their way to shame us, to call us “cultists”, to ostracize us, with a general call to “refrain from those pagan beliefs” because they go against the Catholic principles. Yes, the goddess with the Catholic-sounding name, a name she happens to share with a Catholic deity, apparently goes “against Catholic principles”. You really can’t make this shit up. (Linked article is in Spanish)

This is just an act of colonization out of many, of not wanting to stop until the culture they want to destroy is gone. Don’t believe for a second that this is really their God’s will or anything like that, they are just trying to finish what years of enslavement and murder couldn’t. They might not be actively killing us anymore, but they still want us dead.

So no, colonization is not some thing that has long passed and now only exist on history textbooks: It is still happening to this day. It is by treating it as old history that they can keep doing it, and it is by pushing the narrative that our indigenous cultures are “dead cultures” that they try to erase our heritage.

Because we are not dead. We are still here, we are alive, we have survived and we’ll keep on surviving, and our gods and goddesses are not yours to take.

¡Chao! 🐈

2K notes · View notes