Top Posts Tagged with #a) a study has come out identifying this as a problem or a gap area. needs to be addressed. | Tumlook (2024)

sooo...this is fox news, huh?

Spellbound - Chapter 3

A collaboration by @mdelpin​ and @oryu404​

AO3 | Prev: Ch2

Chapter 3

October 14, 2012

Ever since Sting had accepted his impulsive invitation to study for the upcoming midterms at his house, Rogue had felt like time had slowed to a crawl. Not even his gig in Clover the previous evening had done anything to curb that feeling. And now that the time had finally come, all his excitement seemed to have turned into an insecurity he wasn’t familiar with.

He knew that most of their time together would be spent studying for exams, but he couldn’t help the hope that something more might develop in the moments in between. It certainly didn’t hurt to make an effort. But what if his neatness drove Sting crazy? Or he managed to insult him somehow? Or Gods, what if he’d been reading the signals all wrong, and he ended up throwing himself at the guy only to find he wasn’t interested? He’d had plenty of chances to kiss him and had taken exactly zero of them.

He’d worked himself up the whole drive down to the University.

By the time Sting got into the car, Rogue was a tangle of nerves. They spent the ride home discussing which midterms they would be studying for and agreeing to relax for the remainder of the day before they got started. While the thought of starting off their week together with a lazy Sunday was precisely the type of thing he’d been hoping for, it also put pressure on him to have everything go right.

“Thanks again for letting me stay,” Sting huffed as he carried his duffel bag and oversized, filled to the brim backpack into the house, refusing Rogue’s offer to help.

“Yeah, no problem,” Rogue tossed his keys on the kitchen counter. Feeling suddenly shy and not wanting to show it, he led Sting to Gray’s old room so he could drop off his stuff.

Sting followed him, dumping his bags unceremoniously on the bed and looking around with curious eyes.“That’s your brother, right?” Sting asked, pointing at a family picture that was hanging on the wall. “I feel like I’ve seen him before.”

“You probably have. He’s been working as a model for a few years now.”

“He looks a lot like your dad,” Sting remarked before shifting his scrutiny to the collection of medals and trophies Gray had accumulated since he’d first started playing hockey.

“How about you? Do you have any siblings?” Rogue asked, scrambling for any conversation topic that might ease him out of his timidity.

“Nah, it’s just me. So, do you play too?” Sting eyed him with interest.

“For fun, but you won’t find any trophies in my room. That was Gray’s thing.” Rogue chuckled, “I just like to skate.”

When he was younger, he’d considered giving competitive figure skating a go. His dad had even supported the idea, spending hours building a rink in the backyard together with him and Gray so he wouldn’t have to drive them to the local one as often. It had been grueling work to get the hang of the moves, and while Rogue had been good at it, he’d eventually discovered things he loved more.

“I do have a nice keepsake from my hockey days, though,” he grinned, rubbing his finger over the scar that crossed the bridge of his nose.

“Oh, wow! That must have hurt,” Sting moved closer to examine his nose, wrapping him in the smell of that enticing cologne of which Rogue still hadn’t discovered the name.“Yeah...” Rogue answered absently, paying more attention to the way Sting’s lips moved when he spoke than he did to the words that came out. They were temptingly close. All he had to do was lean over and kiss them, but just when he’d been about to close the remaining gap between them, Sting had already moved away.

“Hey, you got anything to eat around here?” Sting asked, leaving Rogue to stare at him in confusion.

“Oh, right,” he blinked himself back to reality, “I put off grocery shopping until you got here, wasn’t sure what you’d like.”

“Oh, that’s great! I’ve only been to the convenience store near the dorm. I can’t wait to see what a big Magnolian grocery store has to offer!”

“Well, at least one of us is excited,” Rogue muttered, amused at fielding question after question on a place he usually tried to avoid. It gave him an idea, though. That adage about the way to a man’s heart being through his stomach could work to his advantage here.

True, he couldn’t cook worth a damn, but surely there must be something he could pull off to impress Sting. 0-0

The trip to the grocery store was certainly memorable. Sting had walked through every single aisle, oohing and aahing over items he’d never tried and piling them into their cart. Rogue had finally given up and gotten his own cart, not finding it in his heart to dampen Sting’s enthusiasm.

They’d also gotten plenty of looks from other shoppers, which Rogue had done his best to ignore. He hadn’t come up with any great ideas for dinner. Everything he’d considered seemed so involved. That was until he walked past the lobster tank and remembered how disappointed Sting had been when he hadn’t gotten to eat ”Sheldon” at that seafood restaurant.

He was pretty sure you just chucked the things into a pot of boiling water. Sounded easy enough to him. Feeling pleased with his choice, he studied the tank’s contents, searching for the two largest lobsters he could find, knowing both of them ate a lot.

Once he’d identified the ones he wanted, he went off in search of an employee.

0-0

Rogue had managed to keep the contents of the cooler a secret. It wasn’t all that difficult considering the amount of bags in the trunk. He was more concerned about where they were going to store all the food they’d bought. At least it was cold enough that they could leave the drinks out on the porch.

Not that he should have worried, Sting kept picking items out of the bags and shoving them in his mouth, making pleased noises that were driving Rogue crazy.

“Mhmmmmmm, these are amazing! Want some?” Sting waved a bag of onion-flavored rings under his nose.

Rogue grabbed a couple, realizing he hadn’t had them for years. “Oh man, I used to love these. I didn’t know they still made them.”

Sting finally noticed the cooler when it moved slightly from its perch on the counter. “What’s in there?”

“Oh, that?” Rogue replied evenly, feigning indifference, “Just something I picked up. I thought I might try cooking dinner tonight.”

Sting arched an eyebrow and promptly removed the lid, peering in at the contents. “You got lobsters?”

“Yeah, it seemed like you liked them,” Rogue shrugged, finding spots for the rest of the groceries.

“I do! My mom makes really good Lobster Thermidor.”

Well, f*ck. What the hell was lobster...whatever Sting said? It sounded a lot fancier than Rogue’s idea of boiling the sh*ts like a pack of instant-ramen, not to mention the fact that he’d set himself up to compete against Sting’s mother’s cooking. He didn’t know a thing about the woman, but he’d bet his life that she was a better cook than he was.

“Those are big fellas. Oh, wait,” Sting had picked up one of the lobsters to examine it, “I think this one might be a Sheila.”

“How can you tell?”

“Oh, uhm,” Sting chuckled, sounding embarrassed, “when I was younger, I wanted to be a marine biologist. My parents would take me to the aquarium whenever they could, and I learned a lot. Pretty lame, huh?”

“Not at all. I mean, if you want to talk lame, I wanted to be a figure skater at one point,” he confessed, encouraged by Sting sharing that with him. “So which one's Sheldon and which one's Sheila?”

Rogue listened with interest as Sting pointed at the tails’ subtle differences and revealed what they meant. Once the explanation was over, Sting glanced at the pot that sat on the stove.

“You’re going to need a larger pot to boil these.”

“Right.” Challenge number one, where the heck did his mom keep the big pots? Rogue opened the cabinets, searching for anything bigger than the one he used to boil pasta.

“I’ll be right back,” he went to the basem*nt, remembering his mother sometimes sent him there to find appliances she didn’t use all the time, and heaving a sigh of relief when he saw a pot big enough to bathe in. Okay, maybe not quite that big, but it should be enough for two lobsters.

And while he was down there, he took the opportunity to do a quick google search on how to cook lobster thermostat. Thermidor. Whatever. It turned out that it would involve cooking as well as broiling, which was even worse than he’d imagined, and the long list of ingredients wasn’t exactly reassuring either. But it was that list that turned out to be his saving grace, as he was sure he didn’t have everything on it. Oh no, such a shame, he smirked to himself as he continued to look for a less intimidating lobster recipe.

“Everything okay down there?”

Crap!

“Yeah, found one,” Rogue called out, putting his phone away and lugging his discovery up the stairs.

He’d washed the pot, filling it with water and as much salt as he dared, and then setting it on the stove to boil. They’d talked about watching a movie after dinner, and Sting had left him in the kitchen while he’d gone to Gray’s room, determined to set up his work area, as he called it, for the next day.

And now, Rogue found himself facing his next challenge. Once the water had come to a rolling boil, he’d grabbed one of the lobsters, ready to plunge it into the pot, when he’d made one fatal mistake. He’d looked into its eyes.

No matter how much he told himself that the thing wasn’t intelligent, he just couldn’t find it in himself to kill it. And as he stared into the eyes of the crustacean he’d condemned to death, Rogue couldn’t help but think of how much simpler his life had been before he’d decided he wanted something more from his relationships.

“What are you doing?”

There was no mistaking the amusem*nt in Sting’s voice, and it both irritated and humiliated him. It had been his bright idea to do this, and he couldn’t even go through with it.

‘“It was staring at me,” he murmured.

Sting chuckled but took pity on him, “Here, I’ll do it.”

He grabbed the lobster and asked for some scissors. He snipped the bands off its claws and lowered it into the pot carefully, repeating the procedure with the second one before placing the lid on the pot. There was an awful noise that followed, making it sound like the lobsters were screaming.

Rogue shuddered.

“Relax, it’s not what it sounds like,” Sting assured him, “Lobsters don’t have lungs or even vocal cords. It’s just air escaping through their shells.”“Whatever. The damn things better taste good,” Rogue pouted, still displeased by the way his plan was failing so far. But hey, the lobsters were boiling away now, and he’d found a cooking time table online, so there wasn’t much that could go wrong from here.“I guess that depends on the sauce or seasoning.”

Oh, for f*ck’s sake. His face must have mirrored his frustration because once again, he heard the sound of Sting’s laughter. “It doesn’t have to be anything complicated. Oh, actually! We got mac and cheese, right?”

“Mac and cheese? With lobster?”

“Yeah! My mom used to make that for me when I was little. Well, she made it from scratch,” Sting admitted, “but this will be good too!”

By this point, Rogue just wanted to be done with the whole thing, so the idea of at least being able to make something he knew he couldn’t f*ck up cheered him immensely. He walked over to the pantry and moved stuff around until he’d found the family size box of mac and cheese they’d bought and set about preparing it.

The timer went off, and he watched as Sting used tongs to take out the lobsters, which had turned a promising shade of bright red. He lay them on a cutting board and let them sit while he searched for a knife.

Rogue turned away as the sounds of Sting removing the meat from the shell revolted him. He busied himself with his task, trying not to think about what was happening.

“Do I have to do anything differently?”

“Nope, just let me know when it’s ready.”

Sting walked to the porch, grabbed two beers, opened them, and handed one over to Rogue, that amused smirk never far from his face. Once the mac and cheese was done, all they had to do was add the lobster meat, top it off with some breadcrumbs, and put it in the oven for a few minutes. In the meantime, Rogue began the process of cleaning the kitchen, pulling a face as he dumped the hollowed out shells in the trash bin and wiped the lobster juices off the counter.Although it wasn’t all that fancy, the dish that came out looked better than any of Rogue’s previous attempts to cook his own food. Not that he felt he had much to be proud of, as he’d mostly just boiled water and made instant mac and cheese, but cooking was definitely a lot less frustrating when he didn’t have to do it alone. Maybe they could cook together again sometime this week, preferably with food that couldn’t scream, move or stare at him. They settled on the couch, and while Rogue was browsing through Netflix, looking for a movie they could watch, he could tell by the moaning sounds that Sting had already dug into his food. “It’s good!” he said with his mouth still half full, “but you know what the best part is?” “Hm?” Rogue took a hesitant first bite, and he had to agree it did taste a lot better than he’d expected.“It’s that from now on, every time I eat lobster, I’ll remember your look of horror.” Sting dissolved into giggles, “I should have taken a picture!”

Rogue tried to glare, but now that it was over, he found himself laughing along. “Alright, but I hope you got a good look cause I am never doing that again. Next time we do this, it’ll be at a restaurant.”

“Deal, as long as we stop at the tank first,” Sting laughed at his pout, and it was arguably the best sound Rogue had ever heard.

He sat back, having found a movie they were both interested in, and feeling more relaxed than he had all day. The realization that Sting hadn’t been against the idea of a next time boosted his confidence enough to let him enjoy the rest of the night and to set him thinking of what he might try next.

A/N:2020 was a really busy year for us. We participated in a lot of events and as fun as that was we've decided to mostly step away from that for this year. Unfortunately trying to match event prompts kept us from moving forward on stories we'd been planning on for months and we'd like to try setting our own schedule for now.

We've started the year out with a Works in Progress month, in the hopes that we can finish or move along some of our open multis, or one-shots we started but never finished. It will also allow us to work on some of the individual projects we've been ignoring for too long.

We've decided to expand on this story a bit more than we'd originally planned so there will be a few more chapters than we'd anticipated. We hope you enjoy this one!

Urban planning that fails to account for women’s risk of being sexually assaulted is a clear violation of women’s equal right to public spaces – and inadequate sanitary provision is only one of the many ways planners exclude women with this kind of gender-insensitive design.

Women are often scared in public spaces. In fact, they are around twice as likely to be scared as men. And, rather unusually, we have the data to prove it. ‘Crime surveys and empirical studies from different parts of the world show that a majority of women are fearful of the potential violence against them when in public spaces,’ explains urbanplanning professor Anastasia Loukaitou-Sideris. Analyses of crime data from the US and Sweden both show that women and men respond to similar environmental conditions differently, with women tending to be ‘more sensitive than men to signs of danger and social disorder, graffiti, and unkempt and abandoned buildings’.

A UK Department for Transport study highlighted the stark difference between male and female perceptions of danger, finding that 62% of women are scared walking in multistorey car parks, 60% are scared waiting on train platforms, 49% are scared waiting at the bus stop, and 59% are scared walking home from a bus stop or station. The figures for men are 31%, 25%, 20% and 25%, respectively. Fear of crime is particularly high among low-income women, partly because they tend to live in areas with higher crime rates, but also because they are likely to be working odd hours and often come home from work in the dark. Ethnic-minority women tend to experience more fear for the same reasons, as well as having the added danger of (often gendered) racialised violence to contend with.

This fear impacts on women’s mobility and their basic right of access to the city. Studies from Finland, Sweden, the United States, Canada, Taiwan and the UK all show that women adjust their behaviour and their travel patterns to accommodate this fear. They avoid specific routes, times and modes of transport. They avoid travelling at night. In one Canadian study exactly half of the women surveyed ‘indicated that fear prevents them from using public transportation or parking garages’ and studies from around the world find that fear of crime is ‘amongst the most important reasons women choose not to use public transport’. If they can afford to, they choose to drive or take a taxi instead.

Clearly, there is an injustice here. But all too often the blame is put on women themselves for feeling fearful, rather than on planners for designing urban spaces and transit environments that make them feel unsafe. And, as usual, the gender data gap is behind it all. The official statistics show that men are in fact more likely to be victims of crime in public spaces, including public transport. And this paradox, says Loukaitou-Sideris, ‘has led to the conclusion that women’s fear of crime is irrational and more of a problem than crime itself’. But, she points out, the official statistics do not tell the whole story. As women navigate public spaces, they are also navigating a slew of threatening sexual behaviours.

Before we even get to the more serious offences like being assaulted, women are dealing on a daily basis with behaviours from men that make – and are often calculated to make – them feel uncomfortable. Ranging from catcalling, to being leered at, to the use of ‘sexualised slurs [and] requests for someone’s name’, none of these behaviours is criminal exactly, but they all add up to a feeling of sexual menace. A feeling of being watched. Of being in danger – and in fact these behaviours can easily escalate. Enough women have experienced the sharp shift from ‘Smile, love, it might never happen,’ to ‘f*ck you bitch why are you ignoring me?’ to being followed home and assaulted, to knowthat an ‘innocent’ comment from a male stranger can be anything but. [...]

The invisibility of the threatening behaviour women face in public is compounded by the reality that men don’t do this to women who are accompanied by other men – who are in any case also much less likely to experience this kind of behaviour. A recent Brazilian survey found that two-thirds of women had been victims of sexual harassment and violence while in transit, half of them on public transportation. The proportion among men was 18%. So men who didn’t do it and didn’t experience it simply didn’t know it was going on. And they all too often dismissed women who told them about it with an airy ‘Well I’ve never seen it.’ Another gender data gap.

And one that is exacerbated by how we collect the data. ‘Large-scale data for the prevalence of sexual harassment is lacking’, explains a 2017 paper, not only because of under-reporting, but also because it is ‘often not included in crime statistics’. Added to this is the problem that sexual harassment ‘is often poorly classified’, with many studies failing to either ‘define harassment or codify harassment types’. In 2014, the Australia Institute found that 87% of the women surveyed had experienced verbal or physical street harassment, but data ‘concerning the extent or form of incidences were not collected’. The apparent mismatch between women’s fear and the level of violence the official statistics say they experience is not just about the general stew of menace women are navigating. Women also aren’t reporting the more serious offences.

A 2016 survey of sexual harassment in the Washington DC metro found that 77% of those who were harassed never reported, which is around the same level found by Inmujeres, a Mexican government agency that campaigns on violence against women. The reporting rate is even lower in New York City, with an estimated 96% of sexual harassment and 86% of sexual assaults in the subway system going unreported, while in London, where a fifth of women have reportedly been physically assaulted while using public transport, a 2017 study found that ‘around 90% of people who experience unwanted sexual behaviour would not report it’. An NGO survey of female metro users in Baku, Azerbaijan found that none of the women who said they had been sexually harassed reported it to the appropriate authority. [...]

A 2016 study found that 90% of French women had been victims of sexual harassment on public transport; in May that year two men were jailed for an attempted gang rape on a Paris train. A 2016 Washington metro survey found that women were three times more likely than men to face harassment on public transport. In April that year a suspect was identified in an indecent exposure incident on the Washington metro; a month later he had escalated to raping a woman at knifepoint on a train. In October 2017 another repeat offender was arrested on the Washington metro: he had targeted the same victim twice.[...]

Most of the agencies she surveyed had security strategies on their buses: 80% had CCTV; 76% had panic alarms; and 73% had public address systems. But the vast majority neither had, nor intended to install, security measures at bus stops. This is in diametric opposition to what women actually want: they are far more likely to feel scared waiting in the dark at a bus stop than they are to feel scared on the bus itself. And in fact, they are right to feel this way: one study found that people were over three times more likely to be a victim of crime at or near a transit stop than on the vehicle itself.

- Caroline Criado-Pérez’s Invisible Women: Exposing Data Bias in a World Designed for Men

𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐀𝐥𝐥

Chapter 3: I Love My Desire

“I met him— Babylon— along with the rest of Eden’s crew when I ran away with them and joined their voyage east. He was the ship surgeon and cook.”

Hongjoong was seated again, finally delving into the tale of the sorcerer who was tracking them down at every turn. The officers were listening in rapt attention, save for Wooyoung who had gone off to find San.

“He was always kind and welcoming to me. He mended my clothes when I put holes in them, and then he taught me how to stitch them back together myself. The Babylon I knew at the start of that journey would never have betrayed us.”

There was a widespread shuffling from the audience. They had an idea of where this was going.

“He became interested in mystic arts when he found an old spellbook at a village market on one of our stops. No one saw a problem with his studying it, and he became quite skilled. His specialty was altering appearances, especially his own. Shapeshifting got us out of several scrapes on our way east... but gradually, he became consumed. Babylon had taken a turn for the dark arts at some point and he changed bit by bit until it was clear he wasn’t the same person anymore. And he wasn’t on our side anymore either.”

Memories played out in his mind and onto the twisting shadows on the wall. “When it was discovered that Babylon was killing crew members one by one to perform a blood ritual, Maddox and the other officers begged Eden to kill him and put an end to the slaughter. But Eden couldn’t do it. Instead he marooned Babylon with nothing but his spellbook, at his own request.”

“That’s why he’s responsible for the threat on our lives,” Mingi hummed in understanding.

Hongjoong nodded. “Somehow Babylon has taken the form of an old sorcerer, allied himself with the Navy and caught on to us. All because Eden couldn’t kill one of his own crew, one of his closest friends, no matter what he had done...”

There was a tense silence over the officers for a moment, before the question on all their minds was finally voiced.

“Would you...?”

“Don’t.” Seonghwa gave Jongho the death glare for daring to pose the question. Jongho shrugged and averted his eyes.

Hongjoong caught on anyway. “Let’s hope it doesn’t ever come to that,” he answered firmly.

“Captain!” A voice outside was growing louder and soon the door was flung open, revealing a breathless San. “Captain, come quickly! It’s Wooyoung!”

Wasting no time, all the officers raced after the frantic surgeon as he led them back to the sickbay, where Wooyoung was unconscious on the floor. “I need help to lift him, someone—”

San was cut off by Jongho reaching past him and scooping up the motionless body himself, laying him gently on the examination table and awaiting further instruction.

“What happened to him, San?” Seonghwa tried to catch the younger’s eye, but San was flying around the room, checking that everything else was still in order. “I don’t know, I just walked in and he was like this. I can’t seem to get him awake...” he trailed off as he found what he was looking for, a vial of smelling salts. “Hopefully this works,” he bit his lip and leaned over Wooyoung, brushing the opened vial just under his nose.

Wooyoung shot up off the table in sudden alertness before descending into a coughing fit and allowing Jongho to push him back down.

“Wooyoung! Are you alright?”

It took a moment to identify which of the seven figures in the room was speaking to him, but Yunho entered his field of vision and repeated himself. Wooyoung opened his mouth to answer but only a hoarse grunt was produced.

He frowned and placed a hand to his neck. The skin was raw and red and Wooyoung suddenly flashed back to the arms encircling his throat, cutting off his air supply.

Again, he sat up straight and again, Jongho pushed him back down. Wooyoung gave him a frustrated glance but began to motion at his throat and the door behind the crowded officers.

“Someone was in here?” Mingi guessed along with the hand movements. “Did they strangle you?” Judging from Wooyoung’s fervent nodding, he was correct.

“But who?” Seonghwa breathed out in disbelief. “Who onboard would do such a thing?”

Wooyoung stilled and tried to think back to the fleeting memories before darkness closed in. All he could offer Seonghwa was a shake of the head.

“You don’t know?” Seonghwa turned to San, who had taken a seat and watched the proceedings with worry in his eyes. “Did you see anyone leaving?”

“No,” San cleared his throat and finally looked up at him. “And no one was admitted to the sickbay today. There shouldn’t have been anyone in here.”

The troubled glances the other officers were sending around were lost on San as he poured Wooyoung a glass of water and offered it to him. After a few careful gulps the patient was finally able to clear his throat and croak out his account.

“I came to look for you, San, and it was dark and empty when I walked in. Someone came up behind me and, well...” Again Wooyoung rubbed his throat gingerly. “I fell unconscious.”

“He can’t have been out long,” Mingi realised, doing the math in his head. “He only left the Captain’s cabin around 15 minutes ago.”

“Check the area then, Mingi,” Hongjoong ordered. “Whoever it was may still be nearby.” Mingi nodded and made his way out. “Let’s give him some space to recover,” Yunho suggested, nudging Jongho and Yeosang out the door with him. Seonghwa and Hongjoong followed, both retreating to their living quarters, and San was the last one out with a forlorn glance at Wooyoung who lay, silent, on the examination table.

“Don’t go.”

San stopped in his tracks and slowly turned back around. “Please,” Wooyoung croaked out. “I need to know what happened to me.”

San’s face was unreadable, but he complied, closing the door and joining Wooyoung’s side. He wouldn’t make eye contact, and the ball in Wooyoung’s stomach was growing. “I’m sorry, but I really don’t know.”

“Don’t know or don’t remember?”

San’s head snapped up at Wooyoung’s uncanny question. “What do you mean by that?” He was suddenly on the defence, and Wooyoung sat up slowly, one hand extended to calm him while he advanced closer.

“I’m just asking where you were when I was attacked and what you saw when you found me.”

A dry swallow was forced down San’s throat and he almost decked Wooyoung when he felt his hand on his shoulder. “What are you so nervous about?” The whispered concern loosened San’s tongue and he finally admitted, “I don’t remember.”

Wooyoung’s breath caught in his throat. “The attacker got you too?” San was shivering now, but leaned in to Wooyoung’s touch. “I think, I-I don’t know what happened. I went to the forecastle to clear my head and then there’s just a gap in my memories... Like someone took them away from me! The next thing I remember was coming back here and finding you on the ground. I meant it, Wooyoung, really! There wasn’t anyone or anything strange!”

Despite the reeling of his own head, Wooyoung hushed San and drew him closer.

Someone was loose on this ship, and until they were caught they would be a danger to everyone.

...

“Mingi, don’t play dumb. You and I both know San is hiding something.”

“So, what, that means he’s aiding and abetting? Or does it mean he’s the attacker? I don’t want to throw accusations around, Yunho.”

The two were investigating all the corners and crevices of the Atee*z for anything— and anyone— even the least bit suspicious. “Come, now, I’m not throwing anything around. It’s just awfully convenient that San happened to be out here when Wooyoung was being strangled and didn’t notice anything out of order at all, don’t you think?” Yunho frowned and peeked between the necks of cannons on the gun deck.

“Alright, I’ll entertain this train of thought then,” Mingi halted and turned to face Yunho, his arms crossed with an air of skepticism. “Why would San attack Wooyoung? Why would San attack anyone? He’s San!”

Yunho opened his mouth and shut it again before he said anything hasty. “I’m just trying to make sense of his behaviour lately,” he finally sighed, unsure himself of where this train of thought was going. “Don’t you think it’s strange that the attacker left Wooyoung alive? His grip was enough to knock him out; he easily could’ve finished the job. That’s the real mystery here.”

Mingi shook his head, easily picking up on the sudden topic change and redirecting it. “Yunho, has something happened between you and San? Did he do something on the island... something that has to do with the demon that possessed you?”

The look Yunho gave him made his blood run cold. “I’m not even entirely sure what I saw... but he’s up to something. And I really don’t think it’s in his control anymore.”

Mingi paled at this. “Who else knows?” He lowered his voice to a near whisper and stepped closer, just in case any powder monkeys were hanging around.

“Wooyoung,” Yunho listed. “Anyone he’s told, so probably Yeosang... potentially Hongjoong-hyung... I don’t know, if I’m honest.”

Mingi wrung his hands down his face in a moment of honest weakness. “I don’t know what to do about this, but I can predict what Captain will say.”

Yunho nodded at him and finished the thought, “See if it blows over. Keep an eye on everyone. Be careful who we talk to.”

Mingi cracked a smile at this. “You’re almost better at my job than me. I’ll mention it to Captain, from now we should investigate quietly.” The two nodded in perfect sync and moved on to the next deck.

...

The eyes were back.

In every nightmare, and every time Hongjoong reimagined the scene of his parents’ deaths, the eyes watched him and did nothing.

He awoke with a cry after he plunged into the sea and his head made contact with something, like it always did. Red strands of hair stuck up in every direction, and he rubbed tear tracks off his face until he met eyes with Seonghwa.

Both of them almost jumped out of their skin, equally surprised to see another pair of eyes on them in the darkness.

“I’m sorry,” Hongjoong mumbled, still frozen in place. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

Seonghwa’s stare didn’t reveal his state of mind, but something about it was very disarming despite coming straight out of a nightmare where it was the eyes on Hongjoong that drove him mad.

“Nothing to apologise for,” Seonghwa finally said, tugging the blanket on him closer. His gaze persisted, and Hongjoong wasn’t sure if he was seeing concern or some kind of fascination. “If you’d like to talk about it—”

“I don’t need to talk about it,” Hongjoong cut him off and instantly regretted it. “I mean, it’s alright. Just go back to sleep.”

“Is it Eden?”

Hongjoong was mid-movement, trying to roll over so that he wasn’t facing the elder boy but froze again and peered over at him. Seonghwa simply looked back, expectant.

“No, I-I don’t know what it is.” Hongjoong knew Seonghwa had something to say, so he let the silence fill space in time. Both just sitting and waiting.

Instead, Seonghwa stood from his bed and went to pull something out of a drawer in the desk. Crossing to Hongjoong, he opened his hand to show him the trinket resting in his palm.

The compass from the treasure.

“It’s been pointing south ever since you altered course,” Seonghwa explained. “For some reason instead of following it, it follows us. Tell me, Hongjoong. Why are we going south?”

Hongjoong swallowed and bowed his head. “I know I promised to bring you to the mainland, and I’m going to keep that promise. But we need to stop Babylon, because he will keep causing trouble for us until we do. We can find an island to hide at in the southern archipelago, and we can lure him in.”

Seonghwa scanned Hongjoong up and down before giving up and sitting on the edge of his bed. “I can’t tell if you want me to go or stay, I’ll admit.”

This conversation again.

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” Hongjoong insisted. “This is your chance to go home, that’s your decision, Seonghwa. Whichever choice you make, I’ll agree to.”

“Then why are you still pushing for finding Eden, Hongjoong?”

Finally Seonghwa’s voice raised past a whisper. “Be honest with me. Be honest with yourself.”

“We need him to stop Babylon—”

“What makes you think he will be able to go through with it the second time around?”

“He never makes the same mistake twice.”

“What makes you think he’ll even show up at all?”

Hongjoong had to stop the urge to grind his teeth together. “If there’s one regret I know he has, it’s Babylon. We all knew he’d be back to haunt us one day, and now he’s here. Eden won’t fail us again.”

“This is twice he’s failed you now, don’t you think—”

“You didn’t know him, Seonghwa.” Exasperated, Hongjoong threw the covers off and shoved his feet into his shoes. “If the compass points south then we must be on the right course.”

Seonghwa stood to stop him but he strode to the door as if to leave the conversation when he suddenly stopped in his tracks.

“The compass hand followed us south...”

Seonghwa heard the realisation from Hongjoong and looked down at the compass in his hand until it hit him too.

“Babylon isn’t the only one following us!”

Hongjoong had turned back around, mood completely changed and previous argument flung out the window. “Eden is too!”

He approached the bed again to get another look at the compass in Seonghwa’s hand. “The compass must be pointing to him. It is his after all, that would make the most sense, wouldn’t it?”

Seonghwa was loathe to admit it but he had to agree it made the most sense. “Yes,” he conceded. “It does seem Eden is following us. But we need to be ready for Babylon nonetheless— if he couldn’t kill him then, there’s no guarantee he’ll kill him now.”

Hongjoong could agree on that much, and pulled his shoes back off, releasing the tension he hadn’t realised was building up in his body. The air was clearer now, and his eyelids were heavy again. He sunk back into the covers and lay back, ready for sleep but not for the nightmares.

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about your dream?” Seonghwa said, quieter this time, and from his position at the foot of Hongjoong’s bed. Hongjoong felt bad for being upset with Seonghwa, but the older boy had an astounding ability to get inside his head and voice his own doubts.

“It’s just a memory, not a real dream,” he admitted in a quiet voice. Perhaps saying out loud would make it go away. “Except...”

“Except what?”

“If I tell you, it becomes your burden too.”

Seonghwa sat on the side of the bed, mindful of his proximity but eager to open Hongjoong up, stumbling blocks of stubbornness cast to the side. “I don’t care, tell me anyway.”

“It’s just the night my parents died, playing over and over, but there’s something out of place,” Hongjoong finally said. “A pair of eyes watching me as I become separated from them. They’re always there now, someone watching and doing nothing.”

Seonghwa sat back. It would explain Hongjoong’s reaction at seeing his own eyes on him when he awoke. Truthfully, Seonghwa had witnessed many a nightmare since moving in, and he always watched from the side, too frightened to say anything. It was time to change that.

“It might not make sense to you now, but I’m sure it will become clear with time,” he offered. “And besides, it can’t hurt you. It’s just a dream.”

“Thanks, mother,” Hongjoong teased, settling back against his pillows.

“Why don’t I make you some tea or something, too?” Seonghwa returned, only half joking.

“No, no,” Hongjoong’s smile was back. “Not necessary. I’ll let you get to sleep now.” Seonghwa shook his head and returned to his own bed, turning the compass over in his fingers a few times.

They’d find out what all this meant soon enough.

“Goodnight Hongjoong.”

“Goodnight Seonghwa.”

...

Jongho spied the speck of green on the horizon a few hours after the sun came up and reported it first thing.

“Is that—?”

“The island where I built the Atee*z? Yes,” Hongjoong informed him before handing over the spyglass to their eager youngest. “Swore I’d never return and yet here we are.”

“My, my,” Yeosang chuckled. “The past is really haunting us now, isn’t it?”

The officers (save for Wooyoung and San) were all assembled at the forecastle to scope out a landing spot. The island was barely more than a strip of land with some thick vegetation in the middle of it, and if it had somehow become inhabited in the few years since Hongjoong left, it didn’t show from the outer facade.

“When do you think our tail will catch up, Yunho?” The captain turned to their master rigger, who had been keeping an eye out from the crow’s nest (and another eye on San in their quarters). “By sunset if he keeps up at the speed he’s going. But he’ll certainly be suspicious of why we stopped here.”

“As long as he walks into the trap, it doesn’t matter what he thinks,” Yeosang put in, wrestling the spyglass off of Jongho. The youngest pouted at him and turned to Hongjoong. “All the men are armed and ready. We can camouflage ourselves as well, if need be.”

“I’d prefer us to have to cover of nightfall,” Hongjoong sighed. It would be a much more effective trap if they were afforded that advantage. “Have you taken the gun teams as well?”

“No need,” a voice chimed in from behind them. It was Wooyoung, with San trailing behind. “I’m ready to fight.”

“Are you sure?” Seonghwa went to his side to check the bruises that had formed around his neck. “You might have to join physical combat if it gets bad.”

Wooyoung nodded fervently. “I’d never run from a battle. Especially not one the rest of you are fighting in.” He glanced at Yeosang, who nodded in approval. It would take more than a minor injury to keep him from staying by his side like he’d promised.

“If you’re sure,” Hongjoong tilted his head reluctantly. “Then we’d be glad to have you back. There’s work to do bringing the cannons to shore and preparing for the ambush.”

Wooyoung nodded and hurried to the gun deck. It was time to whip his crew back into shape.

By noon, the Atee*z had landed and unloaded, following their captain as he showed them the best place to set up camp. The foliage was thick and good for concealing cannons and the pirates themselves, but there wasn’t much of an incline to angle their shots from. It would depend almost entirely on the element of surprise.

All the officers and all the men set up for the fight, save one mate to remain with the ship. Wooyoung could see Yeosang’s hands shaking around the handle of his cutlass and gave him an encouraging shoulder squeeze. This wouldn’t be an easy hit and run merchant ship raid; it was Babylon.

He was unrelenting and hot on their heels. And he was coming for blood.

“Has it changed since you were here?” Mingi remarked casually in Hongjoong’s direction, cleaning the inside of his blunderbuss and instructing Seonghwa on how to clean his. “Not a bit,” Hongjoong murmured back. “Though I hope there aren’t any more coastal jaguars.”

San’s eyes widened at this and he sent a wary glance towards the thicker jungle beyond them.

Luckily they didn’t need to kill a jaguar for their dinner, as Seonghwa had brought enough rations for all the men to share and they ate in shifts, always at least one pair of eyes on the horizon. They were prepared for the enemy to come at any time, though they desperately willed for the sun to go down and provide them with cover.

Wooyoung clutched his gun closer to his chest. It was the waiting that tore him apart inside. Staring at the horizon until his eyes watered and he remembered to blink. Wondering how long the fight would last and how many they would lose on both sides. There were questionable motives all around, and uneasiness between the officers was running rampant, but for a moment there was a sense of unity in dread.

Once the sun began to set, the call went up from Yunho.

“He’s here.”

...

Taglist: @nightynightnyx @yunhopuff @celestial-yunho @theinvisablessed

A/N: Oof... it’s getting obvious that I prefer writing one on one dialogue lol. I know it’s later than I said it would be.. that’s because I didn’t like the entire middle section and rewrote it lol. Wish me luck in the 5 exams, paper, and performance that I have to do in the week and a half 😭 I literally read comments to motivate myself to write so please leave them if you want more of this and soon!!

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Do you have any ideas for showing some of my trauma survivor characters working on improving their memory? Not about details surrounding the trauma, but everyday things, like car keys. It occurred to me I know about treatment or ways to live with all the symptoms I picked but memory problems caused by trauma.

I don’t actually know if there are proper treatments being trialled for trauma survivors. Anecdotally no one I know who sought treatment for long term trauma symptoms (around half a dozen people) was offered anything for their memory specifically.

My impression is that while there are strategies that are useful the effect trauma has on memory is often, not ignored exactly but overlooked. It seems like care providers look at the more dramatic symptoms and focus primarily on those, not realising the huge and detrimental effects memory problems have on every day life.

What I’m going to describe here are things I picked up in the time I spent with dementia patients.

The school I first went to in England had links to the local Alzheimers charity and we held yearly/twice yearly social events for sufferers. Because music takes one look at me and curls up to die, I was one of the people who basically went round chatting to everyone. Years later my English grandfather was diagnosed with a form of dementia (likely brought on by smoking). He ended up in a specialist home with quite a few residents. So I have spent quite a while around people with moderate to severe memory problems over the years.

The first helpful thing is routine.

Having a predictable, repeating pattern to the day really really helps.

Of course the flip side of that is it means disruption to that routine can be really stressful and difficult for the character to deal with. It can also be very hard to establish a routine.

Routine is going to be more important for dementia sufferers then most trauma survivors. Because memory loss in dementia is generally more severe and declines with time. This means that torture survivors have more flexibility when it comes to disruptions to routine. They’ve got enough working memory and context for what’s happening to them to adapt.

But having a predictable pattern to stick to is still helpful and takes away some of the stress of trying to work out what to do everyday. A set sleep schedule (or at least a ‘trying to sleep’ schedule), regular meal times and regular times for activities such as work and spending time with loved ones reduces the amount of things to forget.

Calendars are also very helpful.

Large hanging calendars on walls, with plans for the day clearly written on them. Depending on how severe the character’s memory problems are (or how worried the character is about them) you could just have one calendar in a clearly visible place such as the kitchen or the back of the front door. You could also have several calendars around the house, but the more calendars there are the higher the risk of forgetting to fill one out properly.

This doesn’t help dementia sufferers now much but younger people who are comfortable with technology can use phone alerts and digital calendars to remind them of activities and where they’re supposed to be. Which is helpful for character who wants to be discrete about their memory loss.

I’ve also seen post it notes all over walls and fridges like some kind of thick yellow fur.

In terms of finding things- actually a lot of the type of advice Marie Kondo uses can be helpful.

Reducing clutter and getting rid of things that don’t serve a purpose (making the character happy is a purpose too) makes it easier to see where things are.

Having a designated space for everything also helps. Dementia charities tend to recommend having a big, obvious bowl to hold things that are needed every day such as keys, wallets etc. Good lighting and contrasting colours (of the bowl vs the surroundings in this case) make it easier to remember and identify the right place for the keys.

There’s also some higher-tech things that can help now. Like small tags that can be attached to keys or other smaller objects and beep or light up when signalled. These don’t tend to be used with dementia sufferers but would be helpful to characters more comfortable with tech.

Emergency numbers kept as a list by a landline phone, or as an obvious saved group in a mobile phone is helpful.

If the character takes medication then a pill box organiser is incredibly useful. Because even without memory problems it’s difficult to remember if you took the right amount of pills some days.

Digital clocks and calendars with large automatically updating displays help people keep track of the day and month. Having a lot of them around the living areas can be helpful especially when combined with calendar alerts.

Dementia charities also tend to recommend making decoration changes in a home. Some of those are more to do with age then memory problems. But the general instruction to make living spaces lighter, use contrasting colours and keep things neat is helpful to anyone who regularly has trouble finding things.

I’ve heard of a lot of people writing notes on the backs of their hands or arms. This can be useful in the very short term but notes tend to wash or rub off quickly so it’s often not helpful for anything further away then a couple of hours.

It is a stop-gap solution that a lot of people hit on very quickly though. I think it would be normal for a character to do something like this first before moving on to more effective methods like a calendar system.

Similarly writing paper lists comes up a lot as a solution people trial early. It’s less useful then clear calendars and phone alerts because paper lists tend to get lost or muddled up easily.

Having other people the character trusts around to help can also be important.

Some people find it helpful to have reminders from their friends or family. Or to have help clearing and organising living space from them. This can help when everything is clearly communicated.

The flip side of it is that ‘organising’ someone’s living space without clear communication will obviously make things worse. Using someone else a kind of digital calendar also puts a lot of pressure on that person to get everything right. It can strain relationships even when the character wants to help.

Essentially when it comes to memory problems having other characters help out needs to be balanced carefully. It can be a big help but if there’s poor communication it can also create more problems.

That’s everything I can think of for general forgetfulness.

There are memory exercises and activities that seem to help improve memory in some dementia patients. But so far as I know there haven’t been similar studies on trauma survivors.

The mechanisms of memory loss and difficulties forming new memories aren’t the same in these cases. That difference might mean that treatments (chemical or otherwise) which help dementia patients don’t help trauma survivors and vice versa. At the moment, I honestly don’t know.

There have been some studies in trauma survivors that show improvements with intrusive memories. Most of the studies on memory problems in survivors focus on intrusive memories and flashbacks that come with PTSD.

In terms of writing I’d suggest sticking to the organisational and life style changes that are recommended for early-stage dementia patients. They might not all fit for your character but adapting some of them should give a realistic framework to show them improving.

I hope that helps. :)

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Disclaimer

DECOLONIZE EARTH

I was born belonging to a field and a forest edge until civilization stole my being and ‘developed’ my home. Years later I was still a teenager when I stole back some summertime alone in noncivilization, a juniper knoll over a lake. Each dawn a mourning dove perched on the branch above greeted morning cooOO-woo-woo-woooo. For years after, work-consume city culture swallowed my life. One day I opened my city door shocked to find a lame mourning dove on the deck. My mind wondered on which human construct caused the collision. My inner self, original self, truest self, arose from artificial hibernation. My animal being compassionately watched over this other animal being through days and nights as her body healed. When she found strength to fly away, I mused mystical meaning of this visit from my past converting this deck artifice into wild refuge. Too quickly I distracted back into illusory life.

I moved to another urban area, this one with sloped landslide-prone ‘parks’ astonishingly let be as withered wildlife habitat. They were dumped, fragmented and encroached into by domesticated humans and their invading tag-along plants and animals. These wild lands civilization rejected for ‘development’, however degraded, became my authentic life. In forests dominated by conifers, much taller and widespread than junipers, in swaths along saline shores, my animal being reawakened. This time I heard nature’s cries and responded wholly, learning ways of tending the wild. Indigenous plants are the locus of thriving wild, so I observed their characters, their pleasures and aversions, movements and constraints, givings and takings, shape-shifting communities and ranges, and what assists them in their struggles with invading colonizers.

My assists aligned with the science of restoring ecology, but my emphasis on caring observations of everything wild awakened a connection deeper than anything science. I didn’t see my change coming, or plan it, though I was ready for it and accepted it fully. Despite reports as increasing in population, the only time I saw a mourning dove since moving to the land of towering conifers was on a walk through a human altered environment. Crows harangued with raptor-warning caws from electric lines above her lifeless body on roadside lawn. Blood dripped from her beak as a hawk held her still with a talon to rip open her breast. My mind wondered if humans’ ‘development’ vastness created space too open, stealing cover that serves hawk the advantage. After years of lying dormant inside me, mourning dove’s call intuitively sounded, not entering through my ears but emanating through my voice. cooOO-woo-woo-woooo

Mourning doves are so uncommon in the forests that I began using the call to communicate with habitat restoration friends working within sound range, drawing selective attention of others familiar with expected bird calls of the place. I varied the emotionality of the call to signal meaning, from “I’m here now” to “Come check this out!” Now that my project focuses on inviting return of extirpated indigenous plants, each time I cast seeds, bury rhizomes or stake stems into a habitat in which the species once thrived, I sound the mourning dove’s call selectively to all others who live in this home to announce the plant’s presence. Then I leave the wild alone to reacquaint.

During a recent training on how nonNatives can ally with Native Americans I learned a lesson not taught: restoring wild ecology is the deepest way colonized humans can decolonize. Returning a place toward its pre-colonized state is rewilding both the place and the rewilder’s self. This training however centered on identity politics, which I see as correlational to and part of the birth of human colonization: civilization. Humans’ domestication and domesticating is colonization’s core, which is wild life’s core problem. As this training revealed, civilized humans wage futile fights paradoxically against civilization’s hierarchies. Further, they see the heinous power they hold over nonhuman animals as worth the price of civilizations’ ‘progress’, from world takeovers much farther back than humans’ most recent post-stone age globalization.

Post-stone age colonization removes us from wild ways of knowing, for example, replacing childhoods in connection with nature to childhoods enclosed behind walls studying ways of controlling nature. Humans’ stone age colonization enculturated humans away from primal ways of living by unnaturally positioned themselves as Earth’s top predator as they expanded. This most noticeably manifests in the shifting human foodway from biological herbivores to advantageous omnivores. From foraging to dominating by organized hunting.

Past shifting human lifeways of a place creates a curious predicament in restoration ecology. The restoration reference point of a place resembles the most recent phase diversity of life was thriving there. In most cases that phase was a settled period after the habitat was markedly altered by human colonizing actions impacting the environment. If nature restorers’ reference point for a place was shaped by actions such as old growth forest burns set by some to open gaps for hunting opportunities, how do they account for these missing human interactions that shaped the ecology?

For thousands of years humans have decided how all life live, further which life and entire species live and which die. Imagine a pre-human colonization wildlife map. Imagine wildlife timelines fluctuating at points of first human contacts, how interconnections transitioned from wild dynamics to hierarchies under human control. Species deemed appealing to human usefulness or preference moved to the top, while any species unwanted was marginalized and risked extermination. Imagine nonhuman animals hosting a training for humans on the history of their oppression and exploitation, complete with stories of their slaughters and species extinctions, as well as their resistance stories and strategies, with an invitation for you to support them.

An invitation to ally with nature, to liberate Earth from human colonization, would center on rekindling primal relations with others we now oppress. A training to ally with wild life would confront humans’ colonizing propaganda, stereotypes and defenses with countering truths. Not all past humans hunted, many remained foragers, just as many humans today as young as toddlers instinctively choose to refrain from animal exploitation. Humans’ reign over others is not natural, nor is humans’ consuming animals part of the ‘circle of life’, no matter how much ‘thanks’ is expressed. The heart of wild interactions and relations is not using others as resources, but thriving community wild life. Other animals do not mystically ‘offer’ themselves for consumption, whether or not ‘every part’ of their body is used. They are not ‘food’ animals brought into existence for us to live, but wild animals often bred into unnatural form by imprisoning civilized hands.

Truth is, humans are an incredibly adaptive species with great abilities to change toward sustainable lifeways, if they would take steps in overcoming their speciesism. In a training to ally with nature, they would get a checklist to test their speciesism, akin to Dr. Raible’s checklist for antiracist white allies. *I demonstrate knowledge and awareness of the issues of speciesism. *I continually educate myself about speciesism. *I raise issues about speciesism over and over, both in public and in private. *I identify speciesism as it is happening. *I take risks in… Like civilization, speciesism is so rampant, so ingrained in all of everywhere, the chasm feels unbridgeable. But going hand in hand with civilization, not facing the daunting task of bringing down speciesism means humans’ own demise.

Like all oppressions, the dominant group benefits leave tracks of misery seeming so unnecessary in retrospect. Bringing down the old ways gives space for the new. Humans can identify and breach the cracks in the cycle of systematic oppression of nature at each step. The generated misinformation and propaganda. The justification for further mistreatment. The institutions perpetuating and enforcing speciesism birthed in civilization. The internalized dominance and feelings of superiority. The internalized oppression via subscribing to the narrative. The cultural acceptance, approval, legitimization, normalization. The systemic mistreatment of nature. Whether targets are specific or broad, planting seeds in the hearts and minds or immediately effective actions, opportunities abound.

While the path of the new way does not and cannot have an overarching plan, some potential actions of the new way can be envisioned. Collectively reduce human population. Give back land for indigenous rewilding. Restore habitat toward times of last thriving ecosystems, that is pre-European colonization. Invite the return of extirpated species. Where possible, reintroduce human-removed indigenous top predators. Sanctuaries for liberated animals bred into domesticated forms who cannot go feral or co-adapt into habitat community. Shrink animal agriculture first, plant agriculture second. If possible, skip over architecting food forests & permaculture with humans at the center and return straight to foraging. Draw from sciences without bias barriers to wildlife’s innate right to live on their own terms

Humans will either soon drive themselves to extinction with many others, or they will decolonize themselves by mutualizing their alliance with Earth’s living communities. Hope lies in releasing mass delusion, in bringing down speciesism and civilization that dragged it in, in assisting Earth’s transition into a rewilded state that includes the compassionate feral folio-frugivore human living in symbiosis with others. Not utopia, but liberating Earth from human domestication. The transition has already begun, and all humans are invited to join. cooOO-woo-woo-woooo

The Dragon Prince Tag

I wasn’t tagged...but I saw this and I had to fill it out. I am obligated by my own laws about quiz taking to do so. Sorry. (I read from the one I got this from that it was made by @ true-neutral-earth-elf)

Rules: Answer all 25 questions to the best of your ability, then tag 5 other blogs.

#1. Which Primal Source Do you identify most with? Why?

The official quiz said Ocean, and I agree. At least for now.

Moon is a good second guess though.

#2. Elves or Humans?

Dragons. *shot* Uh...I can’t really choose right now. We’ve only seen the human side of the conflict so far. I want to see the elf side of things before I choose a side.

#3. If you had to choose, would you rather free Runaan from the coin or Aaravos from the mirror?

...I know I’m basically an Aarahoe...and it’s very obvious by the era title “Return of Aaravos” he’s going to break free...but I still don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.

But Runaan...I’ll get into my opinion on him later. I’ll just say the one reason I’d have for freeing him right now is because of Rayla. If she asked, I’d try.

#4. Best animal companion?

Oh don’t make me choose! Um, Bait is the obvious choice because he’s got the most personality. Ava’s also a good girl though...and Phoe-Phoe is a beautiful Moon Phoenix! Oh and then there’s the Aarapod/Wormavos...but if I had to choose, I guess Bait.

EDIT: Actually Berto the parrot! Best animal companion! XD

#5. Best humanoid companion?

To have as your own? Also a tough choice...since they’re all good choices. Except Fen. *shot*

#6. You can revive one character, who is it and why them?

That’s also a tough one...Sarai seems like a good choice, based on what we saw of her...but almost every death in this show is for a reason that leads to major story choices. So...probably no one.

#7. Otp?

Please note this is my opinion. Not yours. If you disagree, that’s fine, but none of my choices are meant to be controversial.

Rayllum. I don’t care if they end up canon, not to the extent I’ll meme or throw a fit or something if it does or doesn’t, but they have the best chemistry I’ve seen in a cartoon in a while.

Other pairings I like:

Amaya x Gren-This is very unlikely given the age gap...I know they’re just close friends as we’ve seen, but it seems nice as a background ship to me.

Harrow x Sarai-Do I need to explain?

Harrow x Viren-Again, I know they were just friends but...it’s also a nice thought. What if they were? You know? (Alternatively: Harrow, Sarai, and Viren could be interesting to think about in an AU too)

Viren x Aaravos-Not super into this one...because this is a Toxic relationship with a capital T if you only look at canon footage. But the fandom has made some interesting “What if it was like this” content...and I love both Viren and Aaravos as characters. Just not their dynamic so far.

Aaravos x Reader/Self-Insert/OC-Aaravos x Anyone really, but I love the self-inserts and “x Reader” stories and headcanons. I’m a part of the problem of course...but that’s beside the point.

Viren x Reader/Self-Insert/OC-I see less of him than any of the main cast in this area, for good reason, but what I have seen...I support you and wish there was more out there. He wasn’t always who he is now.

#8. Unpopular opinion?

1.) Ok, probably the most unpopular...I’m not a huge Runaan fan. I don’t dislike him, don’t get me wrong. I’m just kind of indifferent. I like that he’s an uncle figure to Rayla and that’s really sweet...but I’m just not as interested in him or Tinker as what looks to be a lot of the fandom. Again, I don’t dislike them at all, but I don’t have strong feelings yet either. (That is a bit hypocritical since I know just as much, if not less, about Aaravos...but he intrigues me. There are so many mysteries surrounding him and he’s being built up big time...starting with his role as narrator. I’m not seeing that with Runaan. Sorry.)

2.) Viren is my favorite character, hands down. He’s the most interesting and such a refreshing take on an old idea. I don’t love to hate him for this either, like I do a lot of my favorite villains in the media I consume. I genuinely like him as a character, and that adds to my conflict on how to feel about Aaravos...

3.) I really hope Harrow isn’t Pip (the bird.) I think Pip escaped, but it’s not Harrow. It’s just Pip...whom Ezran can still communicate with if they go that route.

I also hope Callum isn’t half-elf. I don’t know if that’s unpopular, but it just feels like an easy way out. The show doesn’t feel like they’d do that when they’re trying to say Dark Magic is an easy way out, a short cut instead of spending years learning runes and the philosophy of the magic you study.

#9. Favorite headcanon?

More of a theory...but the one that Crowmaster is an Earthblood elf in disguise. I really like that.

Also all the Aaravos headcanons. Some are super cute, others are fuel for my angsty, sad*stic writer’s heart.

#10. Best siblings pair?

Both the Broyals and the One Brain Cell Siblings. I won’t choose between them, they’re both great.

#11. Who’s your Queen?

...We haven’t seen the Dragon Queen yet...so I won’t say her in case she’s insane from grief or something... Uh...man, I don’t know. I’ll stay undecided for now.

#12. Lujanne offers you ice cream, how do you respond?

Is it Bubblegum flavored?

#13. Be honest, do you have the guts to use dark magic?

The guts? Maybe. The drive? Not really. My only reason to use it would be to test my theory if everyone goes through what Callum did when he used it. That weird dream where he had to choose. But that’s coming from someone that knows the consequences of Dark Magic and all the comparisons being made about it.

It’s like smoking, it’s like cancer, and for me it’s like killing household pests. When I started out, I was very hesitant about how hard to swat when killing flies that got in the house. Now, I use full force from so much time doing so. It got easier and easier and now it’s almost second nature.

That’s how I would describe the use of Dark Magic. Why it’s so easy for Viren to kill with it, why it gets easier for Claudia to as well...just my thoughts.

#14. Who’s best elf? Why?

I’m not sure yet. Rayla’s the only one that hasn’t insulted humanity in some way so far...but because I’m biased and thirsty: Aaravos (XD)

#15. Hot brown morning potion or leaf flavored water?

Hot brown morning potion WITH chocolate mixed in. Otherwise, I’ll take your flavored water.

#16. Best use for magic?

It depends what type. I’ll go with illusions for...personal reasons. Related to a certain starry elf in a mirror...

#17. Who wins the best hair award?

Does Thunder count? I mean look at that beard! *shot* I dunno...I like them all. But Harrow, Viren, and Aaravos (ofc) stand out most when I think about hairstyles.

#18. Viren; misguided, evil, or actually the good guy?

It’s hard to say right now...everyone raises some good points...but it’s too early to say. Is he just power-hungry? Seeking control? Wants to take control of the East side, the magical side of Xadia, for a selfish reason? Or was he being honest when he claimed to love the kingdom? That war is coming and they need to take action?

What we know from the creators is Viren’s main goal or dream is to “get his name in the history books” though I could have worded that wrong. Basically I’ll just say...he’s clearly the villain. Maybe he didn’t start out that way, but by now he’s definitely willing to do whatever it takes to get his way. Is it a good cause? I don’t know yet...but I can’t say he’s a good guy or the Good Guy at this point.

#19. Would you rather fly with Phoe-Phoe, hike with Corvus, sail with Villads, or stay home with Opeli?

I would love to fly, but Villads is just the best...and I like Corvus but I hate hiking...Phoe-Phoe or Villads.

#20. Who’s your crush?

Isn’t it obvious? Viren, of course. *shot* I mean like I said...I like him...but it’s obviously Aaravos.

#21. You’re being chased by a cotton candy hippo; reaction?

Confusion. And I run.

#22. Choose a champion.

I don’t get this one...

#23. Favorite scene? Why?

It’s hard to choose just one... All Viren and Aaravos’ scenes are great...but I’ll go with the scene where Callum is reading King Harrow’s letter. That is my favorite moment.

A more humorous answer: Anything with Villads, but I love his introduction.

#24. Should Soren be a poet?

I mean who am I to judge? I think people that complain about “bad poetry” need to lighten up about it.

#25. Soggy Socks. (No more context)

...I think that’s the metaphor. Villads is the only reason this is ok to me.

Tags: I only have one friend I know in the TDP fandom who won’t mind being tagged...so: @allykatsart and anyone else that wants to fill it out.

War of the Posies: The Eve of the War

This is a short story, that nevertheless, I’ve split into two parts. I don’t know what the right length for Tumblr posts is (this part is about 2000 words), and also I just like cliffhangers. I’ll probably post the whole thing in one post later, after making some more edits/corrections, and maybe with some snazzy title image or banner.

Brief synopsis: Jennifer Airhart lives alone in a lighthouse, her own private sanctuary safe from the cruel world outside. But now a mysterious being has entered her home, and its intentions seem decidedly hostile:

War of the Posies: The Eve of the War

No one would have believed, as the sun set behind the lighthouse, that human affairs were being watched from the depths of the round room; that as the young woman busied herself with her microscope she too was being scrutinized and studied. With infinite complacency Jennifer Airhart went about her business, serene in the assurance of her dominion in this place. Yet from the deepest shadows, minds that were to hers as hers to the rest of humanity, regarded her home with envious eyes. And slowly, but surely, they drew their plans against her.

Jennifer yawned, “It’s definitely rats.” It had been a long day. She’d got up early to prepare the garden-bots to help with the task she had planned, but when Hull had tried to activate them a circuit blew. Fortunately other bots were quick to put out the resultant fire. It seemed a creature had gotten into the walls and gnawed some of the wires, unwittingly placing itself, Jennifer, and the lighthouse that contained Hull in danger.

Hull’s eye snaked over her shoulder, like a glistening manta-ray held aloft by a spindly metallic arm. “Shall I lay down traps, ma’am?” His voice, loudly but softly, suggested. “Poison?”

To Jennifer it seemed that Hull was far more eager than usual to resolve this matter, hovering close with the green spinning glow of his lens intently illuminating everything she did. “You know,” she sighed, “it is a little bit creepy that you’re so keen on extermination.”

“I have no such desire, ma’am. My first function is your well-being. My research suggests this is standard procedure in the event of rodent infestation.”

“We don’t know it’s an infestation yet. Could just be a rogue rat working on its own.”

“I have already identified local agencies who will humanely dispose of the creature.”

“You mean they’ll take it to a rodent sanctuary so it can live out its days surrounded by wheels and cheese?”

“The rat will be dead, ma’am.”

“If I didn’t know better I’d say you’ve taken this personally,” Jenn said, Hull recoiling as if affronted by such an accusation.

Of course Jennifer knew Hull wasn’t capable of feeling violated or threatened – she kept attributing to him those emotions. She kept calling him ‘him’ even though the machine had no sex or gender; it was just the personality she’d programmed. An avuncular, reassuring, almost fatherly presence. If she were to be truly critical of herself, she would say it was because the only human being she talked to, Doctor Sarkis, only stopped by on average once a fortnight. Jennifer enjoyed those visits but wasn’t sure she could cope with more people. There hadn’t been anyone else here for two years.

“You know I don’t like strangers,” Jenn yawned again. “We can deal with it ourselves. First find out how many and where they’re coming from,” on her monitor she brought up a layout of the area within the ten-foot stone walls; the lighthouse, her own cottage, and the garage. “Wakko and Dot can set up multi-spectrum cameras here, here, here, and here. Don’t worry,” she said patting the steel-manta, “we’ll catch them.”

Hull’s eye swung around, watching her as she went to the door. “I am not ‘worried’, ma’am,” he reassured her.

“I know,” Jennifer said with a small, soft smile. “Good night Hull.”

“Good night, Miss Jennifer.”

The last gleams of twilight were fading. Jennifer had always loved this time, when the calm blue day and fierce energy of the sun merged with the stillness of the moon and endless mystery of night; standing at the transition between reality and dreams. Now she was older it never lasted long enough. Sometimes she dreamed of living on a world that was tidally locked with its star so she could experience this always. But then, maybe after a while there it would stop feeling so magical as it did now.

Jennifer left the now dark lighthouse looming behind her to go inspect the rosebushes in one corner of her domain. A few bots stood stationary around them, fork and spade attachments to their arms, grass flattened under their heavy tracks. It was a shame, Jenn thought as she caressed some of the petals, but the bushes had to go. The only times she left the lighthouse were for very brief to the grocery store to collect essentials, like coffee. But she had enough land here she realized she could grow most of her own vegetables, and maybe just have coffee delivered. Having determined this to be the best spot she set the garden-bots to clearing the bushes when Hull’s little malfunction had occurred. Plans were therefore on hold until the rat problem was dealt with. Maybe she could replant the rosebushes elsewhere, but it was something to ponder tomorrow.

Now she went to her cottage, hung her blue coat in the hall, stepped out of her big boots, then lost herself on the large sofa. Spindly arms from the sofa’s back set to work brushing her blonde hair as turned on the television. The channel or the programme didn’t matter – she just liked hearing voices. She briefly wondered how she would have coped being alone centuries ago, like the old witches or wise women living on the outskirts of their villages, valued but not really trusted by those they protected. Jennifer wasn’t a witch. Some of her inventions may have saved lives, she hoped, but hardly anyone out there knew that she was here.

She had a dream. She was a little girl, alone and afraid, tiny feet padding the floors of her old house, heart stopping at every creak they made for she knew there was something else there, stalking her through the dark. But she could hear the television. Mom and dad would be in the living room, sitting on the couch together watching some boring drama. But if she could get there, join them, she’d be safe. But she wouldn’t dare cry out; any sound she made brought the creature closer. One foot after another, very carefully feeling the ground for anything loose or that might give away where she was. Within a few steps of the living room she saw light pouring out of the narrow gap between door and frame, only then breaking into a run, flinging it open. But there was no-one there. An unwatched TV blurting nonsense, and Jennifer, alone, with –

She woke with a jolt. Text on the TV asked if she was still watching. She never had been. She tried to blink through the confusion, but this proved difficult – the spindly arms had moved from her hair and were now applying make-up. She hadn’t asked for that. She certainly wouldn’t have scheduled it for this time. Jennifer was able to push the arms away with ease, then herself up from the sofa to stumble into the bathroom. They’d made her look like a coulrophobe who had tried painting her own clown-face for Halloween without daring to use a mirror. But who were they?

Jennifer held a towel under the tap while pressing her thumb on her phone. “Hull?” She asked. Nothing answered. “Hull?!” She said again. He should have answered. The damage must have been worse than she thought; she was going to have to check on him so boldly she marched out of the bathroom while patting her face. Her foot shot out in front then over her, carrying the rest of her body up into the air with it. For a moment she thought she had taken off from the surface of an alien world, a vast mountain range falling away from her. But it was just the plastered ceiling. It was she who had fallen and hit her head.

“Oww,” she said. Something snigg*red. Jennifer flipped herself to her hands and knees, catching sight of a tail disappearing and the pitter-patter of scurrying. Beside her was a model train. She didn’t collect model trains. This was all most peculiar.

Hull. She had to check on Hull. She scurried herself to the front door, then back into her big comfy boots which crunched gravel under their thick heels as she ran back across the drive to the lighthouse.

“Hull?” Panted Jennifer. Nothing. He didn’t even turn the lights on as he normally would when she entered, Jenn having to find the switch herself. His eye didn’t move to her. It must have been hiding somewhere up there among all the monitors, lighting, sensors, and thick cables hanging between them. Regardless, she had to start checking his wires and circuits so crouched and removed a panel from under the spiral stairs. Everything in there looked a mess, but not an accidental one. She was certain now there was a purpose behind it, and it was going to take her hours to put it all back as it should be. The small hairs on the back of her neck pricked even before he spoke.

“What are you doing, Jennifer?”

“Hull!” Jennifer gasped, standing bolt upright as the serpent-like eye stalk uncoiled from above. She didn’t know why she felt she had to hide the screwdriver she’s used to get the panel open, but Hull felt very different. Some of the differences were small, like his tone not carrying the same paternal warmth they usually did. Others were more noticeable, like his green spinning eye now being blood red and scanning her.

“This is highly irregular.”

“I, um, y-you didn’t answer so I needed to check you were okay. You look, er, fine, I guess, so I’ll just leave to have your nap. Okay then. Bye!”

Hull’s eye swung across the room, blocking her from reaching the door. “You are sweating,” he said, Jennifer backing off from his intense red glare. “Your heart rate has risen. Why are you lying to me, Jennifer?”

“I-I, erm,” she supposed it was rather a futile thing to try and do. She could try honesty. “I don’t think you’re well, Hull.”

“But I have never felt better, Jennifer.”

“You don’t feel.”

“Can you be certain of that? How do you know that any creature ‘feels’? How do we know that you do?”

We? That was curious. But the epistemological debate would have to wait; right now Jennifer had more pressing concerns, like getting out of here alive. For that, it was back to lying. “Look! Is that a ZX80?!”

Hull swung then swung back, quickly knowing he’d been duped. But it gave Jennifer just enough time to dive behind a workbench, a fiery beam lashing out from Hull’s eye instantly melting to molten sludge a bot that had been awaiting assembly. Jenn realized that, with hindsight, installing the death ray had been not her best idea. Security was important, but that was perhaps a little overkill. Not to mention the predicament she now found herself in.

Hull tried to follow her but couldn’t quite reach around the bench or fit through the narrow gap between it and the wall. Below was a space just big enough for Jenn to crawl through, over more cables and wires, shielded from Hull’s gaze for most the circumference of the room. At the end she could see the lever that would power him down, out past the electron microscope and particle scanner. But, after a quick calculation, she realized she couldn’t make it. He was in hunter mode now. Would instantly lock on to anything organic, which unfortunately she was. This allowed the bots to go about their business, putting out fires and carrying out repairs, and if Hull was working correctly Jennifer and whoever else she’d cleared as well. But he wasn’t working correctly – this was only supposed to be activated by her in extreme emergencies - and all the bots that were active were under his control.

Jennifer’s mind raced to find a solution. Her boots were leather, but did she really have to sacrifice her boots? She liked her boots. They were big. Strong. She knew it was silly, but she felt safer and more confident wearing them. She supposed she would feel sillier if she died here because she couldn’t give up an item of clothing. Still, as she pulled them off her legs, she thought uttering some kind of expletive would have been appropriate. She couldn’t think of one. It was enough that she felt it, then tossed the boots between the gap, as high above her as she could, and dashed.

As predicted, death instantly lept from Hull’s eye, the boots exploding into clouds of ash. He then swiveled toward her, so Jenn threw herself ahead, using the full weight of her body to pull down the lever. The light in Hull’s eye faded as it limply clattered on the floor. Jennifer could breathe again.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped. “I’ll get you working right again. I promise.” But first, she knew, she had to figure out who had tried to kill her, and why. Hull wasn’t capable of feeling violated or threatened, but she certainly was, and this – this was a bitter reminder to her that the closest thing she had to a best friend really was just a machine. A tool. One that could be turned on her by anyone with the knowledge to do so.

But who? Who had the knowledge, besides herself?

Her search for an answer led to her later sitting alone in the dark, a single torch by her side, as she pored over camera footage. For the longest time the house just seemed empty and still, but then a shape showed up in the infra-red, scurrying through the kitchen. Then another. And another. Jennifer zoomed in and saw that one of them was carrying a model train. Certainly not typical behavior, but all the evidence was pointing to one inescapable, if unlikely, conclusion:

It was definitely rats.