village of the dead

White people really do not understand the idea of cultural appropriation so I’m gonna explain it to you one y’alls level okay? Bc the absurdity of these counter-arguments I’m getting is out of hand, and I’m tired of arguing with people so far beneath my level on a subject that harms me more than them.

You live in a little village where everyone is identified by the clothes they wear. Everyone in the village has a blue shirt. Your family has a blue shirt with polka dots on it. The people in your village eat lots of tasty yellow fruit with a special mixture of spices and pray to a fruit god every time you eat them. You also eat lots of nuts, but that’s not as important. This is your village’s culture. 

There is rumored to be a village to the west of you, where everyone is given a special toy shaped like an animal when they are born. It is very important to every individual, and means a lot to them. They keep it and polish it all their lives, and it is burned when they die. They eat special starchy balls full of meat, but also once a month,make a drink that honors their dead. This is their culture.

If…

The two villages have grown bigger and bigger over time, which makes them spread closer and closer to eaach other. There are no big territorial battles- the two villages like each other and sometimes share resources. If someone from the first village passes through the second, someone might give them some of their food for the trip and vice versa, so now some people in each village like and sometimes make the food of the other. A few people who have made close friends with people in the other village begin wearing colored shirts like them, or giving their children a special animal doll because someone from that village explained why that was special and invited them to do so. Things from each culture are shared with respect and friendship, and this happened naturally. This is CULTURAL INTEGRATION.

If….

The shirt-wearing village considers itself bigger and stronger. They have invented spears that help them hunt, but think maybe hunting would be even easier if they had more wood from the other villages territory, and less competition. So they decide to invade, fight and kill people in the animal-doll village. They kill some of their stronger warriors and subdue the rest of the villagers. When they are done, they let these villagers into their village as long as they agree to stop carving animal dolls, as long as they agree to learn their language, and as long as they agree to eat and dress like them, and leave their culture behind. This is CULTURAL ASSIMILATION.

If….

People from the two villages see each other from time to time but aren’t all that friendly. The shirt-wearing village likes the look of the dolls from the animal-doll village, and decides to make their own just like them, without asking. They’ve heard the dolls have a complex ceremony and meaning, but they don’t care. To the animal-doll village’s dismay, they learn that the shirt-wearers have been making ‘soulless’ animal dolls that are not connected to a villager, are not prayed over the right way, and in their belief is a dead and cursed thing. They never asked, and they did not follow the rules. In the meantime, many shirt-wearers steal fish from the animal-doll village’s fishing cages, stomp on their crops for fun when they are drunk, and make rude faces at them when they see them in the fields. They learn how to make the special drink they commune with the dead with, but drink it all the time, carelessly, and still won’t talk nicely to the animal-doll village people. They are mostly disrespectful, but still take things from the other village without being nice to them, and without asking. They enjoy the things the animal-doll people make, but do not enjoy them, and cause them suffering. This is CULTURAL APPROPRIATION.

And lastly….

You, a shirt-wearer with a blue spotted shirt, are playing with a toy. Another child comes up to you and in a friendly manner, asks to play. You hand them your toy. This is sharing.

Another day, a different child with a red shirt points at your blue shirt, makes fun of it, and takes your toy. This is stealing. This is more like Cultural Appropriation.

You guys need to learn that there are more ways for a culture to spread than just Appropriation. Cultural Appropriation is not ‘the sharing of a culture’. Fighting Cultural Appropriation does not keep cultures from evolving. It is simply pointing out that consent matters with culture, too, and when you take something from a culture you still disrespect and oppress, it’s not consensual, and the people do not have to let you do it.

Medieval villagers mutilated the dead to stop them rising, study finds

A study by archaeologists has revealed certain people in medieval Yorkshire were so afraid of the dead they chopped, smashed and burned their skeletons to make sure they stayed in their graves.

The research published by Historic England and the University of Southampton may represent the first scientific evidence in England of attempts to prevent the dead from walking and harming the living – still common in folklore in many parts of the world.

The archaeologists who studied a collection of human bones – including the remains of adults, teenagers and children excavated more than half a century ago, and dated back to the period between the 11th and 14th century – rejected gruesome possibilities including cannibalism in times of famine, or the massacre of outsiders. The cut marks were in the wrong place for butchery, and isotope analysis of the teeth showed that the people came from the same area as the villagers of Wharram Percy in North Yorkshire – a once flourishing village which had been completely deserted by the early 16th century. Read more.

Villain or Hero Edition:

-“You’re going to save them and for what? They don’t appreciate you!”

-“You spill your blood for this city/village and for what? So they can never know the name of the man/woman who saved their miserable lives?”

-“How many times are you going to bleed for them?”

-“Aren’t you tired yet? Haven’t you had enough?”

-“Despair, misery, and chaos. It’s like air to me. But to watch them suffer is much more entertaining.”

-“Look at their miserable lives and tell me what you see. They’re just begging for you to end them.”

-“You’re conflicted I can see it. You don’t want to be the hero but you’re not evil enough to be the villain. So what are you?”

-“You can’t be nothing because you have to be something.”

-“You can’t be nobody you have to be somebody. They need you. Help them.”

-“You’ve shed enough blood. It’s time to stop. You’ve avenged their deaths enough.”

-“You’ve fought until your face was bloody, your ribs cracked, and your soul broken. How much more can you give to them!”

-“You won’t be satisfied until your dead.”

-“This city/village has torn you apart. They don’t deserve anymore saving.”

-“You’d give your soul to them? They won’t ever be satisfied until you’re dead.”

-“You give and you give and give when is it your turn to take?”

-“You’ll burn this city/village to the ground. Murder its people. And then will you be satisfied?”

-“I can’t watch you tear yourself apart anymore for these people.”

-“You’re cruel.”

-“You’ve been caught. There’s nothing more you can do so why are you still fighting?”

-“It’s over. It was a long war filled with countless bodies and bloodshed. So stop…it’s over.”

-“I know you. You aren’t this terrible person people see you as and made you become. There’s still some light within you. I see it…”

-“What has the world done to you to make you feel this broken that you feel the need to hurt other people?”

-“You hurt others because they hurt you.”

-“I can see the torment within you. I can especially tell by the way you mangle the bodies of your enemies.”

-“You don’t owe people anything else.”

-“You’re like the sun and moon. You can either be the light that guides peoples lives to a better world. Or you can be the moon and darken their world. Or- you can be an eclipse and be a little bit of both good and evil.”

-“What do YOU want to become?”

-“You’re the only one who can give others hope.”

-“If it wasn’t for you we’d all be dead.”

-“The histories will never know who really saved us because he/she didn’t want to be known as a hero.”

-“Don’t die for our selfish selves.”

-“You brought this upon yourself.”

-“You can either save lives or take them. So which is it? Who will you become?”

-“You say you’d burn the city/village to the ground. But what happens when you’re standing on a pile of ash and smoke with no subjects to rule?”

-“Your mentor molded you to be a monster.”

-“Your mentor molded you to be a beckon of hope for others.”

-“They will never bow to you.”

-“You’re nothing but a usurper from a foreign place to us. We will never call you King/Queen.”

-“You hide behind a mask all the time and I don’t mean the one upon your face.”

-“Of all the things to have happened to you are you still capable of love?”

-“You were born a villain but you will die a hero.”

-“You were born a hero but will die a villain.”

-“You’ve changed since we first met. You’re becoming something I don’t recognize anymore.”

-“You’re no longer a man. You’re a beast.”

-“Greatness was thrust upon you but you decided not to take it. Why?”

-“We don’t choose these roles they just happen.”

-“I won’t watch you die.”

-“What are you fighting for?”

-“Fates can be changed there’s still time.”

-“Your fate isn’t set in stone.”

-“There’s pain in my chest every time I see you in anguish.”

-“You never meant anything to them. So you turned into the thing they feared the most to leave an impression upon them.”

-“I wish you could see your worth.”

-“Your life is not worth the weight of gold they will pay you for helping them.”

-“I won’t watch you become someone I don’t recognize.”

-“I can’t even say who are you becoming because I don’t even know what you are anymore.

-"When they write of your history they will say it began on this day.”

-“Your scars are a reminder of who you were. So never forget who bled for this village/city. Who it was that saved the damned and the good. Who it was that almost died for them. Who it was that became a legend in their eyes. A legend to be remembered a thousand years from now.”

  • Gaston: I'm especially good at EGG-spectorating
  • Villagers:
  • Tom, Dick, and Stanley:
  • Distant Wolves:
  • Belle's Dead Mother:
  • Lefou: HAHHAAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHA THAT WAS FUNNY HAHAHAHA MY WHAT A GUY THAT GASTON

saetr3noora  asked:

hello! meron ka bang complete/accurate list of all the deities from the tagalog and bisayan pantheon? Also, i'm sorry if this question has been asked before ngayon ko lang nahanap blog mo and i'm only now really getting into ph mythology :)

Hi @saetr3noora​. I made one before though I don’t remember which blog I posted it in, this one, or my blog on reviving our old beliefs, practices, and on our general mythologies and folklore at @diwatahan​. Also its an old list that needed to be updated and corrected so I guess it gives me an opportunity to make another one. :)

But here is my complete list on them based on historical research, not modern takes on it. This list is from my notes for my book I am still currently writing and researching for. Any modern deities from recent stories such as Lidaga, Lihangin, Lisuga, etc. are not included on this list as there is not one mention of them in any of the oldest dictionaries or in any historical record accept in the 1900′s particularly during the U.S. colonial period and after and thus based on historical research, they weren’t traditionally worshiped. However this doesn’t mean they aren’t deities as some may just be but never mentioned in historical texts and only known orally, but for the purpose of listing all the deities that were believed and worshiped prior to the Spaniards I have excluded them from the list. I try to put info on each deity as much as possible based on what was written on them but there are a few who are only briefly mentioned in passing either with just the name of the deity alone or the name and the attribute they were known for.

Also note there are other Bisayan deities not listed here that are known to the Sulod of Panay island with the exception of Laon Sina/Alunsina as she was a prominent goddess known throughout the Bisayas. The deities known by the Sulod may possibly be deities that were known by the other ethnic groups in the West Bisayas and elsewhere in the region under different names locally but I have not looked into that intensively and done enough research on that subject so I have left those deities out of this list.

This is a pretty long list so I have cut it off here for those who don’t want to scroll so much on their dash. To read the entire list just press keep reading. 

Anyway I hope this helps all those who are interested in our mythologies and folklore, whether from mere curiosity, for the sake of creating art, or to actually join the movement of reviving our precolonial beliefs and practices to the modern day.

Keep reading

3

The Magic of the Four Thieves

According to legend, in the days of antiquity when the plague moved throughout the land, leaving nothing but death and destruction in its wake, there were four thieves who remained unharmed. These thieves were, as the legend states, skilled in the art of magic. They used their aptitudes to create a potion to protect themselves from an untimely demise. They traveled from village to village stealing treasures from the newly dead and those that have fallen ill, lining their pockets while those around them perished. The thieves were eventually discovered by authorities. While punishment by death would have surely befallen these thieves, the authorities recognized the lifesaving potential of their concoction. In exchange for the ingredients to the potion, the four thieves would be granted leniency from the law.

The legend of the Four Thieves still thrives in many magical traditions today. Although, modern practitioners do not employ it to grant immunity from the plague. Instead, it has found its place as an enhancement to a wide spectrum of magical workings including healing, banishing, exorcism, and protection, among others. There are several versions of the Four Thieves potion, but I will present my own personal recipe here. It can be replicated with ease and used to create a powerful wall of protection.

Four Thieves Potion

1.       Place cauldron over the fire.

2.       Contribute a ½ gallon of vinegar.

3.       Contribute 375ml (half a bottle) of red wine.

4.       Add the juice of one lemon. Simmer.

5.       Contribute a small piece of fresh ginger root.

6.       Add a handful of fresh sage.

7.       Add three garlic cloves ground into a fine paste.

8.       Stir in three pinches of salt.

9.       Contribute a piece of snake skin (can be easily obtained from a pet shop)

10.   Add a few strands of black cat hair

11.   Add three drops of oil of hyssop

12.   Add two drops of oil of sandalwood.

When the scent of the potion is thick in the air, it may be removed from the fire and allowed to cool. Filter off the ingredients and preserve the liquid. Pour off the potion into a glass bottle and store it somewhere out of sight and out of mind.

2

endless list of Disney edits (5/?) [for @fantasticalnonsense18]

Beauty and the Beast & The French Revolution

Shortly after Belle & Adam’s wedding, the Reign of Terror begins in France. While the population of Villeneuve holds no grudges against their recently remembered Prince and newfound Princess, what with their generous and just leadership style, the revolutionaries in Paris have quite different views. To them, Adam & Belle represent everything that they hate and are no different than Louis XVI & Marie Antoinette.

In the dead of night, the revolutionaries storm the village and mount a mob using their ever-so-persuasive “if you’re not with us, then you’re against us!” strategy. Anyone who failed to aid in the plundering of the castle would be deemed sympathizers and lose their heads, as well - and that included those who were employed and lived there. 

When LeFou brings word to the castle of the impending attack, Adam and Cogsworth have varying opinions on what aught to be done. Adam, still attempting to make up for everything that he put his staff - his family - through, feels that they should flee. Cogsworth, ever the militant, feels they should stay and fight for what is theirs. But Adam isn’t about to put Belle’s life in danger. Not when merely being married to him had inevitably destined her for the chopping block.

Their window for escape is horribly limited - would they be able to flee to safety in time, or would they all watch everything that they loved burn on the way to the guillotine? 

just little ‘3rd wonder woman viewing in 6 days’ things

  • the wayne enterprises car license plate number starts with “JL”
  • themysciran armadillo
  • the way lil diana says “no sharp edges” is my favorite line delivery of the whole movie, except possibly adult diana cooing “ohhh, a baaaaaby?”
  • lil diana putting on a cloak to sneak out to meet antiope??? like maybe it’s just chilly out but humor me: diana thinking she’s totally gonna fool those guards, they won’t see through a child-sized person in a cloak. nope! sure won’t think to themselves “hmm, could it be THE ONLY CHILD ON THE ISLAND”
  • robin wright’s scars and wrinkles i love her as much now as ever
  • diana unpinning her hair. that’s all. 
  • holy smokes she does lightning-quick outfit changes??? and not one sexualized boob- or thigh-lingering shot god BLESS
  • the music building as diana climbs the ladder to cross no man’s land
  • diana’s smiles!!! when she takes her cloak off in london and etta and steve both freak lmao, at the villagers when they’re thanking her, at charlie when she says “who will sing for us?”
  • CHARLIE’S RETURN :D
  • i really love the look on diana’s face before she and steve have their fade-to-black… instead of being coy and seductive, her eyes are just. huge and dark and her expression is so OPEN they’re so tentative and trusting of each other what the heck
  • chief casually stealing a car and how excited sameer is to drive it
  • also, sameer’s many hats
  • can i please get a comedy (romcom?) about chief, sameer, and charlie post-war omg
  • diana’s pose when she stabs ludendorff… standing with her arms back, her head back, thinking her mother’s work is completed… the lasso’s fucking beautiful in that scene too
  • the way steve says “we are all to blame” and honestly that whole exchange
  • the fact that diana is naive and flawed and loses her faith but she is never beaten down for this; steve is never harsh with her or condescending. he didn’t try to stop her after she saw the dead villagers — he knows humanity just broke her heart twice over — so he holds her face — he presses their foreheads together, he pushes his hair out of his eyes so he can hold her gaze, and he BEGS for her help. 
  • you might think the third time you hear steve say “i wish we had more time,” you’ll be prepared for it. you are wrong about this.
  • the pale pink dawn that rises after ares’ defeat. the hush that falls.
  • “i used to want to save the world” vs “only love can save the world”
  • so diana dedicates herself to becoming it

anonymous asked:

Foxhole beauty and the beast au.... "you're not a monster to me,,," andriel would be so ✨👌🏻👌🏻👌🏻Neil taking refuge with the beast/Andrew bc no one will dare follow him there (except ofc Nathan will eventually)

I thought about this for a while and what I eventually went with is a riff on “The Tiger’s Bride”, a Beauty and the Beast story by Angela Carter. I hope it’s what you wanted!

Nathan Wesninski was utterly unforgiving.

The people in town knew well how Nathan made his living. He never lost a game of cards and those who couldn’t pay simply wound up dead. The village was a den of seedy characters, overrun as it was by gangs. Most people blamed it on someone they called “The Beast.” He lived in an enormous estate on the outskirts of town and though he was their ruler in name, he didn’t intervene in village affairs, preferring to let the citizens kill and swindle each other as they pleased.

Which was why the whole town shuddered when they saw his cloaked figure enter the town, accompanied by three of his men. Nathaniel was busy cleaning a table when the group entered the town and he put down his rag, but didn’t drop his gaze. He wanted to see the creature for himself.

As they approached the bar, the creature himself didn’t speak, but one of his men said, “Our master wants to play a game of cards.”

Nathaniel watched as his father walked over to the group. He grinned his dead smile and Nathaniel bit down on his cheek to avoid the phantom feeling.

“I’m not stupid,” Nathan began, “I know who you are and that you have more money than I could dream of having. I won’t play a game I’m sure to lose something of value on.”

The creature spoke up then, saying, “I have no need for your money.”

“Then why are you here?”

The creature glanced over at Nathaniel, but he could see a face behind the cloak. “Shall we play for him?”

Nathaniel’s eyes flashed flashed with anger at being treated like a mere object, but kept his mouth shut to avoid incurring his father’s wrath. He wasn’t surprised in the least when his father agreed.

A short while later, Nathaniel found himself on a horse en route to his new home. Though he was curious about his surroundings and companions, he stared directly ahead. He would not panic and he would not be afraid. He had faced worse demons than this in his life. And while he loathed his father, his mother was a Hatford and as long as her blood ran through his veins, he would not behave like a caged animal.

No one spoke to him for the duration of the trip and Nathaniel was relieved when they approached a large castle on the edge of the woods. He remembered the tiny room above the tavern that he shared with his father and thought that there were worse prisons than a castle. If he had room to run, he would survive.

They boarded the horses outside and he followed the cloaked figures into the main room of the castle. Once inside, the three travelling with the creature lowered their hoods.

“Ugh, I thought I was gonna die under there!” one of the men cried. He was medium height with tan skin and curly hair.

The tallest one scoffed. He had a tattoo under his eye, though Nathaniel couldn’t tell what it was of. “Shut up, Nicky.”

Nathaniel didn’t bother with any of them and instead headed straight to the so called beast himself.

“Take your hood off,” he demanded.

Without turning around, the creature replied, “What will you give me if I do?”

Nathaniel refused to be intimidated. “What do you want?”

“I don’t hold prisoners. If you want to leave, I won’t stop you. But if you do, I won’t show you my face. If you choose to stay, I’ll take off my cloak.”

Nathaniel put the pieces together. “It was never about me. You were testing my father.”

“He was a weak man. He failed.”

Nathaniel considered the offer and thought of what lay behind him, a past of terror and emptiness. Out of curiosity or madness or the fact that he had nothing left to lose, he said, “Take off your hood and come into the light.”

As the creature lowered the garment to reveal his face, he saw only a man.

“You’re not a monster at all.”

The other man’s answering smile was a twisted thing. “Are you so sure? Don’t be deceived by your eyes.”

Nathaniel moved closer. “I have seen monsters and I am not afraid of you.”

When the man, didn’t answer, Nathaniel pressed on, “Can I know what to call you?”

He paused. “Andrew. And you?”

He grinned. “Neil.”

title: the council
rating: T
summary: sarada uchiha is not one to be played.
author’s note: nothing can convince me that sarada isn’t the perfect balance of strong and sarcastic. she is the sasusaku lovechild.
disclaimer: i don’t own naruto, or any of it’s characters. all rights reserved to tv tokyo, shonen jump and kishimoto.
ps: am i supposed to capitalize the word sharingan? and the names of justus? the world may never know.


It’s true enough that she had her mother’s spirit—her slight akin for kindness and softness under her stone cold, black exterior. She had Sakura’s aptness and almost desperate need to want to heal and protect her loved ones, but she had always been her father’s daughter through and through.

From her hair to her eyes; from the way she hated anything over the top to the way she couldn’t stomach anything remotely sweet; from the way she was born a prodigy to the way everyone seemed to think she took up after Itachi.

Like her uncle, Sarada was a genius and the combination of her sharp eyes and mind let her see the shinobi world for what it truly was and it left her torn; a formidable ninja with the heart of a pacifist. She didn’t mind taking the medical route, but her Uchiha pride and blood didn’t allow to be anything less than the best ninja around town, nothing less than the best for those she loved. 

The love from an Uchiha is a love like no other; it’s deeper, louder, more intense, and not to be handed out lightly. There were few people Sarada could say she truly loved in the world—she didn’t dare extend it beyond her teammates and family. But the love she had for those select few ran deep to her very core and she vowed to herself to do nothing less than protect them until the day she died. She wouldn’t stand for anyone attempting to harm her loved ones, nor did she stand for any slander against them.

So when an elder of the Konoha council seethed about the dangers of the Uchiha and the threat they posed to village, Sarada didn’t blink twice at controlling her temper (she was Sakura and Sasuke’s child after all—she had a tempered unmatched by the most jealous and vengeful of gods).

“What did you just say?” Tone dangerously low, eyes all but barely open as she squinted in the direction of voice that had dared to insult her clan, her family.

Most would agree that a sixteen year old had no business attending a meeting for the clan heads and other important officials and notable shinobi of a major powerhouse in the allied nations. Except if that sixteen year old year girl was a clan head herself, the Captain of the Police Force and the strongest kunoichi of the newest generation of Konoha ninja.

Sarada sat at the lefthand most corner of the round table, to her right, Naruto sat loud and proud at the head of the table, Hanabi Hyuga to her left. Heads of other important Konoha clans sat in succession, followed by military leaders, ANBU captains, research division heads, Granny Tsunade, and the village elders.

The meeting had been called to discuss village security, given the staggering amounts of missing and dead ninja reports on top of requests for ninja escorts and guards from surrounding towns. Hanabi suggested stationing more Hyuga around the borders, to potentially foresee and prevent future attacks or suspicious activity. As head of investigation and interrogation, Ino suggested that Naruto send recon squads to spy and gather further information. Tsunade claimed they ought to focus on the barely living ninja that had been brought back to the hospital in shreds. Naruto listened intently, alarmed at the situation, but content that the group in front of him had such wonderful ideas. Until one of the elders opened their mouths.

“If you want Konoha to be safe, Hokage-sama, I say that you need to start with protecting people from the inside,” Lady Choi grunted. The gray haired woman was nearing 97 years old, but had the sass of a surly nineteen year old. In all there were five elders on the board, Lady Choi and her brother Meno by far the most conservative of the bunch.

“How do you suggest we do that, Lady Choi?” Naruto asked. Old people were never exactly his thing, but dealing with Lady Choi was like dealing with an angry Tsunade—not something he preferred to do.

“If you want this village to be safe, you ought to purge it of internal dangers. Start by getting rid of those murdering ministers in the Uchiha complex. That family has brought nothing but pain and torture to this village for years.”

Eyes at the round table went wide. While Lady Choi was conservative and snarky in conversation, she remained an elder, and few chose to openly reply to her with the same amount of sarcasm and sass that she dished out. Except for Sarada Uchiha.

“Excuse me?” She snarled. “What did you just say?”

Onyx eyes stay fixated on the old woman across the room. Exactly who did this raisin think she was?

“You heard me, child. Those damned Uchiha are the reason for half of the attacks on this village. Hokaga-sama, just how many times have we had rogue ninja sneak past border security looking for that cursed sharingan? They’re murders, a danger to the people of Konoha, and a threat to our security.”

“Murderers? And what do you call our Assassination ANBU unit? I suppose they’re a bunch of holy purgers, correct?” Sarada’s voice dripped sarcasm, her knuckles becoming whiter the harder she gripped on to the table.

“They’re given orders,” Choi retorted, “Those Uchiha kill at their own free will. Itachi Uchiha nearly killed his entire clan, what makes you—”

“Shutup.” Sarada’s voice ripped through the room at a dangerously low octave. All eyes on her, she stood up from her chair, hands firmly on the table, it took all of her strength not to activate mangekyou and end the old woman across from her.

“Who do you think you’re talking to, child? Show some respect.

If there was one thing Sarada hated in the world more than anything, it was being called a child. She had worked far too hard to be diminished to such a status. Her pride wouldn’t let her.

“This child is the head of the Uchiha clan.” she seethed. “You shut your mouth about my uncle, lady. He is not a murderer—”

“Where is your respect? I am a village elder, you ought to be arrested for talking to me like this.”

“Arrested? You’d think you’d know something for being an elder—you can’t arrest the Captain of the Police Force, grandma.”

Choi’s eyes went wide. “This is the new Police Captain, Hokage-sama?” she accused Naruto, bewildered that the youngest Uchiha held such a powerful title. “No matter, insolent child. You ought to have respect for—”

Respect is earned, not handed out like blankets in the winter,” dangerously dark eyes bore through the old woman, “You seem to be the only one not knowing who you’re dealing with here. Tch, you’d think for being as old as you are, you’d know basic social rankings around here.”

Sarada pushed back her chair and crossed her arms. “Village elders sit on a board, thrice removed from the right hand of the Hokage. On par with Clan Heads, first behind the Chief of the Medical Corp, second to the ANBU Black Ops, and third to and furthest removed from the Chief of Police,” she spat, “You’re a nothing but a political figurehead—you advise the Hokage and provide him with a primary source of historical events, but by no means do you have nearly as much power as anyone else at this table. In fact, any nominations or proposals you make and be checked and vetoed by Tsunade-sama, ANBU and me.

The room fell even more quiet than before. Some were shocked, others like Hanabi and Tsunade sat comfortably with a small grin on their face. To Sarada’s right, Naruto sat with his hands folded, chin resting in his palms with a signature grin settled on his face; the three of them had the same thought—just like Sakura.

“Say what you want about power,” Choi retorted. “That’s all you Uchiha are after anyway. I’ve seen too many rogue Uchiha in my lifetime and mark my words you’ll end up just like that monster Itachi, killing off his entire clan and—”

“Because you told him to,” Sarada roared. “If you’re going to talk about my uncle then tell the truth. You and your band of elders are the very people who ordered Itachi Uchiha to kill his family. You told a fifteen year old boy that the only way to save the village was by murdering his family and I’ll be damned if you think I’m going to sit here and let you spread lies about him. He is not a monster and the Uchiha are not murderers. Mind you we built this village—I will not sit here and let you spread lies about my family.”

Then Sarada did the unimaginable; leaned forward, grabbed Choi by her collar and brought her to her level.

“You mark my words: the Uchiha are not your pawns. If you think you can control and manipulate me and then conflate my story to fit your twisted beliefs, then you’re dead wrong. I am my uncle’s niece, my father’s daughter, but I am not the summation of their actions. I will tell their stories but don’t you dare try and tell mine. If you even so much as dare to tell the smallest lie about my family ever again, I’ll show you exactly what happened, so you won’t forget it,” sharingan swirling, Sarada let the old woman go, standing upright again.

“Am I understood?” the blood red of her sharingan piercing through Choi’s mind. Sarada hadn’t dared to activate a jutsu, but the proximity and sight of the legendary doujutsu had been enough to shut Choi’s mouth.

In the tradition of the Uchiha, Sarada leaned forward again, daring and unsatisfied, “I said, am I understood?”

Lady Choi inhaled sharply, looking at the ninja in front of her and around the room. When it was clear to her that not even the other elders were going to defend her, she hesitantly met the red eyes in front of her and nodded gravely, “Yes, Captain.”

With a satisfied smirk, Sarada brushed off her flak jacket and took her seat again, turning to Naruto as if to say she was ready for the meeting to resume.

The blonde Hokage gave his goddaughter a reassuring smile, and looked to Tsunade who had the same look on her face—Sarada Uchiha was most definitely her father’s daughter.

anonymous asked:

OMG I LOVE THE VIETNAM AU. Finally, the reunion! So wonderfully written. But hold the phone WHAT happened to Jamie and why does he look like that and how is Claire gonna heal him? *sigh*

Vietnam AU

“Stuffed cabbage, Claire?”

 

Claire turned to her left, meeting the kind brown eyes of Ian Murray – Jamie’s best friend and brother-in-law.

 

“Sure – is it grown here on the farm as well?”

 

Ian served her a good-sized helping. Jenny – at her right – poured a bit more wine into the tall glass by her plate.

 

“Most of the simple vegetables come straight from the kailyard – always have, as long as we can remember. Nothing is as fresh to us. Or as rewarding.”

 

Claire took a tentative bite, keeping her eyes firmly on the gorgeous old dinner plate – clearly used only for special occasions – as Jamie’s foot silently nudged hers beneath the table.

 

Somewhere around three that afternoon, Ian had hobbled down to the barn – he had lost his leg in a childhood car accident, Jamie later explained – finding a doubly rare sight. Jamie Fraser was idle – and Jamie Fraser was in the company of a woman.

 

That he had somehow, sometime told Jenny and Ian who she was had been clear – but just exactly what they knew about her was not. She had helped Jenny and the kind housekeeper Mrs. Crook prepare dinner – over Jenny’s protests that a guest should rest – seeking the opportunity to quietly introduce herself to Jamie’s sister, and needing the time away from him to just reflect on her whirlwind day. She had had months – years – to prepare. He had had no notice, and yet had taken it all in so gracefully.

 

Had pledged himself to her, fully. Unequivocally.

 

Would she do the same for him?

 

She’d immediately accepted his offer of a place to stay for the night. Jamie had proudly shown her to one of the beautifully apportioned rooms on the second floor of the Big House – Lallybroch – sharing incredible stories of the many Frasers whose blood and sweat had been poured into the very stones and floorboards of the house since before the Revolution.

 

Light streamed through the windows of the room that was to be Claire’s – the hand-carved bed covered in a worn but exquisite blue bedspread that had been quilted by Jamie’s grandmother MacKenzie; two plush armchairs of a 1940s vintage cozily angled before a small fireplace; on the wall above the bed, a vibrant watercolor of the Big House amid the glowing orange leaves of autumn.

 

“There should be some spare clothes in the bureau,” Jamie remarked softly, remaining just inside the doorway as Claire quietly acquainted herself with the room. “And my Mam painted that when I was small. We have her drawings and paintings up all over the house.”

 

From her position at the window, admiring the kitchen garden and small orchard of fruit trees clustered near the old outhouse, Claire turned to smile at him. “Do you paint?”

 

He shrugged. “I’ve tried. But Jenny has the real talent for it – some of her pieces are downstairs.” He paused, licking his lips. “Well then. I’ll be down in the study with Ian. Have some orders to straighten out for tomorrow. Will – ”

 

“I’ll be all right,” she reassured him. “Thank you, Jamie. Truly.”

 

His smile – small, glowing – was absolutely beautiful. “Thank *you*, Claire.” Then he turned and disappeared down the hall.

 

“The apples in that pie you helped me with come right from the orchard – great-grandmother Fraser planted them, right after the War Between The States,” Jenny continued. Claire snapped back to the present as the toe of Jamie’s boot curled around the back of her shin.

 

“I’m normally not much help in the kitchen, but you’ve all been so incredibly warm and generous – ”

 

“Nonsense,” Ian insisted, tearing up a piece of Mrs. Crook’s thick homemade oat bread – a bannock, Jamie had called it – for his three-year-old son – Jamie’s namesake holding court at the worn but homely kitchen table between his father and uncle. “You’ve made Jamie smile again. Lord knows that’s been a rare sight since he returned from ‘Nam.”

 

Jamie withdrew his foot – and Claire looked across the half-empty portions of roasted pork and Brussel sprouts and corn bread. Meeting his intense blue gaze. Hoping her eyes could convey everything her voice could not.

 

 

Apple pie and whisky before the fire in the sitting room – lined floor to ceiling with books dating from the 18th century all the way up to shiny new editions of Slaughterhouse-Five and In Cold Blood. Comfortable silence between them when Jenny and Ian departed to tuck the children into bed. And then when Claire had yawned for the fifth time, Jamie rose, banked the fire, and helped her rise from the couch. Then gently led her upstairs to the room that would be hers for as long as she wished. Holding her hand the entire time.

 

They paused in the doorway.

 

“Will you be warm enough? There are extra blankets in the hallway closet – ”

 

Claire rested her hands on his solid shoulders. “I’ll be just fine. I’m not fragile, you know.”

 

He settled his hands on her hips, eyes creasing with happiness in the dim light of the hallway. The silence of the house buzzed in their ears.

 

“I know you aren’t,” he breathed.

 

Then drew her close – holding her. Enveloping her. Feeling her melt against him – her heart thrum in time with his.

 

After a long while she pushed back, kissed the corner of his mouth, and quietly slid out of his arms.

 

“I’ll be right here, down the hall,” he whispered. Eyes dark.

 

She blew him a teasing kiss, then quietly swung the heavy oak door shut.

 

On both sides of the door, Jamie and Claire rested their foreheads against the wood. And sighed.

 

 

Despite her exhaustion, Claire slept fitfully. Tossing and turning on the heavenly soft mattress and under the almost sinfully warm quilt. So many images flashing through her mind – the bullet-scarred palm tree on the helicopter pad at Chu Lai; the faded anchor tattooed on the forearm of her anatomy instructor; the checked shirt Uncle Lamb loved to wear when presenting his latest findings to a group of his peers. The graceful, invisible shapes Jamie had traced with his hands as he shared stories about himself and his Fraser forebears – helping her learn about all the gifts he would give her.

 

Did she belong here? Could she belong here – the lady of this great house? Sharing such a well-respected name? Enjoying dinner every night in the rustic kitchen built two centuries ago, surrounded by so many Frasers, alive and dead? Quietly at peace here on the ridge which Frasers had called home for longer than Beauchamps had been in America?

 

No.

 

Yes.

 

Perhaps.

 

The house groaned and settled around her – easing into sleep.

 

Except the shuffle of steps in the hallway. Pausing outside her room, then continuing down the stairs.

 

At least she wasn’t the only restless person tonight. Jenny, perhaps? Maggie was still nursing – perhaps just another late-night feed?

 

Claire wrapped the tartan blanket – Fraser colors, Jamie had told her – from the foot of the bed around her shoulders, draped over the App State t-shirt and flannel pants that had been neatly folded in the bottom drawer of the bureau, gently pushed open the door, and stepped downstairs.

 

Only one room to visit at this time of night – the parlor, where books and the warmth of the fire could lull even the most restless to sleep.

 

But it wasn’t Jenny who sought solace, deep in the night.

 

Jamie stood after adding a fresh log to the fire, rubbing his face with his hands, clad in an olive-green Army-issued t-shirt and worn white long johns.

 

Claire must have made a sound – for his head snapped up, startled.

 

“Can’t sleep?”

 

His wide, sweet mouth twisted in a wry smile. “You could say that. I haven’t had a full night’s sleep in three years.”

 

Claire blinked harshly in shock. “You mean – ”

 

“Yes – since Chu Lai. I – well.” He swallowed, grasping for words. “I re-live all of it every night.”

 

She crossed the room to stand in front of him. Rested a tentative hand on his elbow. “Tell me?”

 

He did. Terrible storied of men blown to pieces. Villages burned. Dead livestock floating face-down in rice paddies. The faces of men he couldn’t save. Memories of pain, and anguish, and isolation.

 

“And the worst one –” his voice broke.

 

At this point they had curled up together at the corner of the couch, her legs tucked against his, sharing the warmth of the plaid. She squeezed his clammy hand. Encouraging.

 

“The worst one is when the VC attack Chu Lai – and I can’t find you, Claire. I can’t protect you. And then I’m scrambling down the hallway and they’re firing at me and I trip over your body.”

 

He wouldn’t look at her – preferring to stare into the hypnotic flames.

 

She wiped the tears from his eyes. Stunned.

 

“Have you ever told this to anyone?” Her fingers twined in his hair, damp with sweat. Bringing his face to rest in the curve of her neck.

 

All he could do was shake his head. Breathing hard. Burrowing closer to her.

 

“Nobody here understands. I’m a war hero. The owner of this estate. I’m not supposed to be scared. I’m not supposed to have a back twisted with scars. I’m not supposed to be terrified of going to sleep every night.”

 

Claire eased onto his lap. “Shh,” she soothed. “I’m here. Just let go, Jamie.”

 

He inhaled deeply. Shakily.

 

“Let go,” she repeated. “I understand. I’m here. You don’t have to pretend.”

 

A beat.

 

Then –

 

“I love you.”

 

His awed, red-rimmed eyes lifted to meet hers. Smiling through the tears.

 

Then her lips found his – and they clung to each other in desperation and joy.