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sophiamarieispinkbunny-chan · 5 months

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My Analysis and Theories about Demetrius, Melinda, Donovan and Imperial Scholars

I hope you like reading because this is going to be a long one, I'm sorry. But I'm hoping to hear your ideas about these.

The Desmonds, aside Damian, are definitely weird, but I think there’s a high chance that Demetrius, alongside Melinda, was brainwashed and their minds are manipulated.

Demetrius seems to have empty thoughts aside from his constant belief that he doesn’t understand anyone, not even his brother and his father, despite spending a lot of time with him, as Damian stated. I think these thoughts have been instilled in him through brainwashing and mind manipulation.

That's likely the reason why Donovan spent a lot of time watching Demetrius when he was a child, forcing these ideas upon him since childhood.

This is the same idea he shared with Loid when they first met, that humans will never truly be sympathetic to each other because, at the end of the day, we are strangers, even to those who are our blood and flesh.

Melinda is the same too. Based on what we’ve seen of her so far, she seems to have conflicted feelings about Damian.

However, I think she was genuinely concerned for her son, but her husband is trying to instill those dreadful ideas onto her. (It might not be Donovan who was doing the mind manipulation, but based on the stitches on his head, there’s a possibility that he had been experimented on and had gained a mind ability somehow.)

I think that’s why she’s scared of Donovan knowing that she came for Damian at that school bus incident. Donovan doesn’t want her to care for anyone, not even their own sons (These poor kids).

But I believe she truly wants to be a good mother, and she wants Damian to break the cycle going on in their family. (If she didn’t care, she wouldn’t race through Eden just to check on Damian’s safety at the bus arc.) And I think that’s the reason why she wanted Damian and Anya to be close, for Damian to have someone that would make him break out of the expectations he had set for himself and be finally free to be a child since it’s what her son deserved. (But still, this theory of mine still doesn’t make her not suspicious to me; right now, all I’m giving these newly introduced characters is the benefit of the doubt)

Why does Donovan want to instill these ideas that humans can’t truly understand each other, not even those who are family? Because that’s the reason wars happen—people not trying to understand one another. It occurs when they don’t strive to meet in the middle. Assuming he does indeed plan to wage war against Westalis, then instilling that idea would benefit him.

Of course, it’s hard to instill the same idea in every citizen in Ostania, especially when the current government is trying to establish a diplomatic relationship with Westalis. So, how could he encourage these ideas? Where are ideas usually taught? What establishment is so respected that these ideas would be very much welcomed and widely taught in a subtle manner, making individuals unaware that they are being influenced? Oh, right—educational establishments, schools, and universities. And which is the most prestigious school in Ostania that could assist in achieving this and influence the children of Ostania to acquire nationalistic ideas so that, in the future, they would carry these ideas for the sake of Ostania? Eden Academy.

This is where the hidden agenda of the Imperial Scholars, I think, plays out. Kids like Demetrius, I believe, are being brainwashed to adopt the same thoughts and ideas as Donovan. Children are the most vulnerable to manipulation, absorbing ideas like a sponge. That's my guess about what’s going on with these Imperial Scholars in Eden.

Why do you think they choose the cream of the crop among these students? The geniuses—won’t they be useful in terms of war? The other talented and athletic students could boost Ostania’s economy, and when they become famous celebrities, they could be influencers, shaping public opinion in line with the ideas they hold. The heroic and helpful ones could also be valuable in times of war, willingly risking their lives for Ostania.

When I was a Humanities student in my senior year of high school, I remembered studying a case in my country where athletes and geniuses were brainwashed by rebel groups into supporting their ideals regarding the government. In the end, these students did join those rebel groups, believing they were doing the right thing. They left their families, not even caring about their feelings, because they firmly believed that what they were doing needed to be done. They were first introduced into these societies or clubs, usually inviting geniuses and, take note, scholars. As they associated more with these clubs or organizations, they became more and more exposed and influenced. I can’t help but think that this could also be true in Eden Academy. I think this could be confirmed or debunked once we meet more Imperial Scholars or former Imperial Scholars and have their minds read by Anya. So for now, this is purely my speculation. But I'd like to know your ideas about it.

Operation Strix, I'd say, challenges Desmond’s ideas about people not understanding one another. Remember, Twilight’s goal was not to assassinate him; it was for him to determine if Desmond was engaged in any suspicious activities that might lead to war between East and West and to prevent it from happening. I think, in a way, Operation Strix could really achieve that because at its very core, it disproves Donovan’s ideas about people. These three individuals bound by Operation Strix, who barely knew each other and hadn't even spent a year together, have a lot of secrets and differences in terms of nationality, behavior, upbringing, and ideals. Yet, they managed to live peacefully as a family. They may not understand each other completely, but that doesn’t stop them from trying.

Twilight, despite Anya being a stranger to him, strives to always humor her no matter how weird her statements are. Even though he couldn’t fully understand her, he wanted to and he always tries to, because he’s not just a spy; he’s a parent, her father. That’s what parents and families do—they always try to understand one another. This connects back to the inside cover theory I talked about before, regarding the Forger family understanding one another.

It was fascinating to see how the Desmonds and the Forgers are alike in terms of being not a normal family but very different, especially in how they treat each other. I would love it if Donovan, as a character, symbolizes the idea of war, while Twilight and the family he built for his mission are a symbol of peace, proving it to be possible despite all differences.

What do you think about this?

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milesonthenet · 1 year

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The FIVE reasons I love Transformers

I want you guys to sit here and visualize something for me. Imagine that you are a young child going to the movie theater in 2007. You see what you think is your favorite movie for the first time in your life. Giant computer-animated robots wage war on the giant screen.

This is House of MilesVerse, and today, I will take you on a journey. I will explain why I love Transformers as a franchise. More than that, I will explain what elements in particular I enjoy.

Reason Five: Timeless

The Transformers series first debuted in 1984. The series focused on the eponymous robotic lifeforms. They were split into two sides, the Autobots and the Decepticons.

What I find funny is that the TV series was more akin to a commercial. It was there to push children to buy the most popular transformers. New characters would also debut for the sake of marketing toys to children.

On its own merits, Transformers is a fairly simple series about robots. The setting has changed more than once across the franchise’s long history. However, the basic principles and concepts are still kept in the series.

Reason Four: The issue with war

Numerous stories have portrayed the Autobots and Decepticon’s war across space. Fittingly, the stories all portray the consequences and aftermath of their war. This paints a grim picture but also gives the Transformers an edge of realism that works for them.

For example, their war first destroyed their home planet, Cybertron. The constant conflict exhausted the planet’s resources. Because of this, most stories would depict them leaving their planet.

Reason Three: The series’ focus on Earth creates an interesting perspective.

Typically, after their exile, they would embark on a journey to Earth. The Autobots and Decepticons recognize the potential uses for Earth’s resources. From there, both sides would begin their war anew on an unfamiliar planet.

What I love about this is that it also puts them in a foreign land. The cybertronians have to acclimate to another planet. The Decepticons choose to attack the planet for its resources in creating Energon. The Autobots choose to protect it and eventually adopt it as their second home.

I also love how the Autobots are able to bond with the humans. They recognize them as a smaller species, which has also attacked them more than once. However, they still choose to protect them because it’s the right thing to do.

Reason Two: Nobody has to BE a Decepticon

The Decepticons in the original cartoons were typically portrayed as villains. They were your everyday morning cartoon thugs that followed the evil overlord’s commands. The Decepticons transformed into a variety of dangerous weapons, monsters, and even assault vehicles.

However, over time, alternate continuities have helped to give them more depth. IDW in particular paints the Decepticon movement as a social movement that devolved into your usual villains. Whatever credibility and integrity the movement had was drowned in the bloodshed of Megatron’s latest actions.

In addition, turncoats also existed in the franchise as Decepticons who abandoned their prior faction. Characters like Drift, Jetfire, and even Megatron himself show that some Decepticons can turn over a new life. Nothing is impossible, even redemption, so long as you believe in changing.

Reason One: Optimus Prime is one of the BEST superheroes!

Optimus Prime is the leader of the Autobots and one of the most iconic heroes. Everyone knows his famous truck transformation, and his disappearing trailer. Across the series, he has been portrayed as a gentle giant and a father to his men.

Part of why I like Optimus Prime is how pure hearted he is. His voice actor, Peter Cullen, crafted the voice by mimicking the mannerisms of his brother, Larry. Larry was a soldier in the United States who served in Vietnam. To think that his brother inspired him to become a real hero for multiple children is a beautiful message.

Despite coming from humble beginnings as a librarian, Prime is experienced in war. He’s been able to easily match Megatron and keep up with the Decepticon leader. Some versions of the story make Optimus and Megatron former friends who were on different sides of Cybertron’s conflicts. They both hold a degree of mutual respect as worthy opponents to each other.

Optimus Prime is similar to Superman in a lot of ways. They both are foreigners from outside of Earth. Despite that, they are heroic, honorable, and always keep their word. They risk their all to save people because it’s just in their nature.

And that is EXACTLY what it means to be a hero.

I hope you enjoyed this place.

#transformers #House of Milesverse #tf #fandom #robots

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gammacousin · 3 years

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Okay. I’m ready to real talk Black Widow. I don’t want to but as an activist there’s an obligation I have to share and educate. I nerd to forget but I suppose it shows the power of this movie if it brings something real into the light.

*Spoiler Warning. Trigger warning for everything.*

There are some things I want to say that could potentially spoil aspect of the Black Widow film. I also would advise you to skip this post if you have a darker past, if you aren’t interested in getting serious, or wish to skim by, I’m sincerely not judging! I come on here to avoid the universe as well. You do you, I totally still love you if you don’t read this and want to move onto something nerdy or more fun. This isn’t the post for you.

It’s taken me a while to process and organize my thoughts. Skip if you don’t want to hear deep, raw stories.

Okay. Nerd review first.

The level of girl power and any and all glass ceilings… There is SO much left to do. So much that needs to still be addressed. But seeing 3 women run this show: Yelena, Natasha, and Melina was an absolute joy to observe. This isn’t the end of some hard waged war, it’s the beginning and I beg you; Disney/Marvel. Please give us more of this? It’s so important for young girls to see other girls kicking butt and winning. Quick summary of nerd feelings; Losing Nat still burns. Yelena is a boss.

Okay…Real talk.

I have to get a little deeper here now. My personal story absolutely played into how I felt about this film and I wish I saw some trigger warnings about the material covered. Do I know Black Window’s story? Yes. In and out. I can read it, I can write my FF on it. However. Little to no one knows my story and so absolutely no one is to blame for not warning me. I was not expecting to come out this shook.

I’m sharing this because it’s happening now, today. In the real world. I doubt the film makers had this mind over other social issues, but after feeling like it’s irrelevant, that my pain is somehow less than, I’m realizing through my activism it’s not.

I grew up in a cult where women are not relevant. You matter up to a point. You are useful, to a point. If you’re giving 24/7, you’re not giving enough. If you’re not smiling as you’re doing cult stuff, you’re complacent. In addition to why I’m about to share, my house growing up was not a safe space which is a story for another time. So it’s a stack…this janga-ish game that eventually just comes crashing down.

My trigger started moments after the film started the handing over of the kids. When Alexei chooses the job over the welfare of the girls. Alexei put his two “daughters” in danger to save ‘face’. To put the job ahead of two children…it hit home. In the group I’m from, fathers, mothers, grandparents, siblings will absolutely choose the group over blood. You are nothing and you mean nothing if you ‘defect’. If you break a rule. If you complain. If you say ‘no’. If you put in a bad review for a leader, if you have anything bad at all to say about the organization as a whole. You can confide something deep in someone you trust and it absolutely will come back to hurt you.

The title song shook me completely. This collage of video and images of brainwashing, treating these girls like absolute objects is disgusting in itself. But when you’re raised in this other world, there’s a level of brainwashing that is absolutely unmatched. Videos, books, quizzes, 12 hour lectures, weekly meetings.

People are unified to the point where you lose your own identity. There’s a language- a literally language- words you start to misuse. Verbiage only people in the cult use. Kids of any age will watch any rated film. Frequently the themes are about obedience and or cooperation and the consequences if you do not cooperate/obey. Death is a such a common theme that either you become petrified of your own shadow, petrified of breathing wrong, or turn completely numb. In sharing these videos, the goal is to instill this fear that you will never be enough. That you will die- turn into a charred hot dog of a figure if you do not obey 8 white men - the leaders, in New York. That your friends, classmates, neighbors, family will die if they don’t believe what you do. That you’re held accountable if you can’t bring them to your side.

The song for the credits hit me. I cannot listen to it. I have no idea what it was about.

When I watched the film, I couldn’t focus at this point at gosh barely 15 minutes in. I had already checked out. I heard keywords. “Entertainers,” “I feel stupid and contagious…”

In my world, I did not matter. What mattered was, what was presented to the public. To your group. Meeting some checklist of this perfect family at any cost. You’re not an individual, you’re a number. Literally. Your records are documented by men in the back room- your actions, your track record. But ultimately? You’re part of a numeral equation reported to headquarters. And if you’re a woman, you do not have a say in how you look, dress, act or in what you say. You are as the title song says, …“Entertainers”. You smile. You do your job, and you are ‘happy’ about it. Your job is to dedicate x amount of hours cleaning the room you gather in, and in recruitment of other members…

There’s a ‘job’ in the cult called a “pioneer”. Okay. No, we might not have been trained assassins. But you are trained to manipulate emotionally. To prey on the weak. You get books, magazines, movies, speeches, lectures- you rarely get a free Saturday. Oh and the job isn’t paid. So make sure you’re working (part time because full time secular work isn’t acceptable) at a desk job (because college and getting an education is not allowed). Don’t make friends with the people who work with you, they’re out to get you. Back at the club; You answer questions like it’s some schoolastic quiz every week and quote what your reading. It’s a brainwashing tactic. If you say something enough times, you remember it. You start to believe it. You spend hours reading these things, training… Your job is to target people who have lost- and have lost a lot because they’re vulnerable. You learn to go to cemeteries, and literally stalk people who are grieving. Like Val. If you can catch someone when they’re weak, senses are dulled. They’re desperate. And you bait them with this false promise. This idea that all THEY have to do is change all that they are, join you, and they’ll see their dead loved ones again. That they are doomed if they don’t change. Most pioneers draft 2-4 people per lifetime. If you’re a great saleswoman, you can draft more into this horrific world. And I regret the hours I spent lying, torturing people. For some cult that doesn’t give two cents about me.

I 100% believed of I didn’t convince my classmates, neighbors, to join my side they would either turn me in or they would be killed by a divine being. From 2 years old I was supposedly handing out pamphlets. The doom is not a quick painless death, no. You have visuals. You have men getting up to talk in detail about what your ‘friends’ will look like as corpses. Visually descriptive to the point where I still feel a bit numb to it all. That you will have to bury their bodies after the whole divine destruction. That you will have to “clean up” the earth. You are numb- convinced- bullied to the point where you believe this is true.

If you’re hurt as MANY WOMEN AND CHILDREN ARE, and you don’t have two people to testify and say they saw it- it never happened. Abuse is the norm. And if you speak up about it? You’re called a liar. Your friends cut you off. They think you’ll die along with everyone else if you put in a ‘bad review’ or leave. You’re bullied into submission and taught from a young age that you are not in control of your own decisions. You relinquish yourself under the pretense that the men you have such reverence toward are under some divine being’s control.

Your parents hurting you is acceptable. And don’t you dare speak against your father if he’s deeply involved. Don’t even think about approaching if he’s on a phone call. If you’re hit you take it- because you “deserved” it. And you smile. You shove that pain deep down. You hide the bruise, the cut lip, the depression, the bottles of pills you’re swallowing the whatever….You’re screwed if you faint, throw up, pass out, because you’ve missed a meeting. You better be dying for that to happen…

The idea that is portrayed in the movie (IMO) is that you can forgive family who hurts you. I see people forgiving Alexei and what’s her name. Look- that’s great. It’s a fun film. Alexei is funny. Here’s what I saw; it’s a toxic man- nay- father who can’t accept responsibility. He takes pride in what the girls have become- monsters. Not in who they are at their core. He has no idea who they are. And the mom has this photo album…I’m tearing up. She remembers this a certain way, a wishful thought. I’ve confronted my own mother about our past and had an album thrown at me, “We were happy. You were happy.” The fact is I was told the smile. You’re forcing this perception that everything was normal. That it’s okay to go back. (I’m not taking away Yelena’s view that everything was real to her, that’s fine for the sake of the story, and sweet. The moment between her and Alexei..fine. Milena turns and takes their side at the end, great.) The problem with how I saw this, is that’s not how the real world works. I don’t owe my parents forgiveness when I didn’t mean shit to them. When people leave the cult they’re cut off. Treated like they’re dead. I didn’t find these moments cute, I found them horrific. Hugging me, saying he’s proud of me is the toxic sh** my father would pull. Ignoring the holes in the wall, in my skull, the phony impression he gives to the rest of the group. Hugging me…after sweeping everything he did not only to me, but countless others under the rug because the cult…because 8 men in NY will protect him. Legally. Or otherwise.

I don’t need to forgive my parents. If you’ve been mistreated, you don’t owe anyone anything. They can “try” to do the right thing, that doesn’t somehow block out years of mistreatment. Years of trauma. Sheetrock only patches the surface of the broken walls. Wounds heal but some scars stay with you forever. Metaphorically or otherwise.

‘Entertainers’ was a trigger word because if you’re high enough in the ranking system you’re asked to “testify” or share a story. It’s in front of a couple thousand. It’s an “honor”. What it really is, is a three ring circus. You will only see women on the sidelines reading from the cards while only men stand at the main podium. They’re reading what they have told them to say. Stories are manipulated, cut, changed to fit a narrative that better suits the group of a couple thousand members.

Dreykov. I hate this. But I have to go there. I’m neck deep already, might as well. I think the worst part of all of it is that you can’t touch the person who made you this way. Those 6-7-8 leaders are untouchable. It doesn’t matter what you try. What legal entities, ex groups have tried. There’s a term for us and we are considered ‘mentally diseased.’ Members are told to avoid us. And in case you were curious, no, they can’t just break their nose on a table to be free- if only it were that simple. Gosh that got me. I would cut a limb, split my skull open, if it meant I could just cut a chord. It takes years of therapy and I still have nightmares. Urges to just, go. I’m OKAY. But most escapees are not. If you manage to escape with your life and don’t end it because the pressure, guilt, abuse that comes with leaving is too much. (This is sadly the fate of MANY LBGTQ+ members.)

The only hope is either the group eventually runs out of money or they’re taken down legally. Both of which are impossible since many older members will leave all they have to the group rather than to their family. It’s a complex billion dollar publishing company that plays monopoly with people’s investments, homes, and lives.

If you speak up, you’re the liar. So you cannot free your friends, who have turned on you, already cut you off, and discarded you the day you walked out and didn’t come back.

Watching Natasha, and Yelena free their sisters made me think of every woman who is stuck in this cult. For every woman, child, currently being sexually/physically abused and can’t say sh** because they literally believe god will kill them. If I say anything to them, they block me. If I expose what’s happening they will lie in court. That’s what is happening. And it’s not in the news, it’s not talked about. Because you can’t. You’re forced into silence. There’s a block. A literal legal force field that you cannot penetrate. They have their own lawyers. You can’t break into it. You’ll lose every, single, legal battle you try to fight.

Was this a decent movie? Yes. Was I expecting to share this days after release, no. I’ve been forced into silence for so long, told that people have it far worse and that I shouldn’t talk about it. But just today I saw a grown ass couple in an escapee group, talking about how one trigger word sent them into a depressive spiral. Wondering if some god damn lightening will come out of the sky and knock them dead. And we frickin struggle in silence. People will just shrug and go “oh it can’t be that bad,” while my gay best friend can’t catch an effing break. While someone else suffers at home because god wants it that way. Someone else will bury their kid today, maybe not even hold a funeral for them if they were ‘mentally diseased.’

For people like that couple I met today, like me, if you don’t just see a fun film but a darker past or maybe it’s brought up some memories for you, I’d honestly love to chat!!! Message me! I feel like for as painful as this is to hash out not too many people know about what goes on behind a group of smiling, well dressed woman who come knocking on your door. “It’s just a religion.”

I guess I didn’t realize…the criminal aspect of what happened to me. You’re so ingrained to keep quiet. To smile. To ignore, to suppress. I can smile, joke laugh, but visualizing…inadvertently seeing this mirror was so unbelievably uncomfortable. I would always rather help someone else because it takes me out of my head. Live in a bubble where I can call my trauma a ‘fantasy’. What’s real is when someone like me has a bad day? Lol! Look, my husband literally checks his phone to make sure a conversation never touches a couple hundred trigger words that will absolutely send me into the closet with a gallon of ice cream or a bottle of whiskey. I can’t imagine what someone else, what some other traumatized individual goes through. (Maybe that’s why the Bucky stuff makes me all angry She-Hulk too..)

Look, talking people ex members of this group, out of suicide is a daily endeavor to the point where it’s borderline on autopilot. But having this, I suppose, brilliant, piece of cinema turn the camera around left me raw and writhing and angry. Not for me, but for everyone else still stuck. With every year you spend in that cult, add ten more to therapy.

If you feel like me at all, you’re not alone. Not anymore. We were raised to feel alone in the world. That the universe is somehow out to get us and that’s simply not true. You don’t need the people who raised you if they were absolute shit bags. And you DO NOT have to forgive them for keeping you in that environment. Family isn’t family if they’ve hurt you. You owe them nothing. It is healthy to feel your feelings (and you and your feelings are valid. )

Anyways! I hope to be able to talk about more fun Marvel topics soon. But this felt important so thanks for listening. I’m really not hating guys, this is just…it’s heavy. And I beg you to do your research into cults and to help out where you can.

Love and light,

-M

#black widow film #black widow #cult #cult life #cult escapee #ex jw #apostate #mcu #jw #jwfamily #jwfacts #marvel

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sparklingchan · 4 years

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Queen || Park Seonghwa(Ateez)

Pairing : Seonghwa x Reader (fem.)

Word count: 2k+

Warnings: Mentions of war , cuss words , A single kiss.

Genre:Angst , fluff, Goryeo AU , Royal AU.

Description : Serving the nation was Crown Prince Seonghwa’s second most top priority. You were the first.

A/N: This one is an old drabble too but it’s one of my best ones. I haven’t been able to write much since my college already started but I will write a new imagine/drabble asap.

Enjoy!

The warrior of Goryeo ,the future king, the pride of his father, the most gorgeous man to ever have been born, Seonghwa was everything an ideal crown prince could be. The tales of his bravery were known by the young and the old and the stories of his loyalty were performed as poems and songs. He was the most perfect man in the entire nation and the people truly believed so with all their hearts.

But little did the people know what actually hides behind his calm demeanor and loving smile.

"What do you mean you are getting me married?" Seonghwa has a stern look on his face, trying to remain calm as his father tells him -commands him - to do the one thing he could never do. His heart crushes in his chest but he tries to maintain a composed form in front of his discipline obsessed father.

"You heard me the first time, Crown Prince . You will be getting married to the Princess of a minor kingdom soon. " he asserts his decision by looking at the prince with angry, burning eyes.

Seonghwa has a heart of gold, they say. A heart so strong and so precious, no one could ever reach that point of greatness in one lifetime. But maybe they were wrong. Maybe his heart was not gold ,but glass ; frail and easily breakable.

That night, after his father practically forces him into an alliance he didn't even desire, Crown Prince Seonghwa walks to the one place in the entire nation that makes him feel safe and at home. And no,that is not his luxurious , comfortable palace complex.

Miss y/n's house is a few minutes away from the main royal complex so it has always been easier for Seonghwa to be able to sneak out without getting caught by guards or his own family members. Out of the million times he's ever been to her small,two roomed house, he's probably only ever been close to getting caught just once.

"Y/n, its me " he knocks softly at her door, trying to hold his tears in as his father's words still remain carved in his mind.

As soon as the door opens, he practically pulls her into his arms, finding comfort in that one person more than anyone else. She puts her head on his chest and nuzzles into the embrace, finding the similar comfort that he does in her.

"What's wrong ?" She asks, not being able to ignore the tear stains on his cheeks and the tremble in his voice.

He strokes her long ,black hair ,trying to gain courage to say anything at all. How could he tell her that all those dreams of living together might never come true, that he will be sharing his bed with another woman now, that he will have to father children of a woman he didn't love.

"Father is getting me married to a princess." he wishes he could have stopped those words before they reached her ears, despite the physical impossibility of that desire, but there's nothing he could do anymore. The damage has already been done .

Y/n's heart drops in the deepest pits of her stomach , a feeling of anger , bitterness and betrayal washes over her as she process the information just provided to her. But she forces a smile, for Seonghwa 's sake.

"It's alright, your majesty. " she places a kiss on his head, fighting away tears that were so dangerously waiting to fall from her eyes. For Seonghwa , she reminds herself.

He looks up at her with bewilderment clear in his eyes. "Are you saying I should listen to him? "

Y/n bite her lips ,trying to form proper sentences in her head. How does one tell the man they love to let everything go ? Let them go?

She didn't want to do it, of course. If she could , she would have made him run away from that horrendous royal palace and keep him with her in her small hut where they could live a peaceful life but she couldn't.

He's royal blood and she is just a commoner who washes clothes for a living. She's not a match for him, no matter how much both of them pretended it weren't true.

"He's the king. You cannot say no to a royal command. " she whispers. She takes in deep breaths to make sure that his scent is embedded in her mind for centuries to come. The way that his arms feel warm around her and the smooth texture of his voice, she wants to remember everything.

"I will give up everything and come to you, y/n. Just say the word and I'll leave everything. " he says, taking her face in his hands. His fingertips press softly against her cheeks, the pressure sending shivers through her body.

"And then what? You leave and then what? Are you ready to give up all those luxuries and privileges to live a normal life where we have to work really hard to earn some money? " she speaks in a small voice as her shaky hands remove his from her face. "Will you turn your back on the citizens of our country that love you so much ?"

Seonghwa's hands fall to his sides , as if they lost all their sense of movement and purpose. The tears flowing down his cheeks refuse to stop anytime soon .

"Go, Seonghwa . Please. The country needs you. More than me. " she says , finally letting her own tears flow too.

"I will never be able to love her. Not as much as I love you, not nearly as much you." he sobs, his hands yet again finding their way to her waist, pulling her into his chest.

Putting a hand on his chest , y/n stops his actions, although it only feels like twisting a knife further into her own wounds.

"Go."

As he walks away that night, she watches his back from a small gap through the window, trying to remember as many details about this man as her mind could afford to store. She wants to remember him. She wants to remember the only man who loved her so unconditionally.

The grief finally crashes into her , her whole body being taken over by ugly sobs, with her eyes still on Seonghwa 's back, his black hair shining under the moonlight and his sword swinging with every movement of his body.

For Seonghwa , she reminds herself , For Seonghwa , I will never love again.

"You have to stop bringing things like this for me, your highness. It makes me feel guilty." Y/n says , running her hand over the beautiful, brand new silk blanket sitting on her lap. Mingi smiles, rolling his eyes playfully at her. "Hey, this is not from me. It's from Brother Seonghwa ."

Nodding her head with slight disappointment on her face, she tries hard not to acknowledge the name even though it as if makes her body erupt into flames. It's been months since they last saw each other and although she doesn't say it out loud , her mind is pre occupied with Seonghwa’s thoughts more often than she'd like. But then again, It's not easy forgetting the man you so dearly loved.

"How's he doing?" Those words come out even before she could process it , spilling out of her mouth like water out of a jug.

"He's doing fine .Doesn't talk much ,rarely sleeps. I don't see him that much either." Mingi says

He's as miserable as she is, she realizes and even though it is horrible , she feels a slight giddiness at that thought.

"And the crown princess? "

"Do you really want to know, y/n?" Mingi replies with a slight chuckle.

No, she didn't really want to know about how much time the good-for-nothing princess is spending with her Seonghwa but she asked it anyway , just for the sake of it.

"No." She admits.

Mingi sighs, running his hand over the soft blanket laid on her lap. "They're not married yet you know . If you say it, I'll make some arrangements so you two could run off to a faraway place. He says he doesn't want the throne anyway. He honestly doesn't want anything that isn't you anymore. "

Y/n feels her heart beat increase at his words but her face remains neutral , trying not to lose her composure in front of Seonghwa's brother.

"I would never be able to keep him as happy as the princess might, though I hate to admit it. He's grown up in those palaces with thousands of servants and expensive clothes and luxurious cuisines. If he chooses me, he'll lose all of that. He'll lose his home , he'll lose the love of his countrymen, your highness. Why can't you of all people understand that? "

"No, I do understand, y/n. But I don't like seeing my brother like that. I and second prince Hongjoong have had to see him in such a miserable condition these past few months, not knowing what to do ," He says "No medicine for this illness ,right? " He adds, pointing a finger to the left side of his chest ; his heart.

"No, there isn't " she replies, but the "I wish there was " is silent.

"Are you out of your mind, Seonghwa ? Father will chop our heads off and have them displayed at the front gate of the palace!" Hongjoong is angry but he knows he's not exaggerating. Their excuse of a father might actually end up doing that if any of his children bring dishonor to the family.

"I agree. " Mingi agrees. Seonghwa paces to and fro in his room , the groom's clothes on his bed long forgotten. He runs a frustrated hand through his hair , hissing at himself for not being able to come up with a solid decision. He has to do something and he knows for a fact that he cannot marry the princess waiting for him in the king's court.

"I can't marry her. I will not marry her. "He keeps mumbling to himself under his breath as his brothers watch him helplessly.

The door of the room flies open without a warning and the three boys look at their father ,his majesty, the king of Goreyo entering the room with a horrified expression.

"The wench ran away." he says with a shaking breath, humiliation clear in his eyes. "The princess ran away with her lover to a far away place. I will wage a war on that kingdom! I will destroy them for this insult they've spat on our faces."

Seonghwa 's mind goes blank for a second , wondering if the words leaving his father's mouth were true or just a manifestation of his own imagination.

"Father, it's okay. I think everything happens for a reason. " Hongjoong speaks up , deciding to take one for the team. He trembles under his father's gaze but he swallows the fear. The universe knows he'd do anything for his brothers. Anything.

Mingi looks at Seonghwa ,as if signaling him to say something or do something instead of staring at the king like a statue. "Uh.. yes, yes, father. I don't think she'd have made a very good queen anyway so why waste our time fighting against such people? Let it go. Karma will get back to them."

He's speaking nonsense at this point but he doesn't care. He only wishes to see y/n as soon as possible.

"Fine, if you say so. Anyway I meant to ask you if you have a bride in mind. I can't cancel the whole wedding for a stupid girl ; you're getting married anyway, bring whoever you want, a common girl ,a noblewoman ,whatever. I just don't want my name to have a black stain on it because the crown prince's wedding got cancelled under my reign. "The king puts his hand on Seonghwa ‘s shoulder.

"Yes. Yes. I have someone in mind, father. I'll get her right away. " If you think he sprinted right out the door ,running off towards y/n's house without letting the king respond to his words, then you're absolutely right.

The knocks on her door seem oddly familiar ,too familiar to be true yet, without a second thought she opens it, although she wasn't actually expecting him to there.

" Seonghwa ! Did you run away from the wedding?" She cries, as he leans against her door and pants heavily.

"No." he gulps . " No. She ran away. Father wants me to marry whoever I want. Says he just wants to save his image."

Speechless. That is what she is as she watches him enter the small hut, his chest still heaving from the run and the sweat still fresh on his forehand. "I'm going to ask you this one last time, Y/n." he walks up to her ,trapping her by pinning her against the wall with his hands on either side of her head. "Will you marry me and become my Queen? Will you please do me this one favour? "

Y/n stares at him for a good five seconds, tears streaming down her face as she rests her hand on Seonghwa’s chest, the heartbeat from his chest matching hers.

When he raises an eyebrow demanding an answer, she doesn't reply but instead pulls his mouth down to meet hers.

And that's all the answer he'll ever need.

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angelqueen04 · 3 years

Text

Hamliza Month, Day 26

@megpeggs @historysalt

Farm Offend Summary: Eliza and Liza have a talk after a difficult visitor. Note: A good deal of this is inspired by Stephanie Dray and Laura Kamoie’s version of events in their novel, My Dear Hamilton. I added some of my own thoughts and twists to it, but their version lays at its heart. All credit to them.

Eliza stood at the parlor window, her back straight as a board, her hands clenched in fists at her sides. This set of windows had a good view of the road leading away from the Grange, which provided her with an excellent view of the comings and goings of travelers as they sped by, on their way to Albany or New York, depending on their direction. The view it gave her at this particular moment was even more agreeable, however, as it allowed her to watch the gig[1] carrying James Monroe drive away from the house.

Good riddance, she thought with a measure of grim satisfaction. The Virginian had come here hoping that time had softened her, had made her amenable to accepting some well-turned little speech that he’d obviously planned out in his mind beforehand.[2] Well, he’d now learned otherwise.

“Mama?”

Eliza slowly turned from the window. Standing just inside the parlor door was her dear Liza, with good Mr. Holly and Eliza’s fifteen-year-old nephew, Alexander Malcolm. All three were staring at her, their eyes wide and full of shock, which was more than enough to tell her that they had all heard most, if not all, of her interview with the former President.

Eliza met their gazes head on, refusing to be cowed or chagrined by her behavior. Her words and actions toward Mr. Monroe might not have been within the bounds of societal convention – all right, they most certainly weren’t – but they were only the minimum of what he deserved from her. “Yes, dearest?” she asked her daughter.

Liza didn’t say anything else, clearly startled by her mother’s nonchalant attitude. Mr. Holly also seemed to have been astonished into silence. Young Alexander, however, managed to find his tongue.

“My goodness, Aunt!” he exclaimed, shocked enthusiasm filling his voice, “I did not expect to see or hear anything like this when I came to visit! You dressing down a former President of the United States like he was an errant schoolboy!” He glanced at his cousin and asked, “Does this sort of thing happen often, Cousin Liza? Perhaps I should come ‘round more often!”

Eliza saw her daughter and son-in-law exchange a meaningful look and, for a moment, a wave of sadness splashed over her. She had once had someone to exchange such glances with, but not for a long, long time now. She shook her head and held her chin high. Now was not the time for grief.

Off the look from his wife, Mr. Holly dropped a hand on young Alexander’s shoulder and said, “Come, cousin, let me show you the new fishing rods I purchased. I think you’ll enjoy them.” Without waiting for a response, he guided the boy out of the parlor and out the front door, leaving Eliza alone with her daughter.

Eliza turned from Liza’s gaze, intending to settle herself in a chair near the fireplace. Spring had come, but it was still quite chilly, and a fire was still necessary to keep the house warm. With a sigh, she sank into the seat, and waited for Liza to speak. Her daughter was by nature outspoken, a trait she came by honestly. How could she not be, with two such parents? Liza would have her say, no matter what.

She did not speak immediately, however. Instead, Liza crossed the room and took a seat in the other chair just across from the one Eliza had seated herself in. That chair had been Alexander’s once, Eliza thought wistfully. They’d sometimes sit together here in the parlor, late into the evening after the children had gone to bed, and just enjoy the silence and warmth of one another’s company.

She and Alexander had hoped to have many years to do such things, but that wretch, Burr, had had other plans. And so Eliza, more often than not, was left to sit by the fire in the Grange alone. Only rarely did any of her family or other visitors dare to sit in that chair.

“Was that wise, Mama?” Liza asked her, her tone soft. Her dark eyes, mirrors to Eliza’s own, were steady and thoughtful. “Mr. Monroe might no longer be President, but he likely still has influence. Given the positions some of your sons hold, surely it was ill-advised to offend him like that?”

A snort escaped Eliza before she could stop it. “He’ll do nothing to your brothers, you may rest easy on that score,” Eliza told her. “These Virginians pride themselves on their honor, and your brothers have nothing to do with why that man came here today. And besides,” she added in a colder tone, “he offended me first. Perhaps it is childish, but there it is.”

Liza stared at her. “He came here seeking a rapprochement with you, Mama. Is that so very bad?”

Eliza could feel the fire, the rage, rising in her, but she kept it contained. Liza did not deserve her fury. She shook her head. “He could claim he sought peace all he wanted, but what he really wanted was forgiveness. He wanted me to forgive him for making a mockery of my private pain, for humiliating me before all the world in his efforts to wage war on your father.”

Liza blinked, and confusion was soon writ all over her expression. Eliza sighed. “I suppose I never did tell you everything,” she admitted. Only once had she ever spoken to her daughter of that cursed pamphlet and of Alexander’s infidelity. It had not been a conversation that Eliza had relished, and so had kept it short and to the point. She suspected that her sons had likely told their sister more, but she did not know for certain. Even if they did, they did not know all of it.

“When government officials came to investigate your father for improper speculation, your father revealed the truth of the matter to them – that he was paying off the husband of his mistress.” Liza winced at the harsh phrasing, but didn’t interrupt. Eliza, long used to the tale, kept speaking without pause. “He exhorted them to keep quiet about this, as his private failings had no bearing on his public integrity. To this, they agreed, for they all knew that there was no improper conduct in the course of your father’s duties as President Washington’s Treasury Secretary.” That there was more than enough to say about his improper conduct as a private man went unsaid. “Your father also entrusted the proof of all of this to them, but he requested copies.”

Liza shook her head, a pained expression on her face. “Mama, what does this have to do with President Monroe?”

Eliza gave her a chiding look for her impatience. “Everything, dear. Mr. Monroe was the leader of that little delegation of investigators. It was to him that your father gave the papers – Maria Reynolds’ letters, James Reynolds’ blackmail, the record of the payments, all of it. When your father requested copies, he assumed that Mr. Monroe would make the copies himself, in keeping with his promise to keep the knowledge of it as contained as possible.” She could not help the sneer crossing her face. “But Mr. Monroe decided that this was not worth a hand cramp, and so entrusted the task to a clerk within the House of Representatives. Mr. Monroe later claimed that this clerk made copies for himself as well.” She shook her head. “In any case, Mr. Monroe decided that he would ‘entrust’ the papers to a ‘trusted friend in Virginia’, who would theoretically keep them under lock and key, particularly when Mr. Monroe was out of the country.”

Her daughter was not a fool. She stiffened, catching on very quickly. “President Jefferson.”

Eliza nodded, her fingers gripping the armrest in a vicelike grip. “’Tis like trusting a fox to behave himself in a henhouse. Later, when it proved most advantageous to them, the papers were given to a vile newspaperman, who did not hesitate to print them and use them against your father. Of course, the focus of that odious man’s accusations was, again, in leveling the charge of speculation. Your father’s response was to call upon the three men who had cleared him of that charge, asking them to reiterate that they had been satisfied in their investigation. Two of them agreed without hesitation, but the third…” she trailed off. The memory still hurt, even now.

“Mr. Monroe would not,” Liza finished for her, her voice soft.

“No, he wouldn’t,” Eliza confirmed, the bitterness settling in the back of her throat like bile, burning. “He declared that him getting involved would only cause more chaos than there already was.” She sniffed. “He was already involved, as he was the one who handed the papers off to the very man who saw to their release into the public consciousness. But the fact that he himself had not done so was enough for Mr. Monroe to split hairs and to claim and declare that he was not in any way responsible, and that your father should just leave it be.” Of course, Alexander could not leave anything be. That was not his way. He had to meet every accusation, every attack, head on.

“So Papa wrote that pamphlet.”

“Yes.” One terrible word, one terrible truth. “James Monroe knew your father very well, despite them being political opponents. He knew Alexander would react to preserve his political reputation, for the sake of the country’s existence. If the public believed that the founder of the country’s credit, its wealth and prestige, was corrupt, it would shake apart for good. He knew Alexander would fall on his sword, would admit his private sins for the sake of the public’s greater good – and that’s exactly what he and his friends wanted. Alexander Hamilton would preserve the nation from the crisis they had invoked, but at the cost of all his credibility. He would cease to be a threat to their ambitions.” And that was what had happened. Alexander’s reputation suffered for his confessions, and only once after that did he wield any real semblance of power – when he stood at the head of the army he had begun to build, and that had been ripped away when Mr. Adams made peace with France and declared that the United States needed no army. The fool.

“But in getting what he wanted, Mr. Monroe had sullied his honor,” Eliza continued resentfully. “He knew it. I knew it. And Virginians are very prickly about their honor. He had sworn to not reveal those documents to anyone, which Alexander asked him to do for my sake and that of our family. But he broke that promise, and opened the door for his own allies to attack me, someone he considered an innocent party.” Some of those infernal newspaper headlines still stung.

“That is what he wanted, Liza,” she said. “James Monroe wanted me to clear the mud off his honor. His health is in serious decline. His wife has passed, and he’s not long in following her, I think. He wants to die with his conscience clear, and that I will not give him. I will not forgive the man. Not because he humiliated me, mind you. But because he and his friends, most specifically that reptile now mouldering in his grave at Monticello, set out to destroy your father, a man they viewed as unworthy of anything he touched because he was not like them, not born here, not born to inherit some Godforsaken speck of land. Your father earned all he gained, and that they could not abide.”

Liza leaned back in the chair. “And I thought all men were created equal here,” she murmured.

Eliza snorted again. She seemed to be doing that quite often these days. Her mother would be appalled. “Oh no,” she said, “They talk prettily, but in the minds of many people, there is still a hierarchy, where people ought to ‘know their place.’” She paused, her eyes turning from Eliza to the fire. She stared into the flames, could feel its heat seeping under her dress to her feet. “Your papa was a good man, if a very flawed one. He believed in the promise that this country holds, and in those very words that Mr. Jefferson put to paper. Whatever his shortcomings, of which he would have been the first to admit that he had many, he did not deserve the slander they threw upon him.” She looked up again. “So no, I will most emphatically not pat James Monroe on the head and tell him all is well and forgiven. Not when he showed himself as having no remorse for his actions.

“Perhaps that makes me self-righteous,” Eliza admitted. “Perhaps the good Lord will frown upon my unkindness. But I am no saint, no angel. There are limits to what I can give, my dear, and we just found what those limits are. Justice shall be done to the memory of my dear Hamilton, and that justice will not come in coddling the men who sought to erase every trace of him.”[3]

Liza nodded, and they both fell into silence. They sat together for some time, until Mr. Holly and young Alexander finally returned.

#my fanfiction #hamliza month #hamliza #elizabeth schuyler hamilton #eliza hamilton holly

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jenovahh · 3 years

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Wild Greens Choke Tended Gardens - Ch. 4 - Gladiolus (Sword Lily)

He’s bored.

He usually is, but something about the monotony of everyday life seems particularly...bothersome now.

It has been another day of delegating and overseeing, having returned to the Garlean Embassy within Kugane after releasing the Warrior of Light back to her friends.

“I’m A’yana Salvia, the Warrior of Light.” She huffs, her tail giving an angry flick. “And you are going to let my friends go, peacefully.”

He can’t help but let loose a chuckle then, eyes unseeing as a servant refills his glass of wine. He had to admit, it was certainly amusing to see how readily she stood up to him, how she was devoid of fear despite her defeat by his hand at their last encounter. He couldn’t help but find the entire situation...refreshing.

“You are strong, but I am willing to lay down my life for my friends. I would do whatever it takes to allow them to escape.”

He had heard of people like her. Noble. Dutiful. Selfless.

A waste, comes the thought unbidden.

He had never understood those types, those that threw down their lives for the sake of others. Those who attached their sole reason to do battle to weak concepts such as selflessness and pride.

Man should fight for the joy of it. Only man could fight for fightings’ sake.

“Why are you even here?”

He can’t help but grin to himself, remembering her rage, how her eyes flashed with unbridled fury at his insult of her skills. How he could see any desire to save her friends had bled from her eyes and turned into a wish to see him dead where he stood.

“You had come looking for me, have you not? Sorry to disappoint you once again, but I am the Warrior of Light and the Warrior of Light is me.”

A’yana Salvia, the Warrior of Light…

Standing from his chair, he excuses himself, not allowing himself to head to his rooms straightaway. While sleep was tempting, if only to spare him from the boredom of the waking hours, he had something to occupy his time if only for a little while.

He walks the halls until he reaches a door, punching in the code to unlock the latch to allow him inside. Behind the door was an office, nearly as opulent as his own back home in Garlemald, filled with all manner of books and files and maps. Upon the desk was a neat stack of paper, along with a single book, bound in leather with gold trim.

Nearing the desk he sits himself in the high backed chair accompanying it, leaning back for a bit of comfort as he takes the documents in hand and reads the note on the first page.

A Brief History of the Warrior of Light, A’yana Salvia

At his request had his men been tasked with finding out as much about the Warrior of Light as possible, from the time of her birth to what she liked to eat for dinner. He was if anything thorough, and he had failed his own standards by not being able to connect her title with the Miqo’te woman herself. He would not make that mistake again.

Flipping the page, he is surprised to find there is little known about the details of her birth. The report goes on to say how there were no official records or reports or even hearsay of her birth, no ties back to any childhood homes. Even her parents were a mystery. Despite his best efforts to remain impartial, he couldn’t help but sit a little straighter, intrigued by the concept of a hero who came from nothing, but not in the traditional sense.

To anyone who tried to delve into her origins, they would find nothing. Even nomads, even beggars of savage city-states had some history and telling of their beginnings, and yet…

A’yana Salvia had none.

And not for lack of trying, either. The report goes on to say that others have attempted to dig deeper into her past, but no one, not even those known to be close to her know of her origins. It is said that she had almost seemed to appear from the mists, an adult ready to explore the world when she had been discovered by the Scions of the Seventh Dawn to come together to orchestrate Baelsar’s defeat.

It was all rather peculiar, that someone of such power had so little known about their life, save for their deeds as the hero. Enough deeds, that someone had deigned to write an entire book practically detailing her accomplishments.

The Dragonsong War, by Count Edmont Fortemps lays on the desk still, its leather staring back at him unassumingly. Cutting his eyes back to the report, he flips through the pages, seeing more information he had known already in addition to whatever his men could scrounge up. He had already heard the Garlean side of Baelsar’s defeat, but the report managed to dig up a few more details, such as her befriending of the traitor, Cid nan Garlond.

Done with the report, he picks up the tome, flipping through the first few pages that details the author’s early life. His years as a child were oft spent in between the shelves of the royal library, the princeling easily gaining the ability to scan through tome for information he sought.

Reaching the beginning of the retelling, some of the words begin to jog his memory. He had heard of the first brood. Heard of the terrifying power of Midgardsormr and his equally terrifying children from books about the fall of Agrius. The war of a thousand years waged by one of the dragon’s sons, fueled by nothing but his hatred for mortals. He had not seen such a beast himself, but he knew that the stories were true that despite not holding their sire's power, the first brood were still magnificent in their own right.

And she had slain him, this Nidhogg.

The Warrior of Light was lucky, yes, but there was no denying her power.

How could such potential be housed in such a small frame, such gifts be given to someone so... unworthy?

Part of him whispered that she was not as unworthy as he thought. The slowly fading scar on his neck attested to that.

It had been years since he sustained such an injury, his fingers constantly drifting to his neck anytime glanced at himself in a mirror. It had long since healed, the scarring not an angry red, but pale and silvery, as if dust from the moon itself had been imbued in her magic.

His eyelids fall close as he relives the rush of pain, the rush of feeling his blood well up into tiny pebbles at the small cut on his skin. He was strong enough to withstand her magic without difficulty, but even the discomfort it gave told him that the average man would find it nigh unbearable.

Their gap in power was not as large as it first seemed. Unlike him she lacked training, lacked control.

Somehow that was part of his unintentional obsession. He had built himself from the ground up with power, doing all he could to become a better hunter. The prestigious prince who had the best instructors in the land brought to his home to teach him, versus the feline warrior from shrouded origins with nothing but a blessing and luck to her name.

It was almost laughable really, and yet he found himself more intrigued than he cared to admit. He continues to flip through the pages, eyes dragging across the Ishgardian cursive script with the barest hint of detachment, his eyes steadily drifting closed.

He's dreaming again.

The usual warmth surrounds him, melding into his bones in a way that is frighteningly comforting. It has always been like this, yet only now does he consciously realize it is so.

It feels akin to--

The feeling of her in his arms--

"Thinking of someone?"

The dreamspace shifts and coalesces into another dense forest, though this time it is dark and moonlight drifts through the trees. His friend is behind him, their presence still formless and yet not, their energy seeming much looser and not all there.

"Why would you draw such a conclusion?" He asks, brows furrowed, not even bothering to turn to face what is not there.

"That woman," they begin, "the Warrior of Light. Was she not in your thoughts?"

He remains silent gazing up at the moon. It's milky surface stares back at him, shining brightly and illuminating the depths of his soul. He closes his eyes and allows himself to bask in its glow, the strange sense of comfort drifting across him again.

A minute passes before he realizes he's not given an answer. "Yes."

He hears tinkling sounds behind him, but still he does not turn to face them. "I like her."

Frowning, he responds in monotone. "That makes one of us."

Silence sits between both of them for another beat. "Do you feel nothing when you look in her eyes?"

He does whirl on them then glaring at their misty form. "I thought we already discussed this." he growls.

“Discussed what?” They question nonchalantly.

“Discussed this...soulmate nonsense--” he grounds out, glaring harder as their tinkling laughter surrounds him and their form solidifies a little more. “And what is so amusing?” he snaps, crossing his arms across his chest. “Do you find my innermost thoughts a source of entertainment?”

Though they don't have the form to manage it, even he can sense them shrugging nonchalantly. "I have only ever wanted you to be happy Zenos."

His lips move to form the words that he is happy, but he cannot bring himself to state such a blatant lie. Not to himself, not to his friend, because whether he liked it or not, they always found out the truth.

“And how would she make me happy?” he questions, regaining a little more composure. “She is weak. Untrained. She is used to having her equally weak companions throw her at whatever god arises and vanquishing it with raw power and sheer luck.” he scoffs, lip curling at the thought. “How could such a weakling make me happy?”

“You question how she could make you happy, yet you have spared her twice.” They respond, not at all bothered by his lofty tone.

Wrinkling his nose, he turns away from them again, trailing off into the forest. “A mistake I will soon rectify when next we meet.”

“Did she not say herself that you have caught her out of her element?” They press on, following behind him at a safe distance.

“What good is someone incapable of fighting on any battleground?” Zenos asks, uncaring as water from the creek soaks his pants leg. “Either she will prove that she is the challenge I seek when next we meet, or she shall die by my hand.”

His friend giggles behind them then, and he can’t help but turn once more to see their form a bit more solid. Were they always so much smaller than him? “And just what is it that you find so humorous?” He grumbles, sighing as the breeze caresses his skin.

“If only you could see it yourself, Zenos.” They giggle, their laughter like the tinkling of bells. “Try as you might, you're more invested than you let on.”

Frowning, Zenos finds that that thought resonates with him a bit more than he’d like. “You have known me this long. Am I anything other than thorough?” He asks, coming to a stop as he gazes out at the greenery before him.

“You are right, I have known you this long. Long enough to know when you are nearly obsessed. Long enough to know you thirst for more.” They echo, the dreamscape once again fading, his friend’s voice drifting away as it becomes indiscernible from the wind whispering through the trees.

Blinking away sleep, moonlight pours through the window, signaling he had been sleeping for quite some time. Shifting to a standing position, rolls his shoulders, preparing to retire for the night until he sees some of the Kugane guards running about in the streets.

Drifting closer to the window, he watches their paper lanterns light their path as they scuttle along, their voices muffled but Zenos can gather enough of what is going on. They seem to be trying to apprehend someone.

No longer interested, he prepares to turn away until a particular group’s conversation is loud enough to drift up to him.

Scions of the Seventh Dawn…

Garlean traitors…

The Warrior of Light--

His feet have carried him out of the office and toward the main entrance before he can even stop himself to ask what he’s doing. His soldiers question him, but he only feels his lips form the orders to not follow him if they wish to remain living. Grabbing a single sword, he stalks out into the night, noting that the guards have moved further into the city.

His hair trails behind him as he makes his way to where the general populace of Kugane resides, sticking close to the alleys as he keeps track of the guard’s movements through the streets. They are rather disorganized, and already he has spotted the two women the warrior calls her friends sneaking through the city to their destination. He does not doubt the Warrior of Light is far behind, taking the backstreets to keep a low profile. While not in his full regalia, there was nothing else he could be but the prince, and any guard that did happen to spot him wisely overlooked his presence.

It would also not do to have the woman know he was out looking for her as well. She’s doing a surprisingly good job of hiding from him; surely he would have spotted her at least once by now.

He keeps up his search until a group of guards begins shouting, their exclamations turned into coughs as a cloud of smoke erupts in the city street. Hurried footsteps barrel toward him and with all the grace of a predator does he reach out and snag the would be intruder, dragging them into the shadows as the smoke clears. They struggle against him but go still as the guards begin searching the area, failing to notice the two huddled together under a dark alcove.

As the sounds grow quieter, they renew their struggle, prompting Zenos to let them go.

“What are you doing?!” The Warrior of Light hisses, fangs catching the faintest bit of moonlight, sapphire eyes gleaming up at him in the darkness.

“Protecting my investment.” He responds dryly, watching as that riles her further.

“Your investment?!” She whispers harshly, looking as if she would love nothing more than to raise her voice.

“Letting you live was not without cost. Until I duel you under more...favorable circumstances, then it would be in my best interest to make sure no misfortune befalls you.” He sighs, watching as her eyes go wide with shock before narrowing once again.

“I did not need your help!” She growls, preparing to leave, but he blocks her path.

“I am inclined to disagree.” He purrs, unable to keep himself from poking the hot embers before him, in hopes that he’ll be burned. “Kugane may be a state of neutrality, but even they know that they must bow to the emperor, or risk their way of life being upset.” He hums, watching the gears turn in her head. “I would hate to bring attention to your location, or worse, your friends who I saw pass by earlier…” he trails off, unable to keep amusement from suffusing his words.

Her expression steels immediately.

Ah...there it is.

“You wouldn’t dare.” She whispers, the sound so sinister and low that he can’t help the shiver that runs down his spine.

“Would I?” he goads, eyes darting to how she flexes her claws. “While I have endeavored to occupy my time with more important matters, I find you have too many mysteries surrounding you for my curiosity to ignore.” He continues, watching an unreadable expression pass through her eyes. “Answer my questions truthfully, and I will allow you to return to your friends. Refuse…”

“Right, right, ask your stupid questions.” She snaps, crossing her arms across her chest.

He had expected more arguing from her, but he’s pleased to see that she is at least practical. “The first: why are you running?”

His eyes have adjusted to the darkness sometime ago, able to see her tail give an angry flick. “My friends and I were looking for a comrade of ours. Unfortunately we trusted a stupid fish who tried to turn us into your soldiers.” She grumbles, ears flicking to and fro as if still listening for guards.

“A comrade? For what purpose?” He continues on, unconsciously taking a step toward her. The alley is narrow and already one step has him nearly looming over her.

“To liberate Doma, what else?” She retorts, not at all afraid of him.

“You mean to free Doma?” He laughs, taking another step closer. She does take a step back then, though he can tell it is not from fear. Her eyes have not left his, fierce and unafraid. “While I applaud your ambition, I believe I have shown you twice now where standing against me will bring you.” He rumbles, voice thrumming in his chest. “What primal will your friends throw you at next, little Warrior? What tasks will they place upon you to bear alone?” He presses on, smirking all the while. “I have heard of Eorzea’s Savior, though a more aptly named title would be...Eorzea’s Errand Girl. Barring she is not killed first.”

“You…” she seethes, not even flinching as he backs her against a wall. He stands tall above her then, but she does not tremble, does not shake even though most people cower in his presence, his proximity notwithstanding. Even in the dark he can see the slits of her eyes have widened to let in more light, giving her superior vision in the night. Her fangs capture his attention with how sharp they actually are, but most of all…

It is the rage he feels from her that makes him shudder.

“Is this all you sought me out for? To insult me and make me question how my friends care for me?” She huffs, standing her ground.

“I have asked questions, but not made you question anything, Warrior of Light.” he chuckles, her title sounding like silk on his tongue. “I am merely curious about your endeavors, as any enemy would be. Is that so wrong?” He taunts, hoping for another violent reaction, but his smirk fades as a determination enters her eyes, one that stills his breath.

“You will listen and listen well, Garlean.” She hisses, reaching for his hair and yanking him down, the movement surprising him so thoroughly, his brain is still struggling to catch up. Never had anyone dare to take such liberties with his person. Even the servants whose job was solely to take care of his hair asked for permission to do their job.

That his body almost moves at her will, bringing him face to face with her so that she can glare at him from her level, sets something alight within him. A burn he had not felt his whole life. In this moment his entire being is tuned into her, tuned into the quiet conviction in her eyes.

“You may insult me all you like, but I will not allow you to insult my friends. Yes, they may be unable to fight a majority of battles without my help, but it is help I give gladly, it is help I give willingly.” She seethes, his eyes paying close attention to how the curl of her lip keeps her fangs displayed, almost as if in reminder of how she could sink them in his throat. The thought makes him shiver with an unnamed emotion. “As I had informed you at my capture, I don’t have time to play with a spoiled prince. My friends need my help and if it means giving up my life to help them, then so be it.” She growls, giving his hair one more tug and it goes straight to his groin.

“Now, you will be letting me go, without any fuss.” She demands, and just like that, he can see it.

The Warrior of Light in all of her glory.

She releases his hair, but he makes no moves to stand back to full height quite yet, still staring at her in muted wonder. She stares back until confusion slowly seeps into her gaze, unsure for why he has remained silent for so long. Silence continues to stretch between them, until her impatience finally gets the better of her. “Are you quite done staring? You are more than welcome to have me come sit in for a portrait if you so wish. I don’t have time to stand here with you gawking at me.”

Eyelids fluttering closed, he releases a single chuckle, standing back to full height as his hand absentmindedly runs across the strands of hair she had abused but moments before. Once he opens his eyes, she gasps, unsure what she sees there, but caring little.

If she had wanted him to leave her alone, there was no way he was doing so now.

“Very well, Warrior of Light.” he hums, stepping from her personal space. Giving her a forceful shove into a dark corner in the alley, not giving her time to complain as he calls out into the night. “Guards!”

He can hear her go stock still behind him, quiet as a mouse as nearby guards rush over to him.

“Lord Zenos!” they exclaim, bowing profusely in his presence. “How may we assist you?”

Glancing down the street, he remembers what direction her friends were heading before speaking once more. “While I am loath to help you bumbling savages...I would rather not have my rest interrupted by you shouting all over the district. While unsure of your targets, I last saw a suspicious group of people head south west of here.” Resting his hand on his sword, he can hear them all audibly swallow. “I would also suggest you be quick about it. I would like the district clear by the time I arrive at the Embassy to rest.”

“O-Of course, my lord!” they hastily bow, rushing down the streets like their lives depended on it. Turning to speak with the Warrior of Light, she stares back at him almost equally mystified, though her skepticism is clear on her face.

“As I had informed you earlier...I must protect my investments.” He grins, lips pulling into a genuine smile that stuns her even further. “Run free, Warrior of Light. Our next meeting may be sooner than you think.”

She shoots him a distrustful glare without hesitation, pushing past him as if he were just another man and not her sole enemy. The change is so refreshing he cannot find it in himself to even think of punishing her for her disrespect. To do so would be counterproductive.

“Oh, my wild, untamed beast…” he purrs to himself as he watches her hurry to her destination, skirts trailing behind her as she disappears into the night. “There is no escaping me now.”

When he returns to the Garlean embassy it is with purpose, his men nearly jumping out their skin at the look in his eye as he begins rattling off orders. His father hasn’t approved any action to march on the savages in Gyr Abania, giving him a copious amount of free time to do as he wished. If his father really did begin to ask after him, he could always feign that he was putting the Doman wench in line; which would not be far from the truth. She had failed him by letting the Warrior of Light reclaim the Ruby Sea, and yet he cannot be too harsh on her.

She had brought him a challenge after all.

When morning comes, he feels a drive he had not felt since he was a boy. A zest for life that was blooming within his chest, barely able to contain the sheer joy he felt. It was not hard to arrange for his entourage to prepare him a vessel to depart for Doma the next morning. Using the information he had gleaned from the Warrior of Light the night prior, he was walking the halls of the dilapidated castle in no time at all.

The Doman woman kneels before him, subservient as the rest. Her hatred had intrigued him before; it was why he had seen fit to ascend her to a position that allowed the subjugation of her own people. But looking in her eyes now, all he can feel is disappointment.

Blue, feline eyes glare back at him in his mind’s eye, and a rush of heat runs through him.

“Have you anything to say for yourself?” he questions, not even deigning to stand up. Prostrated before him, he is glad she does not tremble before him at least, but the lack of defiance is rather uninspiring.

“Nay, my lord.” she replies, not even bothering to look at him to give her answer.

Rolling his eyes, he studies her for a moment longer. “Tell me then, in detail just how you failed me. Have you not heard of the Warrior of Light? Is your network so under utilized that you could not quash a rebellion well before it started?”

She flinches under his criticism, and remains kneeling before him. “I had not, my lord.” she answers, throat tight. “She was like a storm; a typhoon, making landfall before you could even do anything about it.” She does rise up to look at him then, most likely in hopes that he will see how sorry she is. “She had rallied the Confederacy so quickly, and I had tried to stop her...but suddenly those Kojin...she had slain a god.”

His eyebrows raise as she sounds almost stupefied, as if trying to make sense of how it all went wrong so fast. “It was as if the fear of the empire no longer mattered. Her and her friends had organized and planned, she had instilled the people with a will that even the empire could not suppress. She is formidable, my lord.” she finishes, and her words make him think.

The conviction he saw within her eyes, a will not easily broken. That even as he stood before her, out of her element, her life in his hands by the prospect of her being in his presence alone…

It was this will that inspired the masses to rebel as he had hoped the Doman woman could do.

Begrudgingly he had to admit that she knew how to inspire the masses. She accomplished in days what the woman couldn’t even accomplish after several moons and imperial forces at her disposal.

It was also clear that between her and her two comrades, she was not the strategist. He would not go as far as to insult her intelligence, but there was no denying that just as his presence evoked fear, hers inspired hope. He doubted she gave speeches, doubted she gave orders. Simply by existing she was an inspiration, a morale booster of the highest caliber.

He can’t stop himself from smirking, even if the action makes the woman before him fear for her life. He envisions those fierce blue eyes again, whispering her name on his lips.

“The Warrior of Light, A’yana Salvia…”

Her name on his lips tastes heavenly.

As much as she warned him to stay away, to threaten his life in the hopes he would take heed to her promises…

It only made him yearn for their battle more. Without trying, his prey had gotten snared in his trap--

And he would not suffer to let it go.

#zenos #zenos yae galvus #ff14 #FFXIV #Final Fantasy XIV #WGCTG

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inrainprose · 4 years

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Isn't sad how all those children preferred to live in a dark cave, caged, all being used as test subject for Orochimaru's bizarre experiments, living like animals, than in their natal villages with their "companions"?

F***ING WEBSITE FROM HELL I F***ING DELETED THAT F***ING META BECAUSE I CLICKED BACKSPACE ONE TIME TO MANY F**K THIS okay here we go again because I thought hard about this and I’m not gonna let it go.

SO. I think Orochimaru is a far more interesting character when written as a cult leader for outcasts than with just the children-snatching psychopath view, because we don’t get the impression that he coerces people into following him. There’s no doubt he did some abducting but that’s not the core of his recruitment strategy.

It was a strong theme at the beginning of the story with Zabuza and Haku – how far would you go for the first person to ever show you kindness and give you safety, even if it was for selfish reasons, even if they’re terrible people? I seem to recall Naruto thinking something along the lines of “I was lucky it was Iruka for me, had it been someone else…” and relating to Haku’s loyalty to Zabuza despite knowing he was just a mean to an end. It makes for great AUs too – what if Naruto had latched onto someone less recommendable than nice Iruka? It's too bad that line of thinking was dropped because it also served as a harsh criticism of their world, the fact that it produces so many bitter, abandoned orphans that have no choice but to turn to brutal mercenaries and unhinged scientists. The shinobi world created many of its own enemies, within and outside the villages.

I don’t think the kids “prefer” to live that way, but they would still be starving in the streets or abused by their village without Orochimaru, so it’s normal to do whatever he wants in return, right? Including kill or fight each other to death or subject themselves to whatever he wants to test on them… Of course it’s textbook recipe for abuse, the “you owe me” card. He takes full advantage of this, that they have nowhere else to go, that they will owe him. He also makes it even harder for them to go back, what with the body modifications and making it to every village’s shit list with the killing and stuff he has them do.

(more under the cut cause that got a bit out of hand)

He basically runs a cult – he’s shown to be charismatic, having a great power of attraction and persuasion, and he doesn’t treat them that badly, I mean in a way we often see bad guys do, being belittling and acing them off for fun just to show he’s eeeeevil. He does give them what they want, safety, shelter, power, companionship, purpose. I can imagine him playing the benevolent card for a while before introducing his newest refugee to the downside of getting under his wing. He preys on the vulnerable and they come willingly.

It’s most likely their only option, including once they’re in and realize they’re really not into this after all. It’s not like any of them was ever offered a way out – what would they do if they left, who would help them? The shinobi world doesn’t seem big on rehabilitation, for all Naruto’s “villain-turning-good” powers. Most of them pay their “redemption” and their return to the light by death anyway. Would be too hard to actually question their morality and choices and see what they would become if they went back to the world…

Ironically enough the only one who sort of gets that is Orochimaru lmao but it doesn’t count because there was no redemption nor questioning of any kind they just decided he got to stay and not be held accountable for any of his actions. And I don’t know why any of us is surprised by this actually or why we expected better we should be used to this by now. Ah. Moving on.

As the kids grow up, they would either develop a stronger sense of morality/self-worth and wouldn’t be able to go along with this shit anymore, no matter how grateful they are to him, or they would stay blindly loyal. Or they would just be dead, dying, or imprisoned and unable to escape heh. I guess some would also take a deeper turn because since this world sucks so much and abandoned them why wouldn’t they wreak havoc in it on his orders? He must play on this too because he IS outside and against the system and it would attract those who seek revenge against it, even if he serves his own interests above the "Strike back at the System" cause. It served him well when he was in Konoha after all and isn’t that his biggest grievance in the end? That he played within its constraint and was still cast out, because he crossed a line he didn’t even know was there? We don’t get a feeling that he’s inherently against the whole child-soldiers/kill for hire/waging pointless wars thing, on the contrary it suits him quite well, but the problem was the hypocrisy, that they condone those things but still try to take the moral high ground.

I’m sorry but I can only imagine Orochimaru being like “assassination ok torture for information ok civilian casualties ok sacrifice anything for the village including your health life and those of your friends ok train to death and do whatever it takes to get stronger ok experiment on people… no?” I’m not trying to justify his actions but just, how is anyone surprised by how some of them turned out? I think we saw people like this among his followers, you know who were trained to kill from a young age, but when they got a taste for it and went outside the mission frame, the villages were like "huh huh no no” and they went ???? excuse me how was I supposed to cope with being made into an assassin as seven apart from convincing myself that this was all fine and fun actually? And of course the classic “I lived in a cage/I was driven from my home at 5/I was enslaved, and this guy comes around and offers a way out was I just supposed to say no?”.

(This apply to Sasuke too by the way, because had this boy been given some freaking support as a child he wouldn’t have made it his lifelong goal to kill his brother while disregarding absolutely everything else in his life and Orochimaru played him like a damn flute and someone should just have… seen this coming. Or just NOT have the entire Uchiha clan pointlessly wiped off but that’s another point entirely)

The lines of who is good and who is bad in Naruto are very foggy. Murder is not a criterion, child abuse either, so what? At some point we have to acknowledge that the characters who are "good" in Naruto are simply the ones we're told are on the good guys' side. I mean it’s a valid morality system – being good means serving your village. Whatever you do to that end is okay. It’s exactly Danzo’s mentality and it's easy to see where it comes from, it is how their world is built. It’s also how they manage to say with a straight face that Itachi was a good guy actually, and you can build a story on that, you can put it into question.

But the story doesn’t commit to this. It still tries to tell us that being mean and killing people is bad, when half of those characters are paid assassins for freak’s sake, when the good guys have an entire clan build on arbitrary slavery, when they massacred one of their own clan. Once again it started right with Zabuza, when they make the characters (and us) realize that the only thing opposing them is that they have different employers. Zabuza isn’t bad because he’s a mean guy who kills people, he’s bad because he gets in the way of their mission. Of course he conveniently works for an asshole while they work for the guy trying to lift his community from its shithole, but that’s not why they help him. They help him because he pays them to so.

Anyway, going back to the topic at hand and concluding this long-ass rant, it’s hard to infer whether Orochimaru sees them solely as pawns and expendables bodies or if he has any form of attachment to them or some to them. I found his writing to be very inconsistent and not compelling at all because it never dwells into these topics, and the narration can’t make up its mind about him. But I don't like to cast him as just a one-dimensional evil psychopath because that's… bad, y’know, and I don’t think the number of people willing to follow him should be dismissed. In many ways Orochimaru and his people him are a direct product of their world

That got out of hand really fast but. Well. You’re right. It’s sad.

#ask #askinrain #naruto #naruto meta #orochimaru #why do i spend so much brain juice on this story #when i know the story didn't #but anway #that's this on that #rambling #will i ever answer that kind of ask with some chill #probably not #tw cult #tw abuse #i guess #it's orochimaru after all #Anonymous

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secret-engima · 4 years

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“The God of Liars is an Honest Man (who never once was believed)”

Ohhh tricky one.

Marvel MCU angsty fixit AU in which Loki dies. Loki dies at the hands of Thanos while his brother screams and then he wakes up.

And he is a child.

He is a small, helpless child. The orphaned child of simple Asgardian citizens, one a soldier, the other a healer, both killed one of Odin’s endless wars. He is not Loki anymore. He watches, and when he is but a boy, Odin wages war against the Frost Giants and returns with great fanfare.

Several months later, the second Odinson is “born” and all of Asgard celebrates while he watches.

He watches and he is afraid.

He watches and he grows, swift and hard and cunning, a broken soldier in the body of a youth, unseen and unnoticed, for while Heimdall might see all the nine realms, he has no reason to watch the beggars and the peasants, the orphan thieves as they slip through the streets. The boy who was once Loki looks on at an Asgard untouched by Hela and Thanos, at two prince brothers who have not yet turned to bitter enemies through competition and lies and arrogance and spite.

He watches and finally whispers “No more”.

He gets a job through flattery and carefully planning at the royal stables, the least of the servants, and works his way up from there. He is promoted to scrubbing floors, then to washing windows, then finally to flitting unnoticed through the banquet halls, ensure no one’s cup is ever empty in the feasts.

The boy who’s name is no longer Loki finds the child who is named Loki, and marvels at the sight of being ... older than himself. By a good margin. He is on the border between boy and teen now, and this little prince is still wide-eyed at the brightly painted books of children bedtime stories. The two look at each other, and the younger blinks as if he feels something odd, “Who are you?” Loki asks.

The boy who was once Loki smiles thinly, keenly aware of his simple servant uniform, his dull brown hair and unremarkable brown eyes, “I am you,” he replies with frank honesty, “I am a you from the future, who has come back for reasons unknown.”

And the boy in front of him frowns and says with all the stern solemnity of one who is quoting a parent, “You shouldn’t lie, lying is bad.”

And he who has not lied but is called liar sketches a bow, “Of course, my prince, forgive me. You may call me Fili if that is your desire.”

And the boy does.

And somehow, the two become friends.

“I will never lie to you,” Fili murmurs one day to Prince Loki, after finding the boy crying in the garden from having gotten in trouble at Thor’s word rather than his own, “I swear it.”

And Loki sniffs and laughs, “You tell lies all the time. All your fancy stories are lies.”

And Fili smiles sadly as he hands the prince a handkerchief, “Some lies, My Prince, are merely the truth that no one believes, and I may tell you some of those, but I will never tell you a lie that is not a hidden truth. Even if you do not wish to hear it, if you ask, I will answer. That I swear.” So Loki begins coming to Fili with questions and always the servant boy answers truthfully, even though much of that knowledge is not something for a street rat, an orphan, a servant boy who has never once opened a book. Always, always Fili tells the truth, even if he first sometimes tells Loki silly stories like how Fili is a time-traveller, and Thor will fall in love with a midgardian woman one day when he grows up.

And one day Loki comes to him, angry and hurt, and asks, “Why am I so different? Why can I not be like Thor and the other boys?”

And Fili answers, “You are not them. You will never be them. Your strengths lie elsewhere, and there is no shame in that.”

And another day Loki comes, serious and quiet, clutching a story book of frost giants and asks with uncharacteristic solemnity, “Are Frost Giants really all monsters?”

And Fili answers, “No. Some of them are, because they chose to be. And some of them are not, because they do not wish to be. Asgardians are the same. Some are monsters, some are not. Asgardian monsters are just better at hiding their fangs.”

Loki is a teenager the day he sneaks into Fili’s servant quarters, their friendship still unknown to all, face pale, and asks, very, very softly, “Am I truly the son of Odin and Freya?”

And Fili stares at the wall for some time before saying, “Which kind?”

“What do you mean ‘which kind’? Am I their child or not?”

“There are two kinds of children, children of the heart and children of the blood. Many children of the blood are also of the heart, but not all children of the heart are children of blood. Children of the heart are more precious, because they are loved no matter what.” Then Fili looks at Loki and honestly, always honestly, answers, “You are the child of the heart of Odin and Freya. But you are not a child of their blood.” And Loki bursts into tears and flees the room, and later a commotion is heard, for Odin is furious that someone ... told Loki something (the truth, the truth he needed to hear, the truth he believed because his mother had held him tight and his father had pet his hair and Fili never, never lied). Odin demands to know who told him, and when Loki is forced to give up the name, Fili is called before the king and ordered to explain himself and his knowledge.

“I was once Loki,” Fili answers without flinching, “and I watched Asgard fall, and I watched my people die. And then I died, and now I am here, but before I died, you told me what I was, and so not I have told Prince Loki.”

“Liar,” hisses Odin, “You dare to lie to my face?”

“I’m not lying,” Fili says blandly, “you just do not want to hear my truth.” And he knows he could lose his head for this, but then Prince Loki is there, pleading with his father to spare Fili, and he says that Fili always says strange things, but he always tells the truth, he just doesn’t tell it the way most people do.

And Odin watches the face of the servant boy, calm and without fear, and snorts angrily, “Truth-Twister,” he names coldly, “Silver-Tongue. I will spare you for my son’s sake, and you will be trained as one of my pantheon, and you will be known as the god of lies, for I do not trust you to wander unsupervised any longer where you might spread your poison into unsuspecting ears.”

And so he is Named.

And in the privacy of his new rooms, Fili sits and laughs until he cries. For now he is the god of lies.

Yet in this life he has never once been anything but honest.

(anyway, it would be a multi-chap fic with the time-traveling Loki fixing things and killing Thanos on the sly and saving the world and always, always telling the truth point blank to whoever asked and yet, somehow, for some reason, they never, ever believe him. Not in things that matter most).

#marvel mcu #loki #Secret Engima Rambles #title prompt #angst #fixit fic

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quakerjoe · 4 years

Text

Biden, #MeToo, and why I can’t support him.

Anyone who supports Biden, by my reckoning, is fine with putting their name to yet another sexual predator in the White House

Where’s the outrage, people? All you #MeToo supporters out there are fantastically quiet about the accusation leveled against Biden. Where are all of you who were appalled at the recording of trump bragging how the rich and powerful can just walk up and grab a woman by the pussy? That’s what Biden actually DID (allegedly). If you’re fine with Biden, hand in your #MeToo card and strike the word ‘feminist’ or ‘humanist’ from your personal bios.

If you don’t know a woman who’s a survivor, then you don’t know women. That means that none of them have trusted you enough to tell you their stories. I’ve heard many. Once upon a time, I was in a relationship with one and I heard her horror story. She felt that her freaking out when we tried to get intimate with me was unfair so she left. Then she killed herself.

Is Biden REALLY better than trump? Really? Really? Of trump, whom I loathe more than anyone else on Earth, I can say, with all honesty, this much: I KNOW where I stand with him and his band of fuckwits. ALL of his fuckery has been mostly done out in the open. While everyone’s freaking out over it, they’re all huddling behind Biden; many out of such sheer desperation to remove trump that they’ve literally allowed the Democratic party to compromise them and their morals and core beliefs. IF you’re supporting Biden, you’re not compromising, YOU’VE BEEN COMPROMISED. You ALLOWED the Democratic party to lower their own standards SO low they’re practically as filthy as the GOP only there’s one sad, horrible difference between them and just one- While the GOP is openly vile, reprehensible, and are more than willing to fuck you all to your face; fuck you and fuck yours and go fuck yourself... Democrats smile, say nice things, then stab you in the back. Democrats now only pay lip service, make half-baked and half ass attempts to try to convince you that they’re Left in some way, all while being far right of where they were years ago. There IS no Left anymore, and you’ve been dragged along with them. When is enough, enough, people?

There’s clearly only ONE person the Democrats hated more than trump- Bernie Sanders. Between mainstream media ignoring him and Dems ganging up to defeat him, clearly the party doesn’t give a flying fuck about YOU. They’re just not into you, baby; it’d interrupt the cash flow from their donors, most of them being the same rich twats buying GOPers. Look how fast Bloomberg bought Dems!

Now you’re all acting like trump supporters for the BlueMAGA. Seriously? Really? The rapist? The guy whose motto is essentially “Don’t worry, I won’t change shit; I’ll just bring us back to normal (meaning back to the era that brought us trump in the fucking FIRST place).

How many of you BOTHERED reviewing Biden’s super-shitty policies and actions over his career? (crickets) How many of you have any spine enough to see just how fucking useless he is at this stage? Fuck me, man; this asshole can’t even speak! We already have that. He’s already got various degrees of sexual assault on the books. We already have that. He’s all to eager to work with the GOP and cater to the rich. We already have that! He’s boring as fuck, abrasive and he does NOT inspire voters to come charging out this November.

Trump does, though. His fanatics are breaking down the gates during a pandemic; you can bet your privileged asses that they’ll be out come November assuming they did’t keel over dead from COVID-19. That may be the only edge that Biden gets as he does and says fuck-all nothing except hope that trump screws up enough to get his base to stay home and enough of his own Biden Bros to show up. That’s his big plan, kids.

Kiss your $15/hr good-bye. You don’t seriously thing team biden will really pull that off, do you? For fuck sake, according to Liz Warren, if the min. wage kept up with cost of living and inflation, it should be at $23/hr NOW. According to Robert Reich, it’s even higher. $15/hr was what we needed well over a decade ago. If biden does pull it off, it’s a token fist in your ass at best, you puppet.

Kiss M4A good-bye. It’s evident that you’d rather dump your cash into the overpriced, empty promises of insurance companies, big pharma, and stoke the fires of endless war with financing the Military Industrial Complex than live a safe, healthy life.

Kiss any sort of Green New Deal good-bye while Pelosi and the others sneer at it and look down their noses at you.

I certainly don’t WANT more of trump...

...but thinking biden will make things better is foolish. Trump will happily stab you through the chest, but the likes of biden prefer to smile while they stab you through the back using the blade forged out of empty promises and lip service. Fuck, if you’re keeping track of the Dem. pundits, they’re already lining up to blame biden’s apparent loss on Sanders and people like me. They’re ALREADY gearing up for him to LOSE. What does THAT tell you? His popularity is utter shit compared to HRC back in 2016.

Let’s not forget that most of Bernie’s supporters backed HRC in 2016 and voted for her. Before that, let’s not forget HER followers’ loyalty when MOST of them bailed on Obama to support McCain.

I won’t put my name to a vote for Biden. I won’t. I’ve heard too many tales of horror from Survivors and given that Al Franken’s career was burned for much less, I don’t appreciate the HYPOCRISY of the #MeTooExceptBiden rhetoric. MY moral compass, my values, my principles will no longer be something I give the DNC permission to shit on and compromise. If the US needs another 4 of trump burning the house down to wake the fuck up and LEARN that the Dems are a band of feckless twats on the take and actually start voting for PROGRESSIVES and those who are actually LEFT, then so be it. Let the children learn by touching the hot fucking stove; I’ve warned them enough, for years and years now. It’s time to grow a pair of whatever inspires you and wake the fuck up and stop fronting rich, white guys who are all for helping the rich scam us into tax breaks and socialism for them and their corporations while fucking us all in the ass without a kiss first, a grease up, or so much as a reach-around.

Year after year we do this shit and it’s getting worse. Yay, we won the House. So fucking what? What have they ACHIEVED? Pelosi scoffs at saving lives with M4A and we, as a party and a nation failed to get the Senate. The GOP is still cock-blocking everything, good or bad, passed by the House, so really, no big “blue wave” there to brag about.

These people are not stupid. They know the general population is complicit and disinterested in change. Look at all the anti-gun protest after every school shooting? Has much been done since? Technically, trump’s been more hard-ass over gun control than Obama! Holy shit, guys! The “Pussy Hat” march. What’s changed? Meh. Not much. To the GOP and corporate/establishment Dems, women are cheap and nobody cares. Point gone like a fart in the wind. The GOP and the Dems alike know that they can keep you all punching DOWN instead of taking a moment to glance up and see who’d really punching YOU. So long as they let you march, protest, bitch and scream now and then, you’ll get it all out of your system and then it’ll settle down and go back to “normal”.

“Normal” didn’t used to be finding it acceptable to have a documented sexual predator in the White House.

IF you have no problem with Biden, then you must also have no problem with Weinstein, right? Cosby? Judge Kavenaugh?

Uh huh.

I don’t want trump. I want him gone. I refuse to do it with biden taking his place because seriously, the guy wanted to shitcan SS and Medicare/Medicaid. He was gung-ho for Iraq and Afghanistan. He’s a bucket of charred turds.

Look all the women you love, if you have the courage to do so, and you tell them “Hey, I’m fine with electing another rapist for president!” because that’s literally what you’ll be doing. Why don’t you beat and slap her around for a bit before you go out to vote while you’re at it. Backing biden only continues giving permission to the Dems to offer you the worst possible candidate so they can keep their cash flow going.

Have some courage. Have some dignity. Have some fucking empathy and compassion, for fuck sake. Then, maybe, a woman might trust you enough to tell you HER horror story of survival.

#MeToo #MeTooExceptBiden #BlueMAGA #SayNoToJoe

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cosmicdreamworld · 5 years

Text

Erik Lehnsherr: Over Again

Pairing: Erik/Fem. Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2049

Taking one last look over at yourself, making sure your hair was in place and the makeup you had on wasn't smudged, you made your way downstairs, careful not to trip. Charles and Erik turned their attention from their chess game to you.

"Well, don't you look stunning," Charles complimented. You couldn't help but blush. "However; don't you think that dress is a bit short?"

"Charles," you playfully warned.

"Sorry, love, but when most men see a beautiful, young women with something like that on, their thoughts are rarely pure."

You heard Erik scoff in disgust. Erik didn't like you, you were human, brought in by Charles. Charles stumbled upon you one night, beat up and bloody outside a bar. You had stood up for a young mutant who had come in for a drink. Charles brought you back to the mansion until you recovered; it ended in you being asked to stay permanently. Charles enjoyed the energy you brought to the mansion and the students liked having you around even if you were simply human. Erik, however; did not, he hated humans, hated them for what they've done to mutants - therefore, hated you.

"Charles," you sighed, "He's a nice guy."

"The fellow with green scales? The one from the bar that night?" You nodded. "Yes, well, for his sake, he better be nice," Charles warned.

You sat down next to Charles, waiting for 8:30 to come, waiting for him to pick you up.

"Erik, what you say we head our for a night on the town?" Erik agreed, so that left you alone, staring at the clock - impatiently waiting.

8:30 passed, then 9:30, and by 11:00, you knew he wasn't coming. Going back upstairs, you change into sweatpants and a comfy shirt and made your way back down to sit on the couch, letting a few tears fall, not even caring that they'll mess up any of your makeup. You cursed yourself, telling yourself how stupid you were to think anyone - human or mutant - would actually be interested in you. Fiddling with the chess pieces, you jump when you hear someone come in.

Charles and Erik were back. Charles called out your named, clearly inebriated, "I didn't expect to see you home so early, if you know what I mean," he laughed, but seemed to sober up rather quick when he really had the chance to take in your appearance; clothes that were too large, hair tied up, and dried tear stains and running mascara on your cheeks. He quickly came to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. "Love, what happened?"

You sniffled, "He never showed up," you mumbled. Charles ran his hand up and down your arm to try and comfort you.

Stoically, Erik threw in his two cents, "He's a mutant, you're a worthless human, what did you expect? Perhaps, it'd be best to stay in your lane when choosing future potential suitors."

"Erik, that's enough," Charles growled.

"What?" He laughed, "I'm simply stating the truth. She's not one of us. No matter how hard she tries to fit in, she never will."

"Erik," Charles warned.

"You know what, Lehnsherr?" You finally stood up and wiped away the tears, "I don't know what your problem is - aside from the obvious - but I never did anything to you. I have been nothing but nice to you since I've been here, even when you didn't deserve it. I've accepted you, I've cared about you, I stood up for you - for mutants. Not every human is the way you think. Some of us want mutants around."

"How touching," Erik sarcastically retorted, "But we don't need you to do any of that, we don't want or need some pathetic, weak humans pity. We can stand perfectly on our own without someone like you trying to be a white knight. You will never belong here. You are not wanted here."

"ERIK! THAT IS ENOUGH," Charles had enough.

Walking up to Erik, you look him dead in the eyes, "That's fine cause I never asked to be here in the first place," you whispered, shoving past him and walking out the door.

Charles pinched the bridge of his nose, "Was that really necessary?"

"Yes, she has to understand her people are the reason we have to hide."

"Don't lie to me, Erik. I can see there's more to how you treat her than just your hatred towards humanity," even though he promised not to invade people minds, he knew Erik would never tell the whole story. So, he did what he had to; placing two fingers to his temple, he closed his eyes and delved into Erik's mind. Every memory, and every thought he had; most recently of you.

His every thought, deepest desire for you, every little detail from the colors in your eyes, to the color you paint your toes. The guilt of treating you like dirt beneath his shoes, the wanting of needing to get to know you. The fear of getting to know you and then you leaving somehow, and being torn between being in a sense of love, a feeling he never thought he'd have or want again, and a sense of hatred because you're not mutant.

A war waged inside himself , a war of him not wanting to be in love, he was a death sentence for anyone who he loved, and he couldn't bear to lose you, so he chose to hate you, out of every human, the most; hoping those feelings would eventually go away. Yet part of the war was not wanting to let you go. He needed you to keep him steady, he needed you to help keep him together; from breaking anymore than he had. He needed your peace to calm the storm that was raging inside. You were his peace, you made him smile - even if you never saw it.

Charles released his hold on Erik's mind, he smiled a little. "So that's it, huh? You don't hate her. You don't even care anymore that she's human, you're just scared to get close to her."

Erik said nothing, he just stood there avoiding Charles' gaze and the conversation at hand.

"Now she's gone. Tell me, Erik, was your fear worth losing her? Was it worth never truly knowing if she felt the same?"

"You don't understand. I'm a death sentence for anyone I care for. I can't, I won't lose someone else."

"We will never know the future, Erik. It's best to simply take it as it comes. If everyone were to let fear dictate what they do, nobody would be doing anything. At least go find her, bring her back inside before anything happens to her. You owe her that."

Erik's searching was nothing short of fruitless, that was until he checked in the garden - and there you were, wiping stray tears with the back if your hand and quietly sniffling as you stared at the stars. He took a seat next to you, earning a quick gaze his way followed by a scoff.

"Let me guess, Charles sent you out to find me?"

Erik's only answer was silence; you rolled your eyes.

"Figured. No way you'd come for me on your own accord. You can go and tell him I'll be back in about a half hour." You had so much more you wanted to say, your body ached for an answer, so taking a chance, you let it all out.

"I still don't know what I did to make you hate me so much," you whispered. "I know, I'm human, that's it, but you seem to treat me so much worse and I just want to know why; and why do you treat humanity so poorly? I know the things humans have done to mutants, but not everyone of us is like that. You can't just judge and eradicated a whole populous just based off the few bad ones you've encountered. These humans you hate? Some have mutant children that need their parents, and some mutants have human children that need them. You're recreating the very thing that tore you and your family apart when you were just a child. Erik," you pleaded, "After everything he took from you, do you really want to be like Shaw? Cause that's what you're doing. Erik, I am pleading with any shred of humanity you have left, please, you don't have to rely on us, but don't kill us."

"I hate you, I trust you know that right?" There were no emotions in his words, like he hadn't even heard you at all. You wiped away the tears the escaped during your speech and the new ones that fell when he ignored the whole thing.

"I hate you, but not for the reason you think anymore," something in his words made you look at him, maybe it was how quiet his voice was, the slight crack that was in it, or maybe its because you could hear the build up of tears. "Yes, I hate that you're human, but that matters so little to me anymore. What I hate with you is the way you make me feel. You make me feel wrong - I know I'm wrong about what I'm doing and I hate that you make me know it. I hate that you make me feels things I never wanted to again - hope, happiness, love, caring, - I don't want to care about another person, cause everyone I ever cared for ended up dying because of me," Erik turned to you, every pent up emotion he held came out in just the look in his eyes. "I'm scared because I can't lose another one, I can't lose you. I thought that if I just kept pretending I hated you, that these feeling would go away."

You felt a small smile tug at your lips. "Erik, no matter how hard you try, feelings will always happen, its inevitable - and they usually come at the most inopportune time, a moment when you least expect it. Ignoring them isn't going to make them go away and pretending to hate something when you don't isn't going to change your mind about not hating it. Feelings are apart of life. There's no way to get rid of them and ignoring them just builds resentment. And besides, you can't lose someone you never had."

It's almost like you could feel Erik's whole being - mind, body, and spirit - just collapse in on its self. You couldn't understand why, not until you thought back on what you said. It was the last line: you can't lose someone you never had. Those seven words were almost like a final blow, making him realize he just lost someone else. What's worse was that it wasn't even someone he could have in the first place - not after his treatment of you, at least he thought.

"But," you began, a smile stretching across your lips as you looked at him, "Maybe, just maybe, a certain weak, worthless, pathetic human shares that same soft spot for a certain metal controller," still smiling as you nudged him in the ribs softly. "And maybe, if you're willing, and we can start this over again, one step at a time, you'll find that not everything leaves, and that caring for someone doesn't always end in disaster."

Erik smiled, a genuine smile that was your first time seeing. Finally getting to see that side of him brought out an even bigger smile than you had on. Just knowing that for once, he might feel okay was enough to make you feel on cloud nine.

"I'd like that," Erik whispered.

A comfortable silence fell between you two as you watched the stars and Erik watched you, a small smiled etched on his face. After what seemed like an hour, you noticed a hand extended towards you.

"Erik Lehnsherr, pleased to meet you."

You smiled, extending your hand to shake it. "(Y/F/N) (Y/L/N), pleased to meet you."

Letting go, you noticed him look back at the mansion, you deducted Charles must be talking to him.

"Mind if I walk you home?" His smile was still there.

Giving him a shy smile, you link your arm with his, "Not at all."

#erik lehnsherr #x men imagine #erik lensherr x reader #erik lehnsherr imagine #magneto imagine #charles xavier #reader insert #erik-lehnsherr-imagine #magneto-imagine #magneto erik #x mansion #magneto #magnetic #marvel #erik lehnsherr preference #magneto x reader #mutant x human #erik erik lehnsherr human reader #magneto human reader

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mykingdomforapen · 6 years

Text

If there was anything worth noting about this Valkyrie, it was that she begrudged her knack of surviving.

She saw the gargantuan ship before anyone else did, before her king and his brother did. She did not stop to stare or tremble or speculate, because she had once outnumbered Hela and still lost everything inside of her heart. She had watched fighter after fighter have their head ripped off by the Grandmaster’s Hulk before she could even pop the cap off of her beer. The Valkyrie knew a lost battle when she saw one.

So she turned on her heel, barked at her people to run to the escape pods, and leave everything behind once again. She kept a hand on her sword, but she kept her eyes forward while the ship suddenly stop--then shook--then dangerously creaked. Foreign voices and familiar destruction echoed through the halls as she ushered as many of the women and children into these cramped pods. There were more than enough escape ships on this stolen ship for Asgard’s remnant. But there was not enough time.

“Come on!” she said to Thor. She could hear the war waging behind him. “You’ve got to run!”

She held the pod’s door open for them. She heard the screams of the ones who did not make it across the bridge.

Thor was across the bridge, which was now crumpled and sprayed by the mist of sparks. He could make the jump if he ran--he needed to. What was Asgard without their king, if not orphans?

“Thor!” the Valkyrie hollered. “Asgard needs you!”

Thor looked to the Valkyrie, then looked to the lost cause (and to his brother)--and chose the latter.

“Take care of my people,” he said.

He did not tell her twice. Perhaps he did not need to. But when Thor ran back into the fire, the Valkyrie dived into the last pod and slammed the door shut behind her. She slammed her hand on the eject command--and ran away, for a second time.

She sweated in a compact, metal box with seven other civilians crammed inside. The women were sobbing into each other’s shoulders, and the Valkyrie did not pause to give them sympathy. Her hands splayed over the control dashboard, she set her courses forward--whereabouts unknown.

“Dammit,” the Valkyrie said under her breath. The other escape ships were blasting off in different directions. She fiddled with the intercom with sweating fingers. “Stay together! Everyone, for Norns’ sake, stay together!”

“My lady--”

One of the young woman was sniveling. She was hiccupping but still standing tall, trembling in her tattered dress. The Valkyrie felt miserable just looking at her.

“My lady, what can I do to help?” said the young woman.

“Nothing,” the Valkyrie said. There was no time to humor anyone. “Go into the back. Everyone!”

“But my lady,” said the young woman. “We can help you. Please--”

“You can’t do anything!” the Valkyrie snapped. As if she could push them down in order to make herself feel taller. “Now get into the back and let me steer this ship!”

The young woman faltered before shuffling back, ushering the others to huddle into the back compartment. The Valkyrie jabbed a button and the door snapped shut behind the last civilian, catching at the skirt of her dress. She would rather feel numb on her own.

“They are only trying to be helpful.”

The Valkyrie held her breath. Her hands froze over the controls as she looked up to the windshield and the thousands of empty stars that were too far for help.

“Oh,” said the Valkyrie.

Even from the reflection of the windshield, Valkyrie could see all the soot on Loki’s face. When she turned her head, she realized that the reflection looked far stronger than the figure standing beside her. She could not feel his warmth, and when she reached out to touch his shoulder, she only felt a momentary static.

“Is this another party trick of yours?” she said.

This Loki--whatever Loki this was--looked through the glass, back towards the ship behind them. From here, the ship looked almost stagnant, quiet, as if they had taken a pause in their journey, and nothing more.

“You’ve gotten far,” he said. “That’s a relief.”

“Not far enough for my taste,” said the Valkyrie. She increased the speed of the pod, even though she felt the floor quake under her feet. “How about you and Thor?”

“There’s an Infinity stone on Knowhere,” said Loki. “The Reality stone. He will go there next, I’m almost certain of it.”

He spoke quickly, until his words stumbled over one another. He reached out to take the Valkyrie by the shoulders, but his hands only went through her, and left her skin hot and prickling.

“Where’s Thor?” said the Valkyrie. “Where’s the big guy?”

“Buying me some time,” said Loki. “And we don’t have much of it left. Where do you plan to take our people?”

“I don’t know,” said the Valkyrie.

“How many people left with you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then who is with you now?”

“I don’t know!” she spat. “I don’t have a plan. I don’t have a clue what’s going on. I don’t have any idea where any of us can go and why are you talking to me? That mad titan just killed half of our people and he will kill you next, why are you talking to me?”

She didn’t realize how much she had raised her voice until she heard how the women on the other room held their breaths. Loki took in a deep breath. The Valkyrie wiped the spittle from her lips.

“Because this is very important, my lady,” Loki said. His voice was low. “You are Asgard’s hope. You have the universe’s hope.”

The Valkyrie’s throat swelled. This was not the first time she had heard such a phrase. The last time someone had preached these motivational phrases to her, golden fists raised and shaking, promptly afterward she watched all of her sisters die for a cruel king who did not take care of the matter himself.

“So what?” said the Valkyrie. “You want--you want me to go to Knowhere for you? Steal that stone from that titan to save the universe?”

“No,” said Loki. “I need you to hide our people for the time being. But you--my lady--you have to find Thor on Midgard. After it is done, you must find Thor.”

“What?”

“I haven’t much time--” Now his image was beginning to flicker, the seidr distracted. “I’ve been told that this is the only way.”

“By whom?” said the Valkyrie. “What are you talking about?”

“It will hurt,” Loki said, and his voice quivered. “But this is the only way. Find Thor.”

“Where am I supposed to take our people?” said the Valkyrie. “Where would be safe?”

Loki shook his head. His image flickered again.

“There is no barren moon,” he said, his voice growing thinner until it frayed, “no realm where you can escape Thanos’ plan. Perhaps a different dimension. A different time. But you will find Thor. Say it after me, my lady. After this, I will find survive this, and then I will find Thor. Say it.”

The Valkyrie’s lips trembled.

“I don’t have time left!” Loki said.

His eyes were starting to go red, but the Valkyrie did not know why.

“I will survive this,” the Valkyrie whispered. “I will find Thor.”

Loki let his hands fall to his side. As his lips shook into a strained smile, blood trickled down to his chin.

“Thank you, my lady,” he said.

He gave a great sigh of relief, and as quick as a blink--no glow, no fading light, no flicker--his image was gone. The ship felt emptier than when he appeared in it.

“Brunnhilde,” she breathed.

She looked back--which was never a good idea. As if she was watching a star from a hundred light years away, she saw the burst and the shimmer before the rest of the dark galaxy swallowed it whole.

“My name is Brunnhilde,” she said to the stars.

She thought--belatedly--that perhaps Loki might have liked to know that.

She should have stayed on Sakaar.

Brunnhilde was trembling violently. She kept a hand pressed against her chest, where she could feel her overwhelming heartbeat, and another hand clutching the edge of the dashboard because she shook so badly that she could not trust her own bones. She had not gone longer than several hours without a drink. Now, it was looking like perhaps she would have to go for the rest of whatever life she had left.

I will survive this, she had said, and I will find Thor.

In Brunnhilde’s defense--she had never promised it. She never said that she would go out of her way. She did not understand what Loki had meant about an Infinity stone, about Thanos’ plan, about there being no realm to hide in or anything else. She could not fathom how Loki or Thor or the Hulk would have survived--if there was a Thor to find after all of this in the first place.

Norns, she thought. I need a drink.

She bundled her sweaty hair back, but her head was starting to pound. She needed to get these Asgardians to safety. No--she needed to run away. No--she needed to turn back and find Thor and Loki. No--

There was a small knock on the door. Brunnhilde gripped her hands into fists. She was in no mood to speak to anyone right now, so she ignored it.

“I’m not cut out for this,” she said to herself.

She put a hand to her hip, where the hilt of her sword hung. This ship was no steed, but she could command it to her bidding if she wanted to. She should turn back, take a spare single-user pod and rush back into the battle. Thor was their king, their leader--she should rush back and find him, bring him back so he could do all the leading, all the delegating and decision-making and--

Take care of my people, Thor had said.

After it is done, find Thor, Loki had said.

How was she supposed to take orders from her two sovereign princes if they were dead?

“I’m not cut out for this,” she said.

She should have never left Sakaar. She should have never rekindled that bitter heart of hers for Asgard, for their people, her people. She should have never let herself care so damn much only for every home and person she ever had to be crumbled into pieces in front of her eyes. She bared her teeth, as if to bite down to brace herself for the pain, except the pain was already tearing her up from the inside and she could not flinch away from it or hide from it.

“I’m not cut out for this, I’m not cut out for this!”

She screamed into the inside of her arm, because her head hurt and her heart hurt and she did not know where to go. She gasped for breath, cursing the Norns that she had to survive time and time again, for no greater purpose than to hurt.

The knock on the door returned, this time stronger. Brunnhilde wished there was something she could throw at it, but they had left the ship with nothing but their own lives and the skin on their backs.

“Shut up!” Brunnhilde snapped.

Instead, the doors clicked and slid open. Brunnhilde did not have the energy to scramble onto her feet and gather whatever little dignity she had left. The civilians stood sheepishly on the other side, staring wordlessly at Brunnhilde’s miserable state.

“How’d you open that door,” she said.

“Tampered the wiring,” one of the civilians said. “We pried the paneling off of it.”

Loose wires sputtered from the wall. Brunnhilde gritted her teeth. She could not deny being impressed.

The woman--the same one who had offered her services through tears--knelt before Brunnhilde. Her eyes were still ruddy, and she would occasionally wipe her nose with the back of her wrist.

“Was it your idea?” Brunnhilde said.

The woman said nothing. Her black hair smelled like smoke, as did her skin. Her shoulders saw much of the Asgard’s sun, and evidently outlived it.

“What’s your name?” Brunnhilde said.

“Magnilda,” said the woman. “And I want to help.”

“Magnilda,” said Brunnhilde. “I’ve got nothing for you.”

She pushed herself off of the ground, facing the windshield again. The maps that she had pulled up all around her had too many to choose from. Without a home, they had no purpose in one place or another.

“What do you mean?” said Magnilda.

“Unless any of you are winemakers, I have nothing I will ask of you,” said Brunnhilde. “If you were mothers, you have no children to raise. If you were diplomats, there is no kingdom to rule. If you were farmers, we have no land to till. What could anyone possibly ask of you anymore but to survive?”

“We can be warriors,” said Magnilda.

Brunnhilde stared at her. Magnilda, with a tremor in her voice and incapable youth in her eyes, held her chin high.

“Have you ever held a sword in your life?” Brunnhilde said.

“No,” said Magnilda. “But I’ve held a cutting knife. I was a butcher’s daughter.”

“A titan is a little more than a pig,” said Magnilda.

“That titan is a pig!” cried out another.

Brunnhilde could not help it. She snorted loudly.

“What are you?” she said.

“Rona, my lady,” said the loudmouthed girl. “I was a scholar. I’ve held no sword, but I’ve fought my own battles.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Brunnhilde said. “But I also don’t doubt that any of them have compared to this.”

“The rest of Asgard is still left behind,” said Rona. She was closer to a child, for she did not control her volume. “Who’s going to come help them other than us?”

“You?” said Brunnhilde.

“We can do it,” said Magnilda. “We all can--who’s going to save Asgard other than her own people?”

“You’re a farmer,” said Brunnhilde. “And you, a bookworm. And what were you?” She pointed to another girl. “Let me guess--a glassblower?”

“A fisher,” the girl said stubbornly.

“A fisher!” said Brunnhilde. “What do you know about fighting?”

“We’d know everything that you would teach us,” said Magnilda.

Brunnhilde paused. She let out a weak laugh before shaking her head.

“No,” she said. “No, you’ve got the wrong warrior. You’ve got the wrong Valkyrie. You don’t understand.”

“We’ll find weapons on any of the other realms,” Rona said. “You can show us everything you’ve got. We’ll be brave.”

“You’re a child,” said Brunnhilde.

“Not anymore,” said Rona. “Not after all this.”

Brunnhilde bit down on the inside of her cheek until she made herself wince. She was not the one equipped for this. In her day, it was Sigrun who led Brunnhilde and her sisters into each battle. It was Hildr who was the wisest and it was her Kara who was brave. Brunnhilde was the runt, the last one standing out of cowardice and luck rather than power. It was Brunnhilde who ran away from the battle and poured alcohol in her wounds to savor its burn rather than the shame. Norns, she thought painfully, you’ve chosen the wrong Valkyrie to survive, you’ve chosen the wrong one to lead--

But it was the Norns who still gave her breath in her shaking lungs, who gave her both hands and eyes and feet. She had survived every damn ordeal that led her to a time such as this.

They are only trying to be helpful, Loki had chided, but Norns, Brunnhilde had been alone for so long that she had forgotten what it was like to have sisters.

“Change our course,” said Brunnhilde. “We’re going to need some more swords.”

#LC writes #iw spoilers #aka where tf was valkyrie #FORMING HER OWN VALKYRIOR THAT'S WHAT

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talabib · 3 years

Text

Become A Master Of Your Chosen Pursuit.

In a world constantly offering us quick fixes and easy, step-by-step programs to achieve goals in no time with little effort, it can be easy to forget that to become not just good, but truly great at something takes time. This is where the concept of mastery becomes especially relevant.

True mastery isn’t just about reaching goals; it’s just as much about internalizing a philosophy that will keep you learning even after you’ve reached your goals. In short, true mastery is a lifelong journey.

But what constitutes true mastery? How can you find it in yourself and what can you do to make sure you stay on your path, even when the going gets tough?

Most of the time, we take on new activities with a singular aim – to master them. Be it tennis, chess or a new job, new pursuits can go from exciting to frustrating once we reach the point where our lack of talent seems to be staring us in the face. It’s tempting to give up, but you shouldn’t; you might still have a shot at mastery if you change the way you think.

The first step here is to rethink your motivations for learning a new skill. Many of us are seeking simple recognition from others and the gratification that comes with it. But if you practice tennis until you can do a handful of impressive shots, beat a few of your friends and be congratulated by spectators, you’ll only have the motivation to improve up to a point.

Once you’ve reached a level of skill that’s sufficient to earn you a bit of recognition, you’ll find yourself stuck in your comfort zone. Attempting new shots or competing against more challenging opponents becomes daunting, as you fear you won’t look as good while playing. A true master develops her talents by pushing forward for the sake of it, rather than chasing praise and encouragement.

Another key to mastery is your approach to learning itself, namely by cultivating a certain respect for the process. If you want to master tennis, you’ve got to accept that it’ll take time, patience and perseverance to perfect your forehand. Learning isn’t something you do for a while until you’re good enough – it’s an ongoing journey.

By shifting your mindset, you’ll find that you’re capable of mastering whatever you set your mind to. After all, you were a baby once! Babies enter the world incredibly vulnerable, with very few of the skills adults need to survive.

And yet, they learn at their own pace to crawl, walk, communicate, understand and think for themselves. Some infants learn to walk between nine and ten months of age, while others don’t master it until much later. Children are capable of learning motor skills despite their lack of physique and often slow learning speed.

In this way, learning isn’t about how fast you acquire new skills or how talented or fit you are when you start out; rather, it has much more to do with the journey you take along the way. So, the student who shows the most promise during the first few tennis lessons might not be the one who excels, while an initially clumsier player with a mastery mindset is far more likely to go on to be a pro.

But while a mastery mindset offers us a clear path to excellence, our society seems to reject it at every turn.

American society, like most Western societies, seems to be waging war upon mindful mastery. We’re bombarded with slogans like “Get fit in two weeks!” or “Hit the jackpot!” as advertisers try to convince us that buying their products will allow us to “master” something instantly. Unfortunately, this couldn’t be further from the truth.

Mastery is built on long periods of practice without tangible results, which lead to bursts of improvement, which then give way to steady, deliberate practice once again. The journey toward mastery isn’t shaped like a steep incline, but rather a series of plateaus punctuated by spurts of progress. Learning to love these plateaus is essential to achieving mastery.

For example, George decided to attend Aikido school. He soon began to enjoy the ritual of classes and the seemingly endless repetition of exercises. While his classmates dropped out, he stuck around through the plateaus and worked his way toward mastery.

Why do many of us find these plateaus so hard to bear? Well, typically because we’re one of three personality types that struggle with mastery – dabblers, obsessives and hackers. Which one are you?

Dabblers tend to approach new hobbies with a lot of enthusiasm. They might pick up an expensive tennis racket, dress like their favorite pro and pat themselves on the back after their first improvements. But they aren’t able to handle the plateaus and end up dropping out, justifying their decision with excuses along the lines of “It just wasn’t the right sport for me . . .”

The obsessive is determined to master his forehand in just one tennis lesson. The learning journey doesn’t matter to him, it’s results that matter. Most of the time, the plateaus after the first small spurts of progress will discourage obsessives enough for them to quit.

Finally, hackers are perfectly comfortable spending the rest of their time in the plateau. They’re happy just to hit the tennis ball over the net a few times when playing against a superior opponent, and aren’t particularly motivated to push themselves to improve any further.

If, to your dismay, you’ve identified yourself as a dabbler, obsessive or hacker, don’t fret! Recognizing the behaviors that prevent you from mastering the skills you’ve always wanted to have is the first step to overcoming them. So what’s the next step?

Of course, there are many skills you can teach yourself without too much help. But on the road to mastery, finding great instruction is a must. Instruction can come in many forms, from video tutorials, computer programs, real-life experiences or even a good old-fashioned book. They’re all valid, but social contact is particularly crucial to great learning experiences. For this reason, one-on-one or group instruction is definitely worth pursuing.

But how can you know if your instructor is worth sticking with? The best way is to observe how they treat their students. Take UCLA basketball coach John Wooden, otherwise known as the “Wizard of Westwood” and one of the best basketball mentors in history.

Wooden’s respect for his players is what made his coaching stand out, as did his balanced focus on the team’s strengths and weaknesses. He would split training sessions fifty-fifty between correcting problems and reinforcing what the team already did well.

Practice, like instruction, is vital in your journey to mastery – but not practice as you know it. While most of us think of practice as repeating a task until we’re good at it, mastery requires us to think of practice as more than a simple action. Instead, think of practice as a noun, as a synonym for “path” or “journey.”

To illustrate this, consider why a martial arts master would continue to train even after receiving his black belt, the highest qualification. The answer is simple: the black belt is just another milestone along the journey, and a license to continue practicing for as long as you wish. Here, the black belt doesn’t represent practice as the act of repetition, but the notion of practice as a noun that captures the joy of ongoing learning.

Now that we’ve explored the roles of instruction and practice in mastery, let’s explore three more key elements that’ll help you on your way to excellence: surrender, intentionality and edge control. These terms are a little less familiar than instruction and practice, so let’s take a closer look.

What does surrender have to do with mastery? Well, it refers to the need to surrender to your teacher and the demands of your discipline. Sometimes this means sacrificing your pride, too.

Say your top-notch tennis instructor, who you respect and trust, asks you to stand on one foot and hold the other foot against your back with one hand, while your other hand rotates in the air above your head. You’ll have to do this for five minutes at the start of every class for your entire first month.

You could, of course, refuse and complain that you’d look ridiculous. But by doing so, you’ll miss out on what the exercise teaches you – improved balance, for instance. Though your instructor might sometimes ask you to do things that you don’t understand, if you trust their wisdom and want to benefit from it, you’ll need to put your pride aside and surrender to them.

Let’s turn now to intentionality. This element focuses on the power of the mind in mastery. Intentionality is the ability to visualize yourself succeeding, and is a technique that golf professionals, for example, rely on heavily. Take international golf legend Jack Nicklaus; he believes that a successful shot consists of 50 percent visualization, 40 percent set-up and just 10 percent swing!

Finally, edges are those moments when you’re confronted with a challenge and, therefore, the opportunity to exceed your own expectations. Masters recognize an edge as a chance to grow, and they’ll concentrate their efforts to make sure they make the most of it.

How do you know when you’re facing an edge? It’s a pretty familiar feeling. For dabblers, the plateau is an edge. For the obsessive, it’s their inability to understand their own limits, while hackers rarely stay on a path long enough to reach an edge in the first place.

The next time you feel you’re facing a task that you simply can’t complete, you’ll need to choose between giving up or focusing hard to overcoming the obstacle. The master will always choose the latter.

Say you decide to follow the path of the master. You’ve told your friends, have gotten into the rhythm of practice and feel great. But then, all of a sudden, it happens: a backslide.

Let’s imagine, for instance, that you’ve decided to run five kilometers every morning as part of your practice routine. But after a little while, beyond the first successful mornings, breathing becomes difficult and your heart races like never before.

This is your body sending you a clear signal – you’ve pushed yourself too far out of your regular state and your body can no longer keep homeostasis going. Homeostasis is a process by which organisms regulate their internal systems, ensuring they function in balanced conditions and avoid drastic changes.

Despite all the well-intentioned resolutions you made, your body wins and interrupts your practice. This will happen for almost anyone learning a new physical skill. So how can you prevent your resolutions from falling apart?

Well, there are three steps you can take.

The first is to surround yourself with people who have already made it through the same challenges you are currently facing. They’ll understand exactly what’s going on when you push up against your body’s natural limits, and can offer advice on how to overcome these limits in your practice sessions.

The next step to take is to ensure you have the right approach to your goals. Remember how our desire for instant success and recognition is counterproductive to mastery? The master finds joy in practice itself, and that should be your focus too. In other words, if you reach the top of the mountain, keep on climbing!

Finally, work hard to stay consistent in your practice and learning. You can even make routines more engaging by turning them into rituals that give you time to reflect on the task at hand. Psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi observed that this is what master surgeons do when they wash their hands the exact same way prior to every operation – they create a ritual for themselves to focus their minds more deeply.

The last thing you’ll need to ensure a successful journey toward mastery is energy to sustain yourself. Humans are considered to be like machines, full of energy. Unfortunately, troublesome behavior and social mores prevent us from using this energy to its full potential.

This inhibition of natural human energy begins when we’re kids. Think of how curious young children are – they won’t rest until they’ve explored and experienced everything for themselves. But parents, keen to ensure their children’s safety, quickly limit this exploration with rules; from “Don’t touch that!” to “Be quiet!” to “Not until you eat your vegetables”, we grow up listening to negative commands that curtail our natural curiosity and drain our energy.

Luckily, we’re all capable of reclaiming this childlike energy through a few simple practices.

One of these is maintaining physical fitness. By making sure we walk or cycle instead of driving, for instance, we can remind ourselves of the strength our bodies possess and put it to good use.

Another step is to set your priorities well. Focusing our energy toward one main goal means we may have to let go of other goals, but this is by no means a disadvantage; rather, prioritization gives us a better understanding of our energy levels and helps us learn to work within our limits. And priorities can always be shifted according to how you perceive your needs.

Finally, learning to accept your commitment to a goal, rather than fighting it, can give you an unparalleled energy boost. By diving into a new endeavor wholeheartedly, and by recognizing and welcoming the work that comes along with mastery, you’ll give yourself plenty of fuel for the entire journey.

Mastering a new skill isn’t about the results you achieve, the recognition you get from your peers or even repetitive practice that helps you get there. Instead, mastery is a path that you can follow to ensure your new endeavors are shaped by ongoing learning, passionate and patient practice and a rediscovery of your own human potential.

#mastery

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eyecache · 3 years

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K. Muthukumar’s Letter

Below is a four-page statement by K. Muthukumar (1982-2009) in protest against governmental inaction in the Sri Lankan Tamil war-genocide, before his self-immolation. Translation originally from TamilNet.

Dear hardworking Tamil people...

Va'nakkam! I am sorry at having to meet you at this juncture when you are hurrying to work. But there is no other option. My name is Muthukumar. I am a journalist and an assistant director. Right now, I am working in a Chennai-based newspaper. I am also one like you. I am just another average person who has been reading newspapers and websites of how fellow Tamils are daily being killed, and like you I am unable to eat, unable to sleep, unable to sleep and unable to even think. While his ancient land of Tamils lets anyone coming here, like the Seths, to flourish, our own blood, the Tamils in Eelam are dying. When we lend our voices to say the killings should be stopped, Indian imperialism maintains a stony silence and does not give out any reply. If India's war is really a justifiable one, they can wage it openly... Why should they do it stealthily?

The Indian ruling class is eager to annihilate a very large population by using the hollow excuse of Rajiv Gandhi's assassination in order to satisfy the vengeful and selfish goals of a few individuals. The Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam were not the only ones charged with the murder of Rajiv Gandhi. The Jain Commission Report held that the people of Tamil Nadu were also guilty of this murder. If so, are you also the murderers who killed Rajiv Gandhi?

They say the British killed people in Jallianwallahbagh, but what are they doing in Mullaiththeevu and Vanni? Look at the children being killed there. Aren't you reminded of your children? Look at the women being raped? Don't you have a sister in that age? When Rajiv Gandhi was killed why where frontline leaders of the Congress not with him? Why did Jayalalithaa, an alliance partner, not go to take part in such a massive rally that Rajiv took part in? Such questions are not being raised, and they are not being answered by them either. People, please think. Are they your leaders? What is the guarantee that these people--who indulge in politics through their money and muscle power--will not target us tomorrow? If they turn against tomorrow, who will be on our side?

Kalaignar [Karunanidhi]? Even at that point of time, he will make an announcement that the members of parliament will resign. Then, he will understand (?!) the Central Government. Then, he will once again request for a right decision, and pass a resolution in the Legislative Assembly--like actor Vadivel's comedy in the film Winner where he claims that no one has touched him until a particular month, a particular week, a particular time. People! A paper will not achieve anything! Now, the Election-time Tamil Kalaignar, who wants to be the leader of the worldwide Tamils and who desires to transfer all the money in Tamil Nadu to the coffers of his family, has hidden himself in the hospital afraid of bearing the brunt of people's anger. This paper tiger staged such major fights in order to get the required cabinet portfolios for his ministers, but truthfully, what has he done for Tamil or for the Tamils? He has himself admitted once, "Will the honey-gatherer remain without licking the back of his hand?" If we look at his puppet-shows, it looks as if he has done a lot of licking...

Law college students who have entered the field through your hunger strike...

As a fellow Tamil, I wish you all success. I also regret that I am unable to join you. Not only the Eelam Tamils problem, but even the protests seeking water for Cauvery, any protest in support of Tamil Nadu, you, and lawyers, are the first ones to fight. Even this time, only these two sections were the first to voice their protest even four months back. I have a suspicion that only in order to destroy your Tamil feeling, the Indian intelligence would have systematically instigated caste-feelings among you and paved the way for the skirmish that occured at Ambedkar law college. It is the caste of students that takes the initiative in people's revolutionary struggles all over the world. Likewise, even in Tamil Nadu, an earlier generation of students in similar circumstances took to the streets before the Indian repulic day and chased away national parties, including the Congress from the Tamil land.

So, an historically important juncture has again reached your hands. Normally, such things don't take place in world history. Like it happened last time, don't let selfish people steal the fruits of your labour. The DMK that came to power riding high on the efforts of your struggle, first made a law that students should not take part in politics. After capturing power, it blunted Tamil feelings, and turned the entire Tamil population into a petitioning tribe. Smash that tradition. Don't believe anybody who asks you to submit a petition. This is the juncture when we should burn the differences of caste and religion between us. Throw away your fasting and enter the field. In reality, the Indian military's role in Sri Lanka is not just against the Tamils. It is against all Indians. They tried the sexual techniques they learnt from Sinhalese soldiers with innocent Assamese women! They learnt the strategies of how to crush the Tamil Tigers from the Sinhalese and they applied it to crush the fighters in the north-eastern states! As if this were not enough, what do we learn from the fact that the Indian and Sri Lankan peacekeeping forces were deported from Haiti because of sexual misdemeanour? That the India-Sri Lanka alliance is not an ideological alliance, but a sexual one! So, because the alliance between the Indian and Sri Lankan armies is against the fundamental human rights of the Indian people, try to rally students and democratic organizations towards your cause on a national level.

It is possible for people to do all this. However, they lack the right leadership. Make leaders from among yourselves. Change this protest from law college students, to students of all colleges. Let your frenzy and people's fury change the history of Tamil Nadu. Thrash and throw away muscle power, money power and power craze. This is possible only by you. "We are Tamil students, we are the life of Tamil Nadu. If Tamils are allowed peace, we will read magazines. Otherwise, we will surge like volacanoes." Convert these lines of poet Kasi Anandan into your intellectual weapon. The police force will try to lay my body to rest. Don't allow them to do that. Capture my dead body, don't bury it, and use it as a trump card to sharpen your struggle. Students of the Tamil Nadu medical colleges who will treat me, or conduct my post-mortem, I should have done some virtuous deed to be cut at your hands. Because, while upper-caste medical students in the rest of India were fighting against reservation, you were standing alone and fighting in support of reservation in medical education. What you do to me can remain aside. What are you going to do for our brothers, the Eelam Tamils, from your side?

Tamil Eelam is not the need of Tamil Eelam alone, it is the need of Tamil Nadu also. Because of the fishermen of Rameswaram. There are laws in the world to protect goats and cows.

But, are the Tamils of Rameswaram and the Tamils of Eelam lower than cows and goats? The Indian media carries on a systematic campaign that Tamil fishermen who cross [maritime] boundaries are attacked because of the suspicion that they might be Tamil Tigers. Don't they ever read newspapers? Often, Taiwanese fishermen are arrested at Chennai because they lost their way at sea. If it is possible for people from Taiwan, which is thousands of kilometers away to lose their way, can't they believe the fact that the Tamil fisherman from Rameswaram, which is just 12 miles away from Lanka strays away from his route?

Brothers of other states who are living in Tamil Nadu...

You will have known from experience that Tamil Nadu is the only state where you can enjoy greater peace and protection when compared even with your home-state. Today, we are facing a major crisis. Our government is killing our brothers in Eelam by using our name, our Indian identity. The Indian government wants us to be isolated in this struggle. We don't want that to happen. So, please tell the Central Government that you too support our brothers who are fighting. It is my opinion that this will not only strengthen the hands of your leaders who are part of the Government at the Center, but is will also prevent the danger of a Navnirman Sena, or a Sena from being formed within Tamil Nadu in the future.

Youth belonging to the Tamil Nadu Police Force...

I have great respect for you. Irrespective of what other people did for the sake of Tamil, you are making Tamil live by using Tamil words in everyday contexts, such as calling employees as 'ayya'. I believe that you would have joined the police force with noble intentions of serving the people and weeding out anti-social elements. But, does the ruling class allow you to do that? By allowing you to commit minor mistakes, the ruling class hides its major crimes. It converts you into its trained henchmen, and makes you fight against the same people whom you wanted to serve. It is the Tamil Nadu police who guard Delhi's Tihar Jail. One of the oldest police forces in India, the Tamil Nadu police is one of the very best. But, are you given that respect by the Indian government? When Union Minister Chidambaram returned to New Delhi following his Chennai visit, Central Government security agencies have refused to handover his security arrangements at the Chennai airport to you. When asked why, they have derided your capabilities and said that they are aware of how you protected Rajiv Gandhi. While it is true that the Tamil Nadu police could not save the life of Rajiv Gandhi, it is equally true that the majority of those who died with him were only innocent policemen. Your dedication is unquestionable. But it was later exposed that this Indian intelligence had been careless even after coming to know that there were threats to Rajiv's life... Even if you have been against innocent people all this while, you are one of the pride of Tamil Nadu. At this historical juncture, only if you stand on the side of the people, you can regain the respect that you have lost among the people. Just once try to dedicate yourself to the fellow Tamils. They will carry you in golden plates. The feeling of gratitude among Tamil people is immeasurable. Because somebody spent his own money and built a dam, the Tamils on the Mullai river in Madurai built a temple and name their children after that man. All that you have to do is, when Tamil Nadu is boiling, you should refuse to cooperate with the Central Government officials, and you should reveal to the Tamil people who are the ones working for R.A.W and CBI. Do at least this. The people will take care of the rest.

People of Tamil Eelam, and Liberation Tigers....

All eyes are now in the direction of Mullaiththeevu. Tamil Nadu is also emotionally only on your side. It also wants to do something else. But what can we do? We don't have a true leader like you have... Please don't leave hope. Such a leader will emerge from Tamil Nadu only in such desperate times. Until then, strengthen the hands of the Tigers. Because the 1965 anti-Hindi agitation was placed in the hands of a few selfish people, the history of Tamil Nadu has been dragged to the stone ages. Please don't do that mistake.

Dear International Community, and our hope Obama...

We still have hope on you. But, there is no guarantee that a sovereign republic will not torture its people through ethnic discrimination. It is possible to cite instances from America's own history. After all, boxing hero Muhammed Ali said, "The little white in my community would have come only through rape..." As long as you remain silent, India will never open its mouth. Perhaps India may break its silence after all the Tamils have been killed. Until then, are you going to keep looking at India's mouth? They say that the war in Vanni is against the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam. They say that the Tigers are using the people as a human shield. If that is true, why do they come into the safety zone declared by the Government and kill people? This one evidence is enough that irrespective of whether the Tamil people are dependent on the Tigers or on the Government, they are going to be killed for the sole reason that they are Tamils. Is this not genocide? If India, Pakistan and China are supplying arms, Japan is giving economic aid, and moreover India is bullying Sri Lanka and thus killing Tamils, why don't you realize that you are also committing the same murder by your silence and your blindness? Nobody becomes a terrorist simply by taking up arms. Our Thiruvalluvar has said: Arathirke anbucar penpa ariyaar / marathirkum akthe thunai (The ignorant say that affection is appropriate only to righteousness, but it will also inspire heroism to be restrained).

Jayalalitha says that the Tigers should lay down arms--as though the problem arose because the Tigers took up arms. In reality, the Tigers were formed because of the genocide of Tamils in Eelam, and they are not the reason for it. They are not the reason, just an outcome.

As long as Indian Government's involvement was not exposed, it kept saying that this problem was an internal affair and that India could not interfere. It also said that it was aiding Sri Lanka in order to prevent China, Pakistan and America from gaining supremacy in Sri Lanka. Yet, to kill Tamils, it joins hands with Pakistan that has killed scores of Indians and was responsible for the attack on the Indian Parliament, the serial-blasts in Mumbai and the recent strikes in Mumbai. If that is so, we suspect that Pakistan's terrorism in India is a mutually agreed-upon concept created by both sides in order to exploit and squander their respective citizens. Now, they say that the LTTE is a terrorist organization, hence the war. It says they killed Rajiv Gandhi. Rajiv Gandhi is not a councillor or a district secretary. When a Sinhalese attempted to kill him in Sri Lanka, he was not interrogated. One of my demands is that the Sinhalese soldier who tried to kill him earlier must also be included in the list of the accused and he must be interrogated again. The Tigers might have been sad with Rajiv, but they wouldn't have been angry with him. Because Rajiv was Indira's son. Indira, is next to MGR among the small gods who populate Tamil Eelam.

It has been clearly exposed that India is opposed to justice form the fact that it often changes the explanations that it offers. In such a situation, Sri Lanka said, Why don't you directly interfere, the Tigers are making use of the ceasefire to stock up weapons. Chandrika, or Ranil, or Mahinda were not gods in the past, they have not even behaved as human beings. Just because they agreed to the ceasefire in view of their compulsions, how could it be argued that the fighters should lay down their arms, or that they should not involve themselves in reconstruction activies. Only by bringing about the faith and confidence that you will behave honestly and truthfully, you can make the fighters lay down their weapons. No government in the past has honoured their promises. For instance, Ranil-Karuna. But the Tigers have not used the ceasefire to simply acquire weapons, but they have created a governmental administrative structure. Is this terrorism in the eyes of the world? India is trying to ingratiate itself by saying that it is fighting in order to save the innocent Tamils. Only sophisticated weaponry and spy planes from India are going to Sri Lanka; can they show a single paracetomol tablet that has gone from India? In such a state, they want us to believe that the Sri Lankan government will provide all the amenities for the people of Eelam, and that India will support this endeavour.

Now, they are attacking the ambulance of the International Commitee of Red Cross, are they also Tamil Tigers? They killed 17 aid workers from France, were they Tamil Tigers? China's tanks, India's spy planes, Pakistan's artillery... not only these kill our people, but the silence of the International Community also kills them. When will you realize this--after a people who greatly desire justice are totally wiped away from the face of the earth? If you are interested in adding us to the list of Aborigines, Maya and Inca peoples, each day one of us will come in front of you and kill ourselves, as it comes in one of our myths.... Please leave our sisters and our children alone. We are unable to bear this. We are fighting with the sole hope that one day we will watch them laugh whole-heartedly. Even if we accept for the sake of rhetoric that the LTTE should be punished, we must realize that both India and Sri Lanka lack the moral ground to hand out any punishment.

Justice derailed is worse than justice denied.

The International Community must condemn India and force it to immediately withdraw its troops from Sri Lanka, and be prevented from helping Sri Lanka through satellites and radars. Even unimportant discussions between the Governments of India and Sri Lanka should take place through the International Community. India should publicly apologize before the people of Tamil Nadu and the people of Tamil Eelam scattered across the world.

Because the UN Secretary General Ban Ki Moon is always functioning with a bias towards his homeland China, he must not be given the power to take any decision regarding Eelam.

All the countries who have banned the LTTE based on the request from Sri Lanka should immediately revoke the ban and unconditionally release all those who have been arrested because they belong to the LTTE.

Members of the LTTE should be forgiven for their passport related mistakes, and they should be immediately released.

The industries which have been banned based on the allegation that they are connected to the Tigers, should be given the licenses once again, and they should also be adequately compensated.

Rajiv Gandhi's murder should be investigated by the InterPol and the real guilty must be exposed.

Pranab Mukherjee, Gotabhaya Rajapakse, Chandrika, Udayanakkara, Kekaliya Rambukawela, Basil Rajapakse, Mahinda and Fonseka should be subjected to narco-analysis.

While the International Community shall have the right to recognize Tamil Eelam which is going to be formed, only the people of Tamil Eelam shall have the right to decide under whose leadership it should be formed.

When the Tigers were weakened militarily, the Upcountry Tamils were targetted, and it is feared that in the future that area might be subjected to a major genocidal pogrom. So, a referendum must be conducted among the Upcountry Tamils to know whether they want to join Tamil Eelam. In this matter, the decision of the Upcountry Tamils shall be final.

Douglas Devananda, who was punished by the courts for firing at innocent Tamil people in Chennai under the influence of alcohol escaped to Sri Lanka before the period of imprisonment was completed. He must therefore be arrested and handed over to the Tamil Nadu police.

Everyone responsible for the murder of journalist Lasanta should be punished.

The Sinhalese journalists who have sought refuge in Tamil Nadu must be given adequate protection.

The Sinhalese couple who came as refugees to Tamil Nadu must be recognized as refugees, and the charges of passport-doctoring against them must be dropped.

The livelihood of families of Tamil fishermen shot dead should be secured.

With eternal love,

Your brother against injustice,

Ku. Muthukumar, Kolathur, Chennai 99.

Dear Tamil people, in the struggle against injustice our brothers and children have taken up the weapon of the intellect. I have used the weapon of life. You use the weapon of photocopying. Yes, make copies of this pamphlet and distribute it to your friends, relatives, and students and ensure that this support for this struggle becomes greater. Nan'ri.

#tamil #history #tamil nadu #sri lanka #india #protest

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seekfirstme · 4 years

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Meditation: Why does the Lord Jesus say we must 'hate' our families and even ourselves (Luke 14:26)? In Biblical times the expression 'to hate' often meant to 'prefer less'. Jesus used strong language to make clear that nothing should take precedence or first place over God. God our heavenly Father created us in his image and likeness to be his beloved sons and daughters. He has put us first in his love and concern for our well-being and happiness. Our love for him is a response to his exceeding love and kindness towards us. True love is costly because it holds nothing back from the beloved - it is ready to give all and sacrifice all for the beloved. God the Father gave us his only begotten Son, the Lord Jesus Christ, who freely offered up his life for us on the cross as the atoning sacrifice for our sins. His sacrificial death brought us pardon and healing, new life in the Spirit and peace with God.

The cost of following Jesus as his disciples

Jesus willingly embraced the cross, not only out of obedience to his Father's will, but out of a merciful love for each one of us in order to set us free from slavery to sin, Satan, and everything that would keep us from his love, truth, and goodness. Jesus knew that the cross was the Father's way for him to achieve victory over sin and death - and glory for our sake as well. He counted the cost and said 'yes' to his Father's will. If we want to share in his glory and victory, then we, too, must 'count the cost' and say 'yes" to his call to "take up our cross and follow him" as our Lord and Savior.

What is the 'way of the cross' for you and me? It means that when my will crosses with God's will, then his will must be done. The way of the cross involves sacrifice, the sacrifice of laying down my life each and every day for Jesus' sake. What makes such sacrifice possible and "sweet" for us is the love of God poured out for us in the blood of Christ who cleanses us and makes us a new creation in him. Paul the Apostle tells us that "God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us" (Romans 5:5). We can never outmatch God in his merciful love and kindness towards us. He always gives us more than we can expect or imagine. Do you allow the Holy Spirit to fill your heart and transform your life with the overflowing love and mercy of God?

The wise plan ahead to avert failure and shame

What do the twin parables of the tower builder and a ruler on a war campaign have in common (Luke 14:28-32)? Both the tower builder and the ruler risked serious loss if they did not carefully plan ahead to to make sure they could finish what they had begun. In a shame and honor culture people want at all costs to avoid being mocked by their community for failing to complete a task which they had begun in earnest. This double set of parables echoes the instruction given in the Old Testament Book of Proverbs: "By wisdom a house is built" and "by wise guidance you can wage a war" to ensure victory (Proverbs 24:3-6).

In Jesus' time every landowner who could afford it built a wall around his orchard or vineyard as a protection from intruders who might steal or destroy his produce. A tower was usually built in a corner of the wall and a guard posted especially during harvest time when thieves would likely try to make off with the goods. Starting a building-project, like a watchtower, and leaving it unfinished because of poor planning or insufficient funds would invite the scorn of the whole village. Likewise a king who decided to wage a war against an opponent who was much stronger, would be considered foolish if he did not come up with a plan that had a decent chance of success. Counting the cost and investing wisely are necessary conditions for securing a good return on the investment.

The great exchange

If you prize something of great value and want to possess it, it's natural to ask what it will cost you before you make a commitment to invest in it. Jesus was utterly honest and spared no words to tell his disciples that it would cost them dearly to be his disciples - it would cost them their whole lives and all they possessed in exchange for the new life and treasure of God's kingdom. The Lord Jesus leaves no room for compromise or concession. We either give our lives over to him entirely or we keep them for ourselves. Paul the Apostle reminds us, "We are not our own. We were bought with a price" ( 1 Corinthians 6:19b,20). We were once slaves to sin and a kingdom of darkness and oppression, but we have now been purchased with the precious blood of Jesus Christ who has ransomed us from a life of darkness and destruction so we could enter his kingdom of light and truth. Christ has set us free to choose whom we will serve in this present life as well as in the age to come - God's kingdom of light, truth, and goodness or Satan's kingdom of darkness, lies, and deception. There are no neutral parties - we are either for God's kingdom or against it.

Who do you love first - above all else?

The love of God compels us to choose who or what will be first in our lives. To place any relationship or any possession above God is a form of idolatry - worshiping the creature in place of the Creator and Ruler over all he has made. Jesus challenges his disciples to examine who and what they love first and foremost. We can be ruled and mastered by many different things - money, drugs, success, power or fame. Only one Master, the Lord Jesus Christ, can truly set us free from the power of sin, greed, and destruction. The choice is ours - who will we serve and follow - the path and destiny the Lord Jesus offers us or the path we choose in opposition to God's will and purpose for our lives. It boils down to choosing between life and death, truth and falsehood, goodness and evil. If we choose for the Lord Jesus and put our trust in him, he will show us the path that leads to true joy and happiness with our Father in heaven.

"Lord Jesus, your are my Treasure, my Life, and my All. There is nothing in this life that can outweigh the joy of knowing, loving, and serving you all the days of my life. Take my life and all that I have and make it yours for your glory now and forever."

CALCULATORS

“If a king is about to march on another king to do battle with him, will he not sit down first and consider whether, with ten thousand men, he can withstand an enemy coming against him with twenty thousand?” —Luke 14:31

We are building a new life in Christ (Lk 14:28) and fighting a battle against the evil one. Before we go any further, we must “sit down and calculate the outlay,” to see if we have enough strength to do the job (Lk 14:28).

Many people plan for the future financially, but few prepare spiritually. Many lives collapse because of failure to accept the grace necessary to persevere. Many marriages fall apart because the couple did not strengthen their relationship in preparation for future challenges. Parents often regret not having spent more time with their children because later they see their relationship with the children is not deep enough to weather the storms of adolescence. Even many Christians will not have the spiritual strength needed to survive the mass apostasy (2 Thes 2:3; Mt 24:10-12). They will fall away before Jesus’ final coming because they were not prepared (see Mt 25:1-13).

Let’s live today as if it were our last day. We must go deep and grow strong in our personal relationship with Jesus. May Jesus become so real to us that nothing will ever shake our faith. We must be prepared for anything by doing everything to deepen our relationship with Him.

Prayer: Father, may I face the realities of my weakness, life’s overwhelming demands, and Your saving grace.

Promise: “Work with anxious concern to achieve your salvation.” —Phil 2:12

Praise: St. Charles was the nephew of Pope Pius IV. He was instrumental in the Counter-Reformation of the Sixteenth Century. He is the patron saint of catechists, catechumens and seminarians.

Reference:

Rescript: "In accord with the Code of Canon Law, I hereby grant the Nihil Obstat for One Bread, One Body covering the period from October 1, 2020 through November 30, 2020. Most Reverend Joseph R. Binzer, Auxiliary Bishop, Vicar General, Archdiocese of Cincinnati, Cincinnati, Ohio February 25, 2020"

The Nihil Obstat ("Permission to Publish") is a declaration that a book or pamphlet is considered to be free of doctrinal or moral error. It is not implied that those who have granted the Nihil Obstat agree with the contents, opinions, or statements

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pontificalandwarlike · 7 years

Text

Enjolras the (Non-)Survivor

Or, an essay on why I struggle with survivor!Enjolras

[ cut for length...... buckle down kids cause this is about to be a long one. ]

As I hinted at previously, there are 3 layers to why survivor!Enjolras is a strange and confusing beast to me.

Let’s start with the easiest/simplest, which is: history. See, the point of having Enjolras survive the barricade is usually to give him a second chance, right ? He lives, he continues on, and he triumphs the next time, or maybe two tries later, or maybe ten –– but the ultimate goal is a happy ending of sorts for our golden boy. Or at least a triumphant ending, a closure of sorts, a successful closing arc for him and his Revolution. Except.... 19th century history isn’t kind to the French Republic. A lot of survivor!verse stuff take 1848 as the happy ending ( and I in no way mean to insult or nitpick them at all ). And on the surface, that makes sense ; that’s the next successful revolution ! Except the revolution might have been successful, but the Second French Republic born of it really wasn’t. Like, the February Revolution of 1848 happened in... February, as the name suggests; four months later, the June Days Uprisings were a major rebellion in Paris, where the workers rose up en masse, complete with barricades, in protest against the Second Republic’s policies. I won’t go too much into history here ( although there’s a lot of fascinating stuff ; a book I read characterized the June Days as the last major barricades ), I mostly wanted to mention it as an indicator of how rocky the Second Republic was from the start. And then, of course, the Second Republic lasted all of four years. In 1852 we have the Second French Empire, because they went and elected Louis-Napoléon Bonaparte –– aka Napoleon III, aka Napoleon Bonaparte’s nephew and heir –– as the president of the Second Republic, and he did as Bonapartes apparently do in France. So, with 1848, Enjolras either dies on that barricade, or lives to see his beloved Republic fall apart in front of his very eyes and then give way to yet another empire. Not a very happy ending, and quite honestly, I don’t know how much his story changes functionally from what we already see in canon.

Let’s say for the sake of argument that this boy survives past 60 and sees the next republic come to be in 1870. Well, first of all, to do that, he has to :

lead a failed rebellion and deal with the physical, legal, and emotional aftermath of that

live under a regime he tried to overthrow for another 16 years

watch the Second Republic fall apart and give way to the Second Empire

live in an empire for almost 20 years

and finally, live through yet another bloody revolution

which, clearly, is not a great time for anyone. But also, the Third Republic was a bit of a mess of its own. See : the Franco-Prussion War, the Ordre Moral and the suppression of the Commune which lead up to 16 May 1877 ( “le seize mai” ), the aggressively polarized politics... Hell, just look at the wikipedia page for the Third Republic. Similar to 1848, simply getting to 1870 and the successful Revolution that leads to the Third Republic is not a happy ending in and of itself.

The point of all this historicizing is that, given his position in history, and his ideology as a radical revolutionary republican –– no matter what he survives and lives to see, Enjolras is just destined to be a tragic figure. There’s just no happy ending for him in history ; the best he can do is go out in a symbolic blaze of glory on a barricade somewhere, as he does.

Alright, let’s move on to layer #2 now, which is the symbolic/meta layer. This is also the most fun layer for me, and I’ll shamelessly mooch on some other people’s brilliant meta for this. There’s a lot of things you could talk about in the Brick, but I’m going to speak mainly to one of my perpetually favourite scenes, which is the execution of Le Cabuc. More specifically, the speech that follows right after it. I could quote the whole damn thing, but the key part is :

“As for myself, compelled to do what I have done, but abhorring it, I have judged myself also, and you shall soon see to what I have condemned myself. [...] Citizens, in the future there shall be neither darkness nor thunderbolts, neither ferocious ignorance nor blood for blood. As Satan shall be no more, so Michael shall be no more. In the future no man will slay his fellow, the earth will be radiant, the human race will love. It will come, citizens, that day when all shall be concord, harmony, light, joy, and life; it will come, and it is so that it may come that we are going to die.” (Tome IV, Book 11, Chapter 8)

It took so much restraint to not bold the entire passage, but I managed to stick to a few phrases only. There’s sort of two ideas happening here. One is nor blood for blood / in the future no man will slay his fellow / all shall be concord, harmony, which is to say that Enjolras and the revolutionaries are fighting for a world without violence. Sit on the contradiction of that statement for a moment. They are fighting for a world without violence. There’s a fundamental ideological crisis here, and that is the contradiction of violence in the name of a world without violence. A question aries, then: where do people who have shed blood in the name of liberty and progress, fit in a world after revolution? More specifically for me & this essay, where does Enjolras, a “pontifical and warlike nature” fit in a peacetime world ? We have our answer in to what I have condemned myself / so Michael shall be no more / we are going to die. The answer is, he doesn’t and he can’t. The answer is, if you try to fit him in, he becomes Robespierre and Saint-Just and the Terror. The answer is, a warlike nature is a warlike nature in war or in peace ; and Enjolras is made to be the war that brings down regimes, and just because there is no more regime to be brought down doesn’t change his nature. ( Note that this is many chapters before the moment they realize they’ve been abandoned, that Paris isn’t coming to their aid ; that doesn’t happen until Tome V, Book 1, Chapter 3. Why does that matter ? Because Enjolras has no reason yet to believe they won’t survive this rebellion. And yet here he is, already condemning himself –– to death, I imagine, given the rest of his speech –– and a few lines later proclaiming that we are going to die. The revolutionaries, these men fighting with blood and sweat and tears for the future, are not going to live to see it. Because there isn’t a place for them in the world they are trying to build. They’re writing themselves out of the future. )

All this to say : if Enjolras survives a successful barricade, there is no place for him in the world it creates. He has already condemned himself, and the rest of the revolutionaries with him ( “We will share your fate !” Combeferre shouts, and Enjolras replies simply with “Very well.” ) He is Michael, and in a world where Satan is no more, he too will be and must be no more. ( I mooched a lot of ideas off of this meta thread, so feel free to go there for more intelligent, coherent, and informed thoughts than mine. )

Okay, then what about a failed barricade ? Well, let’s talk about that on the symbolic/meta level for a bit. Enjolras surviving a failed barricade... doesn’t make sense, on that level. It’s sort of the point of his story, that he dies there. That he dies embracing Grantaire, holding his hand, smiling. That’s the ultimate sacrifice, yes, but also the closure of his character arc : accepting love, accepting the skeptic, accepting people-with-a-lower-case-p, even when they don’t fit neatly into his revolutionary worldview. It’s a symbolic redemption of the heartless, ruthless version of republicanism he espouses at the very start ; it’s the antithesis of “Silence before Jean-Jacques! I admire that man. He disowned his children; very well, but he adopted the people.” In other words, his arc remains incomplete on a symbolic level if the barricade fails and yet he doesn’t die. Also, can you imagine Enjolras surviving the barricade when everyone else has died ? I sure can’t, unless some magic stepped in and saved him when the Guard thought he was dead and he really should have been dead.

Anyway, having addressed the symbolic/meta reasons of why Enjolras surviving the barricades is a baffling situation to be in, let’s go to the third and most practical layer : characterization. Look, Enjolras as we see him in the Brick is made of exactly two things, and that is 99% Revolution and 1% his friends. ( Percentage may vary. ) So then, who is he when we rip both of those things away from him ? Who is Enjolras, when his Revolution has failed and his friends have all died ? I don’t have a good answer to that. I can’t possibly imagine him giving up, or God forbid turning a cynic, because that runs contrary to his entire person. It’s hard to imagine him becoming a moderate, peaceful republican or something along those lines, because he’s built on quite the absolutes, and while Combeferre/Courfeyrac/Feuilly/et al. to temper his beliefs, I just don’t think there’s a way he’s ever going to bend that far. He’d break before that. But at the same time, there’s no way he can go on like before, as if nothing happened. That’s just not how trauma works. This boy, all of 26 years old, waged a war, had his hands drenched in blood, killed people he didn’t want to kill ( see : the artillery sergeant scene ), watched all of his friends die by his side, was abandoned by a group of people he believed so deeply would be on their side, and saw the ideals he devoted his entire life to shatter to rubble in front of his own eyes. He’s not walking away from that unchanged, because that’s just not how human beings work.

So then, to summarize. I can’t imagine him giving up, because it’s not who he is as a person; I can’t imagine him choosing a moderate path, because I don’t think he has it in him to be that tempered; I can’t imagine him continuing as he was, because that’s just not how we work as people. So I’m at an impasse.

An Enjolras who survives with a few of his friends is easier to work with, because he as room to be at both ends. He can go through his terrible post-barricade phase, the survivor’s guilt, the trauma, the fears and the insecurities and the doubts that are borne of that experience. But then he can build himself back up, piece by piece, with the help of his friends –– and he can help them build themselves back up in turn. And at the end of the day, they stand back up as they did, scarred and wounded by their experiences but still standing. For what, I’m not so sure ( see history rant above ), but at least standing.

But an Enjolras who survives alone ? I genuinely have no idea what he would do or be, in the long-term. In the short term, sure, he’d be terribly guilty and terribly scarred and probably honestly terrified for a while. And then ? Does he heal from that on his own –– and if so, how ? What happens if he does heal –– does he go on to join or found another revolutionary group ? What happens if he doesn’t heal –– does he die, somehow ?

This is not to say that I don’t like writing survivor!verse. The opposite is true, actually ; I love it. I love angst, first of all, but it also lets me explore a side of Enjolras that doesn’t happen a lot in other places. Which is to say, an Enjolras stripped and broken down, an Enjolras shattered and torn apart, an Enjolras guilty and doubting and robbed of his own self-assured confidence. This essay is more to explore in more depth why I struggle with Enjolras post-barricades on a broader and longer-term scale. I could probably go on but I’ll stop now because this is already 2100+ words.

#⚔ penned by jenn –––– ( ooc. )#⚔ a hand wrote on it in pencil –––– ( meta. )#|| i'm calling this meta bc i don't know what else to call it #|| here you go this took me far too long #|| god i hope this is coherent #|| deleting the thought-ramble version in favour of this

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