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hussyknee · 2 months

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I really like the political conversations in Will Darling. In Slippery Creatures, the bad guy has some powerful truths and valid arguments to put down that any leftist would agree with, until the logic inexplicably runs into a wall that only fanaticism can punch through.

“So Zodiac pits itself against the corruption of wealth, and the structures of entrenched power.” Libra’s eyes lit as he spoke. “We want to bring it down, Mr. Darling, all of it. The palaces, whether Westminster or Buckingham. Whitehall and the White House, the Champs-Elysées and Wall Street. The whole sordid structure of capital and empire, built on lies and designed to oppress the common man. Men like you, sent to war as cannon fodder for a squabble between royal cousins, then brought back and flung on the scrapheap because the country that demanded you should bleed won’t pay for your bandages. We want to sweep it all away, destroy the systems and begin again, this time with all men equal.”

“Sounds good,” Will said. “And that starts with spreading plague?”

“It starts with destruction. There’s no choice. When the French Revolution beheaded a king, they merely created the space for an emperor. The Germans made themselves a republic and cried out for socialism, yet their new national assembly is still filled with the upper classes, the same faces as before. If Mr. MacDonald’s Labour Party should be elected, how long do you think it will take before Labour members of parliament emerge from the ranks of the titled and wealthy? Power clings to power: that is the universal truth, and tinkering at the edges of the great structures of power will not change anything. We must raze them to the ground.”

Will nodded slowly. The light in Libra’s eyes was a flame now, the sort of flame that lit bonfires under people. He unquestionably believed what he said, and he had a good point, at that. “All right. But how many ordinary people will suffer when you raze everything to the ground?”

“How many suffer now?” Libra demanded. “How many millions died in the war? How many are dying down mines and in factories and on the streets because they can’t afford the rent of a room? Why do we count the cost of change, but not the cost of the world staying the same?”

Will opened his mouth, stopped, considered. “Fair. Powerful, even. One question, though: When we sweep away all the structures of power and start off with a blank slate, what’s to stop the same thing happening again? People want a leader. Say you knock everything down. What I��d expect next is a strong man to come out on top, pull an army together, give himself a nice big house and a fancy hat, and off we go, just like before. Well, just take Russia. Who’s going to prevent that?”

“And that is why we need Zodiac!” Libra said, as if Will was agreeing with him. “This isn’t destruction for its own sake, the childishness of the mere anarchist. Zodiac will bring a new order into being, guided by principles of justice and equality.”

“There’s my answer. The people setting the principles and enforcing them will be the ones on top, won’t they? So who's going to be the first-among-equals of your new paradise?” Kim had mentioned one of them. Will searched his memory. “Your mate Capricorn?”

In Sugared Game, Kim himself recounts his disenchantment with the Bolshevik groups he had used to believe in so fervently.

“Fanatic, idealist.” Kim waved a hand. “I thought there was a better way for everyone. I believed—still do—that the war was nothing but empires squabbling for resources, with the blood of millions used to keep the engine running. I refused to be involved in mass murder, and tried my hardest to be gaoled as a conscientious objector, though my father put paid to that. I sincerely cheered the Revolution in 1917 and looked forward to the British equivalent. And then reports started coming in of the bloodbath.”

“You thought it would be a bloodless revolution? Because you don’t get many of them.”

“I know. But the fact of children lined up and shot—I told myself the aristocracy had brought it on themselves, that they had sowed the wind and were reaping the whirlwind, but by 1919 and the atrocities of the civil war, I couldn’t hide behind that any more. I couldn’t persuade myself mass slaughter was the beginning of a fairer society; I could only think of how the French had guillotined their king and created a vacancy for an emperor.”

Well, yes, Will thought. Obviously whoever came out on top of any society would be a power-hungry arsehole: that was how the world worked. “You really were an idealist,” he said aloud. “Is that so surprising?”

It was, considering his grimy goings-on these days. Or maybe it wasn’t; maybe spoiled innocence tarnished faster than healthy cynicism. The thought gave Will the same uncomfortable feeling as Kim’s scars.

“I was sickened,” Kim went on. “Whereas my comrades, the ones with whom I’d planned a British revolution, were positively thrilled. They talked with enthusiasm about setting up a British Cheka. They wanted a secret police and summary killing of class traitors. Most of them were Oxford and Cambridge men of birth, I should observe.”

“Of course they were.”

“They revelled in the idea of mass execution, bodies in the streets. I can’t convey what it was like to watch civilised people go through the intellectual gymnastics necessary to persuade themselves that state murder was first a regrettable necessity, and then a high treat.”

“I suppose you’d need to,” Will said. “If what you believe in goes wrong, either you let go the belief, or you believe even harder.”

“And it hurts to let go. God, it hurts.”

The whole thing is like a rundown of how you get Tankies. Wanting radical change isn't a bad thing, but radicalism untempered by ethics and humanity horseshoes back to fascism.

#vote blue liberals dont touch this post #tankies #revolutions #social justice #totalitarianism #fascism #leftism #western leftists #will darling adventures #kj charles #october revolution #world war i #historical fiction #queer historical fiction #queer historical romance #book recs #book recommendations #knee of huss

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 3 months

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Why Navalny was hated in the Kremlin and in some Western circles

The late Russian opposition politician had a unifying spirit that threatened the beneficiaries of conflict.

[Leonid Ragozin :: Leonid Ragozin is a freelance journalist based in Riga.]

It doesn’t matter what caused the death of Russian politician Alexey Navalny; he was killed by Vladimir Putin’s regime.

It was a slow execution that started with his poisoning with the Novichok chemical agent in 2020 and proceeded with sadistic torture in prison after his insanely daring move to return to Russia in January 2021.

The official version about a blood clot suddenly killing the 47-year-old politician on Friday may or may not be true, but the blame for his death still remains squarely with the Russian president.

Navalny was outstanding in every sense. Head and shoulders above all Russian and likely all contemporary European politicians in terms of charisma and bravery, he was a figure of hope that exuded immense optimism and displayed an irresistible sense of humour until his very last days in prison in the Arctic.

He was a character akin to the Hummingbird in Salman Rushdie’s Midnight’s Children, a charismatic politician trying to prevent the spilt of the newly independent India. Navalny was a highly inspiring and unifying personality that was capable of bringing together what was breaking apart in this current epoch of conflict and polarisation.

With his anticorruption crusade that exposed the illicit riches of top regime figures in a series of brilliantly produced YouTube videos, he built a vast support base and Russia’s biggest regional opposition network. He brought together liberals, nationalists and left-wingers – everyone who was tired of the corrupt securitocracy that has ruled Russia for a quarter-century.

Navalny took opposition politics out of Moscow and St Petersburg into distant regions and small towns. Internet-savvy and very well versed in contemporary culture, he brought about a generational shift in the ranks of Russian opposition. His following to a large extent comprised 20-somethings or even teens who have never experienced any other political regime than Putin’s.

He embodied the hope that changes could be brought about by non-violent resistance in the style of the velvet revolutions that brought down the communists in 1989-91. Born to a Ukrainian father and having spent some of his happiest childhood days in Ukraine, Navalny could have also potentially helped mend the rift between the two neighbours currently locked in a bloody war.

Although his death is squarely on Russia’s political leadership, the hope he represented was shattered by the renewed geopolitical confrontation between Russia and the US-led West. He was a thorn in the eye of the beneficiaries of this conflict – first and foremost among them being Putin himself.

But Navalny and his movement were also an object of incessant bashing by anti-Russian troll farms and hawkish pro-Ukrainian figures linked to the military-industrial complex and securitocratic blobs in the capitals of NATO countries.

Accusations thrown at Navalny boiled down to him being a Russian nationalist who would have done the same thing as Putin – but perhaps even more efficiently because he would have clamped down on corruption.

In the beginning of his political career, Navalny indeed flirted with far-right politics, but he drifted away from it to straightforward pro-Western liberalism a long time ago.

There is no straightforward answer to the question of how Navalny would have acted had he indeed become the Russian president instead of Putin. It is indeed difficult to say to what extent all that happened between Russia, Ukraine and the West was about personalities. It is important to remember Putin himself underwent an evolution from a West-backed nominee of the Russian liberal elite to a murderous authoritarian – a process in which the West’s frivolous and arrogant attitude to Russia’s core security interests played no small role.

A few weeks into Russia’s full-out invasion of Ukraine two years ago, one of the main spokespeople for the Ukrainian government at the time, Oleksiy Arestovych, said that a Russian liberal-democrat president would have also invaded Ukraine in the same manner – such was the logic of geopolitical confrontation.

That kind of thinking presumes that the US-led West was intent on humiliating Russia in the way no Russian leader would have ever accepted – delivering a strategic defeat upon it. That’s indeed something that many hawkish commentators in the West are calling for today.

Navalny was first and foremost a Russian politician, which is why he made what felt like a suicidal choice to return to Russia after surviving the poisoning.

That was the only way to remain politically relevant in Russia. He didn’t want to be anyone’s stooge. In the West, he would have been at best like General Charles de Gaulle in London during World War II – mistrusted and isolated. How would have he managed the insane xenophobic attacks on social platforms his exiled allies are being subjected to on a daily basis now? How would have he reacted to visa and travel restrictions that harm anti-Putin Russian exiles to a much greater extent than the supporters of the regime?

Unlike de Gaulle, he would have had few chances of returning and playing a role as the geopolitical conflict was strengthening Putin’s regime and threatening to usher another half a century of cold war and iron curtains in Europe.

In Russia, he thought he could at least gamble on the growing war fatigue and become an East European version of Nelson Mandela, waiting for the hour of freedom.

Had he miraculously succeeded in coming to power, he would have still faced a very hostile West inclined towards defeating and humiliating Russia rather than finding a common language and an uneasy compromise.

Yet, he was a very different man than Putin in that he was simply not the kind of politician who thrived on conflict. He was not a man from the current epoch of confrontation and polarisation. He perhaps belonged to the better future that Eastern Europe may still attain after years of misery.

Would he have succeeded in finding compromise-leaning interlocutors in the West and sidelining trigger-happy hawks? He would have had a fair chance. This is why he was such an unloved figure in those circles.

Navalny is a tragic figure and in that sense perhaps only comparable to Ukraine’s Volodymyr Zelenskyy – initially a highly unifying pro-peace figure who is now forced to wage an increasingly hopeless battle against the grand master of conflict, Vladimir Putin.

But Navalny has nurtured a generation that may have dozens or hundreds like him in its ranks who can work to achieve the “beautiful Russia of the future” as he famously called it in his main political manifesto.

#Alexei Navalny #Leonid Ragozin #articles #Russia #Putin #remembrance

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sunphroggy · 3 years

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sbi headcanons but it's mostly Tommy, Wilbur and Techno

-Wilbur and Techno are twins. Techno is older by five minutes and never fails to mention that when he and Will are arguing. This pisses Wilbur off to the extent where he starts throwing shit.

-"You can't just come in to my room and steal my shit!" "Yes I can I'm older than you." "We're twins!" "You need to learn to respect your elders."

-They're both naturally blonde but got annoyed when people kept mixing them up with the other, so they dyed their hair pink and brown respectively.

-Wilbur is the one that will constantly bully Technoblade, but the moment someone else does it he'll rush in to defend his brother by force.

-That being said, ever fight always ends with Wilbur calling for Techno's help. And Techno always floors a bitch.

-They both did ballet. Techno is the only one that stuck to it though. Wilbur gravitated more to music.

-Wilbur tried so hard to teach Techno to play the guitar but he kept snapping the strings.

-Tommy is adopted. He was only a baby when Phil adopted him and it was a closed adoption so he doesn't remember much about his birth family.

-Sometimes, when he misses them, he'll make up stories about them in his head. His personal favourite is that his mother is an astronaut named Clara that had to go up for a mission and that's the reason she gave him up for adoption, but her ship got stranded in space and now she just floats among the planets.

-He told this to Phil once, when he was only six and made a drawing of Clara the Astronaut. Phil put up on the fridge right next to Wilbur's report card and a flyer for Techno's ballet recital.

-Wilbur was ecstatic when he found out he was getting a younger brother so he could pull the 'I'm older card' on someone for once.

-Technoblade (though he will never, ever admit it, not on his life) was extremely fond of Tommy from the moment Phil brought him home and was often the one actively playing with him all the time.

-The two of them used to play a game they called 'Warriors' where they would wrap sheets around their shoulders, carry around sticks from the backyard like swords and pretend to take down corrupt goverments. It's a special thing, just between them.

-Phil thought that Tommy was a bit young to be taking down corrupt governments.

-"You can never be too young to convert to anarchy, dad"

-Wilbur tried to get in on this game once. He was cast as the evil king they had to kill and it ended with Will covered in mud and dirt. He never asked to play again.

-This game is where Techno is given the nickname 'The Blade' by Tommy. (He had the dopeyest smile on his face while Tommy's back was turned)

-No one else is allowed to call Techno The Blade. Only Tommy. Techno will not respond to it if you do.

-Techno is also the first person Tommy goes to when he needs anything. Especially help with homework. This is because Techno can't say no to Tommy. Ever.

-Of course, Tommy exploits this. Especially when he and Will are arguing.

-There has been many "No please don't tell dad I didn't mean it I didn't mean look hit me back just hit me back" moments

-None of the boys knows what Phil does for a living. The man's life is a mystery to them each time he steps out the door for work.

-Board games are a big thing in the family. They have game night every week. Winner picks what they have for dinner.

-Monopoly isn't that competitive. They don't play it often because Techno wins after ten rounds and Wilbur gives long dramatic speechs about the world of capitalism and the economy. Tommy is always the racecar.

-But pictionary??

-Now that's their shit.

-None of them have any artistic talent (apart from Phil, who can draw dogs pretty well) and it usually results in threats of pencils being stabbed on one's eye and sheets of paper forcefully ripped up and, on Tommy's part, eaten.

-This happens most when Wilbur and Tommy are teamed up together.

-"What the fuck even it that? A headless chicken? Oh! A three legged dog! Uh, uh, a unicorn!" "The answer was chocolate chip cookie, Wilbur you blind fuck."

-For one of Techno's recitals, Wilbur and Tommy made a giant ass sign that said 'DANCE YOU PINK HAIRED FUCKER DANCE' in huge glittery writing.

-the spacing was all off though, like that one John mulaney bit.

-Techno pretended he didn't know them afterwards. The stubborn bastard walked home.

#sbi headcanons #sbi family #sleepy bois inc #tommyinnit #technoblade #Wilbur soot #headcanons

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hualianff · 3 years

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Vampire/Human AU

(Slight NSFW, angst)

Thinking about vampire HC who owns a vampire-friendly bar with humans who apply as donors to supply fresh blood for vampires willing to pay the expensive prices. When a human with beautiful amber eyes, soft facial features, and blood that smells absolutely delectable, walks in, every vampire whips their heads towards the door. The human approaches one of the staff, YY, to inquire about becoming a donor. HC watches as the enticing morsel follows YY into a room to finalize his application.

Right after the human leaves thirty minutes later–YY probably having said it would take a few days to find him a match–HC pulls YY aside, demanding to have a look over the papers the new donor filled out. After a quick scan, HC shoves the papers back to YY with a click of his tongue,

“No need to find him a match. He’s mine.”

A human whose blood smells heavenly, who has never been bitten or even nipped by a vampire. HC wants to corrupt him. Ruin him.

The next night, HC has the human, XL, meet him in his personal feeding room. There’s a luxurious velvet couch to the side, a pristine glass table with fancy wine and glasses, and a king-sized bed with crimson silk laid upon the mattress.

HC, like most vampires, typically feeds while stimulating their donors. This can be done with something as simple as kissing or full-on intercourse. Not only does this relax the human’s nerves so they won’t tense up before being bitten, but the toxins injected into their system after being bitten feels incredibly euphoric, serving as a kind of aphrodisiac. Many humans donate their blood in this way for the sole reason of attaining this heightened sense of pleasure.

But as soon as XL enters the room in front of HC, his mind freezes as he sees the bed.

“I’m a virgin,” he blurts out, wide eyes panicked as he looks at the vampire. HC raises his eyebrow, unperturbed.

“We can work with that.”

XL gulps.

“I’ve also never kissed anyone.”

HC runs a tongue along his sharp fangs.

“Do you want to change that?” The vampire asks, walking up behind the human, pressing his chest against XL’s back. HC hears XL’s heart rate pick up at the proposition. It’s an unspoken yes, though XL also imperceptibly nods his head. He does not see HC’s lips spread into a vicious grin. However, XL does feel lips brush against the shell of his ear, sending shivers down his spine.

“Use your words, precious. Do you want to be kissed? Want to be touched, experience pleasure beyond comprehension?” HC murmurs, skimming his lips across XL’s nape. “I can fuck you too. Push into your little body as I sink my fangs into your neck. I’d place them right here-“ HC taps XL’s jugular, the human jerking to the side with a gasp. “-oh? So sensitive. All the better. I can make you feel so good.”

XL’s breath quickens, ever so slightly leaning back into HC’s tall frame. HC leans forward to catch a glimpse of those doe eyes regarding him with caution. Oh, how he wants to eat this human alive. HC turns XL around by his shoulders. He lowers his head to bump foreheads with XL, forcing the human to look into his red-tinged eyes.

“Is that a yes?”

XL blinks those doe eyes once, then twice.

“Yes.”

HC brings his hand up to brush a hair away from the human’s head.

“Wonderful.”

***

XL is at the point in his life when he lost everything. He chose to pursue a career outside of his parents’ embroidery business despite being expected to take over the shop after college. Abandoning college altogether, XL went off on his own to chase his dream to become a singer.

A few years later, where XL was provinces away from home, XL’s parents’ business had gone under, devastating them as they could no longer pay for their medical bills. Upon hearing the news, XL rushed back home to take care of them. It seemed they had kept their declining health conditions under wraps. They were too prideful to admit their weakening physical states; they also did not want to guilt XL into giving up on his ambitions to take care of them.

XL’s parents lasted one year before passing away, his father first due to prostate cancer, his mother one month later after succumbing to exhaustion and grief. XL lost their home along with the shop merely a week later, unable to pay off the debt. His parents had used up their savings for their medical expenses and XL had been scraping by as a musician for years. Additionally, there was no one he could confide in. He had lost contact with his friends as he moved from city to city, busking on streets, attempting to catch the attention of music labels.

XL was utterly alone. There were days when not even music could bring an ounce of comfort. However, music was the thing that kept him sane between the various side jobs he managed to pick up to keep him off the streets.

As if the fates decided XL had had enough bad luck for a lifetime, a CEO of a fairly well-known label offered him a business card after a busking session. It was JW of Capital Records who gave XL hope of achieving his dream. XL spent most of his late 20s under the label, training and practicing and producing. He had the chance to record a couple of singles and one mini-album–which he didn’t get to participate much in the production side–but other than that, XL didn’t make it far. He was tremendously overworked and yet, still discarded to the side.

Wondering why he wasn’t provided the opportunities other artists received to further their careers, XL scheduled a one-on-one meeting with the CEO to ask what he was lacking. JW had insisted he could give XL more opportunities if XL could offer something more than just his serene vocals and pretty face.

The unspoken suggestion that XL offer up his body pierced his heart with yet another stake. Overwhelming disappointment and betrayal crashed into XL, but perhaps he should have known better that the whole situation was too good to be true. XL vehemently rejected this idea, angering JW who eventually tore XL down to the point of a medical emergency that allowed him to leave the agency without repercussions.

At age thirty-two, XL was left with no family, mental and physical trauma, and a dying will. Ironically enough, the song lyrics he’d written after experiencing so much loss were the closest thing to making music he’d gotten. But in the end, XL still felt like a failure.

Now in Xi’an, XL was left with limited options to earn money for rent. He already worked two part-time jobs in addition to writing music—though even time set aside for this has dwindled.

One night, as XL was walking home after closing up the convenience store, he saw the neon lights of the sign “Ghost City.” He’s heard many things about this club and is no stranger to the existence of nonhuman creatures roaming amongst human society. After hours of research, XL decided to apply to become a blood donor. It’s not like he had a better option that paid more anyway.

XL’s hope to somehow redeem his past actions has all but fizzled out. He doesn’t expect a vampire like HC to care about his comfort or consent when feeding, though HC still prioritizes these things for some reason.

XL has never looked at his body and thought about the best ways to pleasure himself. HC shows him how. HC caresses and kisses XL like he’s worth being handled with care; HC also invades XL’s body as a threat to break it, broadcasting a vampire’s strength, speed, and endurance in the bedroom.

XL can go as far as to say he even looks forward to his time with HC. In between a busy work life and dealing with people who would rather look the other way than give him the time of day, XL’s mind and body steadily weaken.

It starts with memory loss, where XL can’t clearly remember the conversations he’d had the day before. One of the reasons this develops is because he goes through many days without having anyone to tell about his day. It’s like the life XL lives is so insignificant, nothing about it is worth remembering.

Then, it’s the lack of eating. Most of XL’s money goes towards rent, essentials, and groceries. But he’s not a great cook. And he’s already drained by the time he gets home after working both jobs and visiting Ghost City. XL’s stress doesn’t help, adding to the fatigue that gradually shuts his body down.

While HC might not be able to taste a difference in XL’s blood, he does notice how frail the human moves around. How delayed XL responds, more so than he should be–even as a human. XL has scheduled more visits: three times a week this time. However, his words become less. He stops telling the little stories that brought a small smile to his face. XL doesn’t even mention the songs he’s been working on lately.

HC forces himself to ask about them after an especially rough coupling.

“How’s the songwriting going, darling?” HC asks quietly. He props his elbow upon his pillow, resting his cheek on his hand as he intently observes the human struggling to catch his breath, eyelids fluttering.

“I haven’t written anything new,” XL breathily answers. HC purses his lips. He ducks down to affectionately tongue at the skin his fangs pierced.

“No? In how long?” HC asks. XL sighs heavily.

“Maybe three weeks.”

HC doesn’t know what to say to that. He’s not one to console anybody. No one had afforded him that luxury, and naturally, he did not grant anyone else his concern. The silence that follows is unbearable.

***

The next time XL visits, he’s the one to initiate their first kiss. HC growls happily against his human’s lips, pinning him against the closed door of his private room. XL moans obscenely as HC languidly licks into his mouth. His arms desperately wrap around HC’s neck to bring him closer.

“Someone’s eager,” HC says with a chuckle as he pulls back. XL instantly attaches his lips to the vampire’s jaw, peppering light kisses along the pale skin. HC can’t help but think he’s taught his little human well. XL hums while trailing his lips back to HC’s, capturing them in a kiss that’s the sweetest one yet.

HC should’ve noticed how unstable XL’s legs seemed, how dreadful the bags under his eyes looked before indulging in their bedroom activities. He should’ve kept track all along of how thin XL is, how much more skin and bone he had become. HC is certainly not one to intrude on someone else’s life and scrutinize all their choices. But he should’ve said something sooner.

Maybe then, XL’s heart wouldn’t have stuttered so violently, or completely stopped beating for five counts.

HC watches in horror as XL’s eyes roll into the back of his head. His human’s body goes limp in his arms, collapsing into HC’s chest. When XL’s heart beat starts up again, it’s very weak. There’s a noticeable abnormality in its rhythm.

HC quickly gathers XL in his arms and speeds to the bed. He sits back against the pillow, placing XL to recline against his front. HC hooks his arms around XL’s middle from behind, anxiously listening to XL’s irregular heartbeat that seems like it takes all of his human’s energy to pump. Luckily, XL awakens a few minutes later. He registers a cold embrace and warm puffs of breath lingering near his ear.

“Did I pass out?” XL wheezes out, unconsciously melting into the body behind him.

“Yes,” HC says tightly. “Your heartbeat is uneven. Something is wrong.”

XL can’t tell if he’s imagining it but that sounded like worry in the vampire’s tone.

“Oh.”

HC inhales sharply.

“You just fainted, Xie Lian. Hell, your heart just stopped for a few seconds, and all you have to say is ‘oh?’” HC grinds out.

So he is upset. XL swallows thickly, not wanting to escalate things and further upset the vampire.

“It’s okay,” XL says. “I’m okay-“

“No. You’re not,” HC interrupts.

XL takes a deep breath, wincing slightly as HC tightens his arms around his hips. He’s more sensitive than normal, XL realizes. Before XL can defend himself further, HC grasps XL’s chin and turns his head to face the vampire.

“You’re hiding something from me,” he states. He hears XL’s heart speed up. “There’s no use in lying. I can tell you’ve grown weaker since you first came.”

“Well, I have been donating my blood to a certain vampire for a few months now. I’m bound to be a bit weak in my legs,” XL replies as a matter of factly. He means to poke fun at the situation rather than acknowledge the severity of it. HC knows this because he’s done it numerous times himself. But when XL does it, it makes HC’s blood boil.

“Are you saying I am causing this- this deterioration in your health?” HC asks tensely. XL lets out a gasp, whirling around in HC’s arms, immediately backpedaling.

“No! No, not at all.”

HC’s eyes assess his human who trembles slightly in his arms. He cradles XL in between his legs, hands shifting XL further up his body so he can rest his head on HC’s chest. HC gently pets XL’s hair, an action that was uncharacteristic of him months ago, before XL had walked through the entrance of his bar.

XL gently smiles in an attempt to placate the vampire.

HC’s eyes flash a frightening scarlet.

“I don’t believe you.”

XL’s face crumples.

“It’s true! I’ve just been really busy is all. Work has been hectic and- and-“ gone is the innocence that HC once saw in XL’s doe eyes, instead replaced by stress and utter brokenness that alarms the vampire to no end. A voice in the back of HC’s head snarls that those emotions had always been behind XL’s eyes; they were simply better hidden, and HC had been too lust-driven to notice.

XL continues his rambling, frantically shaking his head. “-I took some extra shifts because I needed the money to pay for some water damage that flooded half my apartment. I’m fine—truly.“

If HC had a beating heart, it would have dropped down to his stomach at the sudden realization. His fingers dig into the paper-thin skin of XL’s hips, then trace up the bony knobs of his spine.

“You’re not eating right.”

“Wait- S-san Lang-“

The nickname HC had asked XL to call him is hurdled back into his face like a stone aimed to shatter. It sounds like a cry for help.

“And you’re not getting enough sleep,” HC concludes with a disapproving frown. His eyes now glow a deep crimson, matching the silken sheets that HC ensures are in perfect condition every time XL visits.

“Fuck, XIE LIAN, you know you need proper nutrition and rest to recover from each night you spend with me!” HC is nearly shouting now, voice wavering out of his control. Who knew another creature could make him feel so strongly?

“I-I am!”

“I SAID NOT TO LIE TO ME. I CAN TELL WHEN YOU’RE NOT BEING HONEST,” HC explodes, spatting those words with a poison that he often uses with uncooperative subordinates, but never directed at XL before.

Tears glisten in XL’s eyes as he’s cornered with no way out, no relief from the building pressure that suffocates him. Right now, after everything XL has been through, this seems to be his tipping point. He never expected HC to care this much. Or perhaps HC is just concerned his reliable supply of blood is flaking out on him, just when he’s had a feasible taste.

XL is sure HC has plenty of other donors to feed on. It’s not like XL is particularly special in that way. Frankly speaking, XL had time and time again asked the universe to give him one last sign that his life mattered in some capacity. But if he couldn’t see the value in his own life, who else could?

XL scrambles off from HC’s lap, allowing himself to speak with the deep-seated spite that has grown in his heart like an untamable weed.

“THERE’S NO NEED TO GET SO WORKED UP OVER MY HEALTH!! I’LL BE GONE SOON ANYWAY! THE DOCTOR GAVE ME THREE MORE MONTHS,” XL screams, having to catch his breath after exerting so much power into his voice. “So there. You have my answer. I’m not lying this time. Just one a couple more months and then- then you won’t have to deal with my shit anymore, okay?”

HC can’t move. He can’t speak either. The shock taking over his system renders his mind and body completely useless. He can only stare blankly at XL whose tears now cascade down his cheeks.

No, this cannot be happening-

XL’s whimpers pull HC out of his head. The human hugs his own frail body, shivering from a coldness that does not exist in the room.

How did HC let it get so bad?

“I’m sick, San Lang. Very, very sick. Not just physically,” XL whispers defeatedly, letting out a small hiccup.

HC doesn’t hesitate to surge forward to throw his arms around XL, hugging him once more. It’s a habit now—to hold XL whenever he could. Now, HC wonders how many more times he would get this chance before it was inevitably the last.

“Xie Lian…”

“I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I-I just can’t eat. Sometimes from stress, other times I completely forget. And I want to rest, but I end up laying in bed awake for hours a-and my mind just won’t let me sleep-”

For the first time in over a decade, there is someone else to hear XL’s agonized wails.

“Please believe me, San Lang. Please."

#tgcf #heaven official's blessing #tian guan ci fu #hualian #hualian au #cerdrabbles #xie lian #hua cheng #human xie lian #vampire hua cheng #sorry it's rushed

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young-dumb-and-vaccinated · 3 years

Text

The Sommelier (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 3

A certain redheaded tabloid journalist tracks y/n down at work. Y/n finds out how persistent she is when she makes her an offer she just can’t refuse.

Trigger warnings: Christianity, stalking, survivor’s guilt

You made it out alive, and that was more than could be said for some.

Your consolation prize was a ghastly scar on your hand that you kept bandaged up as to not scare small children. You did get some worker’s comp after all; enough to pay for your medical bills and a little extra to make up for the lost workdays. All things considered, you were the lucky one. Four people lost their lives that day and three more were injured far worse than you. You should have felt grateful to be alive.

But somehow that was even worse. You got a couple stitches and some time off. It wasn’t worth four people’s lives.

Your therapist explained it to you very gently. You were experiencing a phenomenon known as "survivor's guilt". She encouraged you to join a support group, get outside and familiarize yourself with your new experiences.

This was good advice and all, but yours was the newest, hottest crime. You couldn't go anywhere without being hounded by reporters looking for whatever details you had somehow left out. Dr. Bloom encouraged you to take some time off work until the media circus died down, but you had bills to pay.

"I feel like there should be some rule about re-opening a restaurant within a week of it being an active crime scene." Charissa observed as she wiped down a table. "If anything, it's a health hazard."

"Are you serious?" You scoffed. You'd been tasked with refilling the salt shakers. Appropriate, because there was plenty of salt to go around. "Demand for this place has never been higher. Everyone wants to see if the blood is still on the carpet."

"Hooray for capitalism." She rolled her eyes. "Are you gonna be okay, [F/N]?"

"'Okay' is a very relative term." You forced a laugh. "I think I can make it through the shift if that's what you're asking."

"Aren't you behind the bar all evening?" She asked.

"Yeah, but that means I'm trapped." You folded your arms. "First thing you see when you walk in is the waitress who survived the- what are they calling him?"

"The Baltimore Butcher." She answered with a voice full of vitriol. "Do you think they ever consider the ramifications of giving literal murderers these weird superhero names? Like, no wonder we get copycats, they treat these guys like celebrities."

"Holy shit, right?!" You slammed the salt shaker down on the table. "Y'know, last night on the news, they used the creep's graduation photo and kept saying that he was a good Christian young man with a lot of prospects."

Charissa stuck out her tongue in disgust. "I saw that. And how he was 'corrupted' by crack cocaine. Once again, blaming a drug that was used to villainize poor Black neighborhoods in the 80's as some kind of corrupting agent."

You nodded furiously. "Instead of understanding that Christianity is a violent imperialist religion that lets violent white men absolve themselves of any guilt."

"And they knew it wasn't crack." Charissa added. "I heard that shit was completely uncut. You know he spent a lot on it."

"And I will say this until the day I am put in the goddamn ground," you tensed up. "The only reason the fucker escaped is because he is white."

"Hey y'all." Another waitress walked in for her shift. "What are we talking about?"

"Cocaine." Charissa answered. “Also white privilege.”

"Great." She said dismissively. "Hey [F/N], can I scoop up that bar shift? I could really use the tips."

"Madison!" Charissa scolded. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"What?" Madison shrugged and glanced at you. "I didn't get any paid time off. I need the money."

"Was that supposed to be a joke?" Charissa scowled. "Are you seriously joking about her trauma?!"

"It's fine, she can have it." You rolled your eyes, then turned them to Madison. "Just know you're the reason I have survivor's guilt."

"Well now I feel bad." Madison frowned.

"Good." You and Charissa said in unison.

It was sort of comforting to get back to the script. Almost nostalgic. It provided the illusion of normalcy in an incredibly abnormal new reality.

You approached the first table in Madison’s block, hoping for a new beginning. A young woman with fiery red hair sat alone by the window.

“Hi!” You greeted, with a smile as genuine as you could muster. “My name is [F/N], I’ll be your waiter tonight.”

The woman smiled back. “Evening.”

You couldn’t tell what, but something was off. Perhaps you were trying too hard to force normalcy. Or maybe it was the borderline predatory way the woman was looking at you; like a shark following a trail of blood. Either way, the vibes were rancid.

“Can I start you off with a drink or is water okay?” You ask.

“Could I possibly trouble you for a glass of chardonnay?” She asked, lowering her eyebrows.

“Of course.” You nodded and reached for your pen.

“Actually,” She corrected herself. “If you could bring a bottle and two glasses, I’m expecting company.”

“Absolutely.” You scribble the order down on your notepad. “Do you have a preference?”

She thought for a moment. “Oh, dealer’s choice. Whatever you prefer.”

You soon returned to her booth with a bottle of your favorite chardonnay and two stemmed glasses. You poured a small bit in one glass to let her taste.

“You have wonderful tastes.” She complimented, filling her glass. “It’s very delicious.”

You rocked on your heels. “Would you like to place your order now, or do you want to wait until after your guest arrives?”

“Actually,” she repeated, filling the other glass. “My guest is already here.”

She slid the glass across the table and gestured to the other seat.

You felt stupid, but there was no way to avoid this. You couldn't just not do your job. She cornered you by the confinements of your profession.

"I really can't, I'm on the clock." You said, apologetically. The wine beckoned you. "I'm sorry, maybe another time."

"Oh, bummer." The woman placed her chin in her hand and pouted. "Well, I'm sure there's something that would make your boss look the other way."

She glanced down at your bandaged hand, then met your eyes. "The bandages are a dead giveaway, [F/N] [L/N]."

You then noticed a wire sticking from her pocket. Undoubtedly some kind of recording device. You looked at the ground. "I'm afraid I have to ask you to leave."

"But who will drink all this wine?" She asked, raising her glass.

"Ma'am." Your voice hardened as you tried to bite back an overwhelming rage. "Please leave the restaurant. I'm not going to ask you again."

Your manager, Matthew, passed by. "What's going on here?"

"This waitress is being very rude." The woman complained. "I ordered chardonnay, and she brought me chablis."

"Chablis is a type of chardonnay." You corrected. Even you found it strange that this was the hill you were willing to die on. "She asked for my preference, and I prefer the unoaked varieties."

Matthew looked confused. "Well, she's right."

You gestured to her pocket and he caught on immediately. He narrowed his eyes. "Ma'am, please leave the premises or I'll be forced to call the police."

The woman stood up, rummaged through her pockets and slapped a handful of bills down on the table. She then proceeded to drink both glasses of wine and walk away.

Matthew looked at you apologetically as he collected the bills. "Are you sure you want to be here tonight? I can call in someone to cover for you."

You shook your head and grabbed the bottle by its neck. "No, it's okay. I appreciate the concern but I really just want things to go back to normal."

"Hey!" A woman from the adjacent table called out. You prepared to immediately recant your statement about not going home.

"We like chablis." The woman said, gesturing to herself and her friend.

Her friend joined in. "And if that nosy reporter lady isn't gonna drink it..."

You glanced at Matthew, who shrugged. "Sure. It's yours."

The women exchanged delighted looks as you placed the bottle on their table. Matthew handed you a couple of clean glasses and you began to pour.

"For this wine, I suggest any of our wonderful seafood dishes." You explained, your cheeks stinging with a smile. "It also pairs quite nicely with chicken and game bird."

"Thank you." One of the women said. "If you don't mind, we'd like to take a look at the menu, please."

"Of course." You nodded. "Just flag me down whenever you're ready."

"This is why I put you behind the bar, by the way." Matthew gently scolded you as you collected the soiled glasses.

"Didn't you hear?" You said. "Madison needs the money because we can't all have paid time off."

"You should have come to me first." He sighed. "She has no right to say those things to you."

"Never stopped her before." You shrugged.

"I'll talk with her after the dinner rush." He said. "Just... try not to get cornered tonight, okay?"

"I'll do my best." You answered, flatly. “Because that’s definitely something I can control.”

The rest of your shift went smoothly, or, as smoothly as could be expected given the circumstances. The nosy reporter was right, your bandage was a dead giveaway. You had to dodge a couple of questions, but most people had enough decorum to know the wound--metaphorical and literal--was still fresh.

You said goodbye to Matthew and Charissa, collected your things and walked out to your car. You put the key in the ignition, only to find your gas tank was completely empty. You had just filled it that morning.

You bit back a scream and fought the urge to slam your head against the steering wheel. Throwing the door open, you mentally prepared yourself to either make a long trek to the nearest gas station, or beat someone up.

“Looking for this?” A smug voice said over the cicadas.

You turned around and saw the nosy reporter from before holding up a canister. A deep, blistering fury overtook your face as you slammed the car door. “You siphoned my fucking gas?”

“It’s not like you left me with much choice, [F/N].” She crossed her arms. “You’ll get it back once you answer my questions.”

You threw your head back in disbelief. “You’re Freddie Lounds, aren’t you?”

“I see I’m not the only one who does my research.” She said, looking a bit impressed. “How’d you know?”

“It’s the first thing that comes up when you search ‘unethical crime journalists Baltimore’.” You answered. “There’s a whole flair dedicated to you on the subreddit for murder survivors.”

Freddie seemed proud of herself. “Need a ride?”

“I’d rather drive off a cliff.” You said, honestly, before turning around to leave.

“Where are you going?” She walked after you.

“To get more fucking gas, you evil bitch.” You shouted back. “Are you gonna follow me to the BP too?”

“Look, I heard what you were saying to your friend.” She called out. “About white privilege.”

“Yeah,” You rolled your eyes. “It’s the same privilege that allows you to siphon a stranger’s gas and sit in a parking lot all night without getting arrested.”

“And I agree with you.” She hurried to your side, her chunky platform boots clacking against the asphalt. “They did you dirty and they’re shooting themselves in the foot by not listening to you.”

You turned around and threw up your arms. “Why didn’t you just lead with that?”

“I invited you to sit down over a bottle of wine, did I not?” Freddie chuckled.

“Cornering me at work is not a gesture of goodwill.” You huffed. “And I actually do want to put my story out there, but all you’re accomplishing by stalking me is guaranteeing you won’t be the one to do it.”

“Are you really in a position to be that selective?” Freddie smirked and placed all her weight on one hip.

You groaned. “What?”

“The Baltimore Butcher is still out there, and you won’t be the hot new victim forever.” She grinned sadistically. “Soon enough, him or some other psycho is going to strike, and your fifteen minutes of fame are up.”

“Good. Then I can go back to living my life.” You said.

“But what if his next victim is a Christian?” Freddie grabbed your shoulder. “What if the next person who narrowly avoids getting their throat slashed decides to go on record and say that he doesn’t represent ‘real Christianity’?”

You went quiet. You hadn’t considered it, but the thought of anyone downplaying his faith as a motivation made your blood boil. You looked into the man’s eyes and saw a person driven to kill for his god. A god he shared with the crusaders, conquistadors and slavers.

“...but it does. Christians colonized half the planet for--”

You stopped yourself when you saw Freddie’s smile.

“You want to get on your soapbox, now’s your chance.” She bit her lip. “Take control of the conversation while you still can.”

“Fine.” You spat. “I get off work tomorrow at four.”

Freddie shoved the gas can into your hands. “I’ll see you then.”

#hannibal lecter #hannibal nbc #hannibal x reader #hannibal x you #freddie lounds #tw christianity #will graham

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dizzydancingdreamer · 3 years

Text

Men who I think would be soft for their baby for no other reasons than because I want them to be, in no particular order but still numbered ten to one because I like countdowns...

———————————————————

I really do be out here exposing myself for a few of these men but I don’t care I don’t need “proof” or “common sense” or “just plain survival instincts” I just need men who are uncharacteristically soft for their babies

———————————————————

Don’t come at me this is for FUN

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Part two

———————————————————

10. Gally

Did some bad things, some were his fault and some weren’t, who is rough around the edges, has superiority issues, and needs a therapist more than a girl

STILL SOFT FOR HIS BABY

Higher up in a revolutionary movement and still goes to bed early to cuddle his baby

She sits on his lap during meals and he fights everyone who says anything

Fights anyone who even looks at her wrong

Tells her he loves her at least three times before he leaves on missions without her

When she goes with him he’s literally next to her the entire time

Does not let her go for hours when they finally get back to base

So fucking soft for her and only her

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9. Finnick Odair

Good guy who feels like he has to be bad in order to stay alive but falls a little bit in love with it for a little too long

Begged her to move in with him after his games

Let her decorate the entire house however she wanted

Writes her love notes before every time he goes to the capital

Cries to her when he comes home every single time

When she has to go into the games he volunteers immediately even though he technically isn’t allowed and pulls strings with President Snow to be able to fight

So he literally kills for her

And makes sure she never has to fight

Marries her and tells Coin he won’t fight, stays alive for his baby

10/10 soft as fuck

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8. Stephen Strange

Narcissistic doctor Avenger who uses the phone while driving

This is the one I have the least proof for but I’m 110% sure when he isn’t wearing the cape he has his baby wrapped around him like a backpack

Crumbles for his baby, I’m talking to his knees, overwhelmed by how pretty and beautiful and wonderful she is, hugging her around the waist

Loves the feeling of her fingers through his hair

Brings her to every Avengers Gala and practically begs her to leave early so they can go cuddle and eat pizza

Gets so scared whenever he has to do something dangerous

Drops what he’s doing when she calls him, has told off Steve and Tony (don’t start with me) and everyone else

Peter called him a simp once and after he googled it he looked him dead in the eyes and agreed and then packaged one of the donuts Bucky brought in for his baby and then took it and left

Man is SOFT

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7. Vincent Griffith

Reformed witch who frequently gets addicted to dark sacrificial magic and makes choices that are just this side of morally corrupt

Has skipped so many meetings as regent that he probably shouldn’t even be regent anymore

The king of date night, dancing, fine dining, jazz music, picnics, midnight rituals

Plans every little detail and gets Josh and Davina to help him

Uses magic to close down entire restaurants for the perfect night

Always holds her hand and sits her in the front row of his coven meetings and pauses the meetings accidentally when he glances over to her and she gives him a thumbs up and he has to literally stop and smile

Holds her purse without her having to ask, will go to seven different restaurants when she changes her mind on where to eat, hexes people who harm her

Big softie

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6. Indiana Jones

Literally a womanizing grave robber with very few morals

Has filled museums with all the things he has STOLEN

Would still protect his baby from booby traps though

Dresses her up and takes her out everywhere

Cancels class whenever she asks and more often than not when she doesn’t

Would be closer to the snakes so that she won’t have to be

Wouldn’t even think about yelling even when in mortal danger, even when it’s her fault for putting them in that situation

Answers every question even though she’s asked the same question a thousand times

Can’t sleep without her at all

I’m not sorry, he’s soft

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5. Will Turner

Most feared and ruthless pirate on the sea

Torched a town once because his baby was treated a little too cold by a few too many people

Literally would and has fought a life altering curse for her and won

Kills so many people and still goes to bed early to cuddle in the captain’s quarters

Lets her walk all over the ship in his shirt and watches from behind the wheel, has thrown a man or two overboard when they stare too long

She didn’t even notice

Plays with her on the beach whenever she wants even if it hinders the plans of the crew

Softie alert

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4. Elijah Mikaelson

A one thousand year old+ elitist vampire with slight anger issues who has zero reason to fall in love with a plain mortal woman

But there is no way that is going to stop me

Would rip literal hearts out for his baby until he is soaked with blood

Oh, she stubbed her toe at the bar?

The bar is now torched to the ground along with everyone inside

It’s for his baby

Rebuilds the bar for her, puts it in her name, now it’s her bar and she’s making a shit ton of money

Buys her so many things, even when she says no, especially when she says no

All she has to do is pout and it’s game over

Has left so many business meetings for her that it is insane

Once bought her a chair seat at Disney because she said she liked Tangled one time and now she makes important decisions she is not qualified to make

He’s soft, soft, soft

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3. Eric Coulter

A leader of a terrorist radical government who has outright anger issues and hates people who are different from him

BUUUUUT wouldn’t yell at his baby who is probably from Amity and probably got tricked into being in Dauntless

Lets her sleep in his room because fuck the training quarters that’s sus as hell (even though he’s the one who arranged the training quarters)

Lets her skip all the fighting and does not give a fuck when he gets called out for it, will literally abuse all special privileges

Would probably do the training simulation for her and tell her how to beat it

Trails behind her wherever she goes, holds her hand in the cafeteria, has her on his lap when he gets tattoos

Lets her visit home whenever she wants and threatens anyone who says other wise

HE’S SOFT I JUST KNOW IT OKAY

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2. Kylo Ren

Kinda evil Supreme leader of the galaxy who has killed many people, including his dad, some who deserved it and some who did not

But wouldn’t even yell at his baby-- would cry if she cried

She sleeps in his bed and when Hux calls him out on it he breaks a desk and then almost kills him

She walks around the ship and he follows her like a puppy and chokes people out when he hears them call him a puppy in their heads

Gives her everything she wants and more, surprises her all the time

Surprise trips to beach planets and fancy events

Once he gave her a whole ass planet

Always hugging her no matter who is around and what is going on,

The softest supreme leader in the galaxy

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1. Thomas Shelby

A literal deadly mob boss who shoots first and asks questions never

Would 110% kill for his lady (and has killed for his lady)

Sexy as fuck, looks good covered head to toe in blood

Yes, that deserved a point

Soft as fuck for his baby, would shoot a gun and then turn around and listen to her talk about what she wants to knit for their baby

Has paused important mob meetings because his baby wanted to gossip about what Dolly said to her at church four Sundays ago that she forgot to tell him

Keeps her as far removed from the lifestyle as possible even when that means he has to remove himself from it at points to be with her

Has skipped so many poker games without being asked purely because he wants to go home and hug his wife

He is the MOST SOFT

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#thomas shelby #elijah mikaelson #kylo ren #stephen strange #indiana jones #gally tmr #gally #eric coulter #will turner #vincent griffith #finnick odair #The Hunger Games #the vampire diaries #the originals #star wars #the avengers #divergent #the maze runner #the pirates of the caribbean

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stellocchia · 3 years

Text

A random thing I like about every character on the smp part 2

I felt like I wanted some more positivity so here we go!

DREAM: *Dream joined the game* literally still gives me Exile Arc flashbacks GEORGE: He canonically caused everything bad that happened in the server by sleeping, that’s how much power he holds SAPNAP: Decided to turn on his best friend after a kid gave him back his fish, he really is as deprived of friendship as it gets... SAM: Fully intended to take control by inventing capitalism, I can respect that PONK: Took the opportunity of stealing a keycard while making out with his ex-boyfriend BAD: Decided to permanently tie his life force to a derpy-looking diamond block and then proceeded to be the one to take one of his lives TOMMY: Actually escaped his own kidnapping by himself like a badass TUBBO: Once cooked a f*cking village FUNDY: He wrote “A spy’s diary” which is still the best thing written on the smp by far PUNZ: He has a horse named Bumpkin and that’s just adorable PURPLED: He built the first cool looking build in the smp. RIP ufo WILBUR: Had the first corruption arc in the server and it was really well done SCHLATT: His last words were: “flatty patty” and that’s a lot of commitment to being petty, I love that! SKEPPY: Got extremely jealous of an Egg and asked his soulmate to choose between it and him ERET: Made the history museum which is objectively one of the cooles things on the server JACK MANIFOLD: Managed to fail to kill a child with an anvil NIKI: When spiraling actually went out and looked for a support system QUACKITY: Shot his abusive ex before leaving his ass and earned my everlasting respect because of it HBOMB: The cat maid bit is the second funniest thing to come out of the Dream SMP TECHNO: He brought his emotional support polar bear with him to meet the Egg ANTFROST: Apparently has been high for the entire duration of the Egg arc PHIL: He was actually there for Fundy’s adoption day and stayed to bond CONNOR: He’s a time traveler PUFFY: Built the glass thing on top of the L’Manhole which is the only reason why we can get so much lore stuff there RANBOO: Got a deal with a God while in enderwalk FOOLISH: Shift dance HANNAH: Made the cake path which is now pretty iconic CHARLIE: The green slimy parts are his “human bits”

#dream smp #once again some more positivity!#because we need some sometimes

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himboarcher · 3 years

Text

reasons i've seen folks say that grad critics hate grad:

they hate travis (in fairness, i’ve def seen some comments of people shitting on trav for the sake of shitting on trav, but it’s not super common and typically gets downvoted into oblivion on reddit.)

it's not balance / travis isn't griffin (???????)

they hate neurodivergent people (again, in fairness, i have seen a handful of comments that could come across this way! but most of the time when travis being ADHD or his NPD is brought up, it's by defenders saying that criticizing travis is ableist because he's neurodivergent or, in one particular comment, infantilizing him bc of it and literally comparing grad to putting a kid's artwork on the fridge. there were some comments early on that pointed to him being a narcissist as the reason for things people disliked about grad, but everyone seems to have realized that that's a shitty train of thought and left it behind.)

they're just toxic haters (again, there are a small handful of people like this because this is the internet, but the genuine criticism greatly outweighs their bullshit. i 100% think that the people, which is mostly just one dude who is also insufferable on reddit, who have been responding rudely to positive tweets under the episode announcements lately are out of line and need to stop. there's been an influx of that lately, presumably because people are frustrated that after over a year of grad going on, there's been no improvement to most of the major issues. that's still no excuse to be a dick to folks, though.)

vs some of the actual reasons i don't like grad:

the racism / racist tropes, and the way that they’ve straight up ignored this criticism and will likely never acknowledge it. pretty wild considering a core tenet of their brand is their willingness to acknowledge when they’ve messed up and do their best to course correct.

clumsy attempts at inclusion that are shallow and often end up being fairly offensive ("...ask me about my wheelchair," anyone?)

on a related note: i don't think that travis had bad intentions, but as an nonbinary person, it feels othering to me that travis only has enby characters give others their pronouns unprompted. i'm thinking specifically of kai here. having listened to their introduction, i don't think it's as bad or awkward as some people have said, but i can't remember travis ever having another NPC tell the PCs their pronouns, especially not a cis character. it's not a huge deal, but it's something that rubbed me the wrong way. admittedly, i don't think it would bother me so much if travis hadn't dropped the ball so much with performative inclusion in the past.

okay i'm putting the rest under a read more because even without getting into all of the problems i have with it, this got Long.

little to no player agency. player choices are ultimately meaningless and have little to no effect on the world. even when he seems to go along with a plan they come up with, it always ends with them having to go back to travis' pre-written script (see: subpoenaing the xorn, but not really because they had to go with travis' original plan of "send the xorn home through the rift".) the players repeatedly get told things about what they think or feel or what they've been doing to an unnecessary degree. fitzroy is the only one who really gets space to play and decide things for himself, and that's only because travis has decided he's the main character.

the NPCs are all too nice and willing to give the PCs anything they ask for and more, unless the PCs are trying to follow their own plan and then the NPCs are completely useless. but honestly, aside from gray, all of the NPCs are just.... nice. travis refuses to even let his antagonists be mean or cruel or even more than just slightly rude, because that'd be a bummer and we don't want that! the "twist" of gordy the lich king actually being polite and chill is not a twist at all because everyone is like that in this world. the NPCs are also wildly overpowered, but then suddenly absolutely useless when the PCs actually want their help.

too many cliffhangers that are dropped immediately at the beginning of the next episode. i feel bad for travis because so many of these cliffhangers actually set up good momentum and seemed like things were gonna get interesting, but almost every single time he just dropped them at the beginning of the next episode. like when althea showed up to interview the boys and the next episode started with travis being like "actually you went to sleep, she said she'll be back tomorrow!"

that time travis specifically said in his exposition dump that the thundermen left their horses behind because they thought the centaurs might be offended by them riding horses, only to later on rag on them for being surprised that the centaurs had horses they could ride.....

also the centaur arc in general, but i already listed racism above, so.

the way that the toxic positivity and parasocial tendencies in the mcelroy fandoms have made a large portion of the fandom take ANY criticism as a personal attack on travis and/or on themselves for enjoying something others consider bad, either morally or just quality-wise. it’s okay to admit that something you like has problematic elements or just isn’t as good as it once was. you can and should engage critically with the media you consume.

related to above: the way travis has handled genuine criticism, which is to throw public tantrums on his twitter or make weird passive aggressive tweets & ultimately ignore all the genuine criticism and advice he's been offered by claiming it's all subjective, even after he specifically asked for it and set up an email for folks to send in genuine, objective advice for him (after he threw a tantrum on twitter and replied to someone's criticism publicly, which resulted in his followers dogpiling on that person bc how dare they insult their internet best friend). while i was writing this last night, he actually announced that he’s taking a break from Twitter and acknowledged that he’s been using it as an echo chamber where he can easily get validation from folks, and honestly i’m happy for him that he’s recognized this problem and is stepping away for a while! i hope he’ll genuinely use this time to reflect on how he’s been behaving and find a more healthy way to use social media. i’m leaving this point in because i think his Twitter being such a positive echo chamber was encouraging him to do stuff like this, and him somewhat acknowledging his behavior doesn’t mean it can no longer be discussed.

rainer. extremely cool concept in theory and i was very into it until that awkward "does anyone want to ask about my wheelchair?" moment. also when travis had her use her mobility aid to RAM INTO A DOOR instead of just fucking knocking???? also all the times travis has tried to force a romantic relationship between her and fitzroy, despite fitzroy displaying no interest in her in that way. also, just to clarify: as an ace person, i don’t think this is aphobic! (and it’s kind of a stretch to call it that imo, especially since griffin never explicitly said that fitzroy's aromantic!) i just think it’s weird and awkward and a little uncomfortable for me personally, mostly because it reminds me of the times i’ve been in similar situations.

less of a problem than a lot of the other stuff and more just bad writing, but the forced emotional moments. in general, nothing in grad feels earned (why are the boys heading a war? when they have multiple actual heroes with combat experience on their side and a supposedly powerful secret organization? and the thundermen are like 21 years old max and have only had like ~10 fights in the entire campaign?) but there've been a couple times where travis has tried to force unearned emotional moments, presumably because he knows people enjoyed those with the last campaigns. but the difference is that in balance, the big emotional moments happened because they were earned. in grad, it's just travis throwing a baby pegasus at us for a few minutes and then the next time she shows up, it's supposed to be a tearful goodbye.

there are absolutely no stakes. remember when the thundermen got told that if they left, gray would kill 10 students? and then they left and came back and it turns out that what gray actually meant was, "i'll tie ten students who are mostly nameless NPCs to a tree and throw some dogs at them that you can easily stop in time, then throw a tantrum because how dare you but i'll leave before you can really do anything to hurt me lol" travis did have fitzroy's magic get taken away, but like. it didn't really do anything? also all he had to get it back was be coerced into using drugs by an authority figure and trip in the woods?

we're told that the school is weird and the hero system is corrupt, but the world of nua is still presented as more of a liberal utopia than anything? althea getting fired because of a corrupt villain is the only time we've somewhat seen corruption, but even then, she was still allowed to get (what seems to me, anyway, but admittedly i don't know for sure bc nothing about the HOG makes much sense) a fairly important job from the very people who stripped her of her hero license or whatever the fuck heroes need?

travis doesn't actually seem to understand how capitalism or bureaucracy works and just chalks up everything to "red tape." also more on the rest of the boys than him specifically, but the "let's destroy capitalism!" thing turning into just pushing some filing cabinets over................... okay.

and one last piece of extremely subjective criticism: it's just kind of.... boring. i think a lot of people, myself included, would be willing to overlook 90% of the problems with graduation if it didn't feel like such a slog to get through.

also people saying that we can't or shouldn't criticize graduation because it's "free" is absolutely absurd for several reasons. first, something being free does not make it above criticism. second, there ARE people who directly financially support the show with monthly donations. three, there's a difference between something being free and something being not for profit. podcasting is their full time job. they make their living off of money made from TAZ and MBMBAM (and probably their other shows to a lesser extent). this not a fun home game that they are graciously recording and sharing with us. it is a product they are producing that they make money off of, both from ads in the episodes and merch & books based off of these podcasts. they have marketed themselves as professionals, and both griffin and travis have been on panels where they are marketed as professional DMs and appear alongside other professional DMs (which makes it incredibly frustrating when people say that travis is just a newbie DM and we can't criticize him because of that. if he's a newbie, then he should not be taking part of panels as a professional DM where he speaks as an expert). TAZ is free in the same way that an episode of NCIS is free. i may not pay for it directly, but the creators are paid to create it and profit off of me consuming this product. so saying we should be grateful for any mcelnoise that the benevolent good boys share with us and that we're not allowed to criticize it "because it's free" is absolutely wild.

#negativity cw #i guess #anyway this is not meant to say that you cannot enjoy grad.#but i'm tired of folks on this website acting like there aren't genuine problems with it #and saying that people just dislike it bc they hate travis etc etc #taz graduation #i genuinely don't expect anyone to read this bc it's so long #but here ya go.#long post

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atsukashii · 3 years

Text

ii. thus always to tyrants

✗ synopsis : imprisoned for a crime you did not commit, you are left shackled in the dark away from the world. vowing to end the queen who dealt your life sentence, you bide your time waiting for your chance to end it all. However, a promise of freedom comes on a whisper in the shadows, taking the form of dark eyes, and grey wind swept hair carrying the scent of the sea.

✗ pairing : osamu miya x reader

✗ genre : pirate au, royalty reader, mutual pining, fluff + a pinch of angst

✗ word count : 4.9 k

✗ warnings : mature content : mentions of alcohol, language, implied murder

✧･ﾟ:* previous | m.list | next *:･ﾟ✧

Osamu never liked sitting still.

Ever since he were a child, there was always some part of him that was physically constantly in motion. A tick of sorts that he was admonished for a long time ago, fused deeper into his bones as he grew until the simple act of being somewhere for a prolonged period of time made him uneasy.

And the fact they had been sitting off the east coast of a glitzy harbour in the southern kingdom of Fukurodani for over two weeks had Osamu more agitated than he would ever care to admit. And it definitely had nothing to do with the imminent threat of the corrupt nation across the narrow sea. In the beginning, being moored off the coast of such a rich city had its benefits to him. The first night, he and his brother had got rip-roaring drunk and had to have their carcasses dragged back to the ship by their crew. After getting a lackluster and pathetic attempt at a lecture from their captain who, in their defense, never said not to do it again, Osamu had the common sense to drag their entire crew out for an evening. One which ended in him having to row their drunk asses back to the boat. Some would say it was karma, but it was definitely luck that he just happened to be the least drunk.

During the days of their anchorage, Osamu meticulously searched the city markets for any news on the world outside, and sought out anything that caught his interest; star charts, swords, females, not in that particular order and the latter mainly was him being dragged into his twin’s antics.

But now, his restlessness was dragging him from sleep in the earliest hours of the morning. Far before dawn would break, one could find Osamu prowling the deck like a caged beast. He’d tried sleeping tonics, ale, and even trying to bore himself into slumber by listening to his brother drone on about pointless things. So after many failed attempts, Osamu had begun to use the time to make himself more useful to his crew, slouching over his hand drawn maps, star charts, plotting courses and venturing the glamouring capital city for anything alarming or interesting.

No one brought up his restlessness, more out of fear of being mortally wounded - besides the one person on the damn ship who made his life a rutting nightmare. But no matter the agitation rolling off him like the waves lulling the ship, they went unnoticed by the one person in charge.

Kita Shinsuke - the captain of the Nine Tails had rules that not even the most restless of souls could change. The most blindingly logical being that he wanted even a sliver of an idea of where the hell they were going next before they set sail so they could use the advantage of being in such proximity to a harbour offering such goods to their benefit. Because depending on whatever crap the silent, ill carcass of a man currently locked in the hold finally let slip would no doubt have them not seeing occupied land and civilized society for a while yet. And that was if and only if everything went to plan.

Which really, Osamu could only hope for.

“Rutting mother,” The groaned curse has Osamu’s eyes drifting up off the map that covers the entire surface of the dishevelled wooden desk in his shared quarters. Leveling the incomer a look of indifference, Osamu isn’t entirely surprised by who barged into his quiet announced by nothing but a filthy curse.

“Yer looking like shit ‘Samu. Yer need to get out into the sun and stop being cooped up in ‘ere,” The voice of the other resident in his quarters says with a feral grin that matches his own. In fact, a lot of him matches Osamu, including the wild gleam in his eyes, his nose and his damned face.

“If ya ain’t got news that we’re headed out of this shitty cove, I don’t wanna see yer face ‘Tsumu,” Osamu simply deadpans, looking back down at the map and not giving his twin brother anymore attention. Instead, Osamu’s eyes gaze over the many coal crosses marked across the large map. Drawn by none other than himself, they stood as symbols from their voyages over the years, the more recent resulting in nothing but dead ends. Because it had been years since he and his brother had been dragged from the fighting rings in the depths of Inarizaki’s slums and put to work under their captain’s command. They’d been barely adults, and Kita not much older, but they’d sworn an oath to the man when he’d promised them nothing but a roof over their heads, warm meals when they wanted and the open ocean. And they had never once looked back.

Osamu had never doubted Kita when he’d taken them across the seas in search of what they’d once thought was only a folktale. But now, with someone who possibly knows a partial truth - that myth had validation behind it and more importantly; they had a lead, for the first time in years. They were closer than they had ever been before to the Emperor of the Sea’s treasure, so why were they sitting off the damned coast of Fukurodani for so damn long?

“Nah, the damned bastard’s more likely to die before he talks,” Besides his blonde hair and brown eyes, Atsumu was his twin in almost every other aspect. With the same build, the same stature, they were like two sides of the same coin, or like night to day. The latter had stuck with them since their early days, and Osamu now had the phases of the moon mixed in with some of his other tattoos on his body, whilst his twin held the sun over his heart.

It’s too bad his brother was a rutting moron.

“Then what the hell are yer doing here ‘Tsumu?” Osamu’s patience for his brother wavering by the second as the knowing smile that covered Atsumu’s face only grew. It’s a look Osamu’s seen countless times before, one that says both ‘I’m a stuck up prick’ and ‘I know something you don’t’ simultaneously.

“We’ve got a new crewmate little brother.” The dig rips a growl out of Osamu’s mouth, and has him shifting and throwing the closest thing in sight right at Atsumu’s head in milliseconds. Luckily for his brother, it’s a battered and only half working compass that almost smacks into his face. However the blonde catches it with ease before slipping it into his back pocket. Rutting kleptomaniac.

“Kita wants your ass out on the deck.” Why he couldn’t have just stated that before now is beyond lost to Osamu, but not nothing to attempt to ask and wanting to tear his brothers head off when Atsumu talks them in circles whilst refusing to give back the compass- Osamu instead tunes him out and shoves him out of his way as he walks through the ship.

Once out under the blinding sun, the gentle breeze dances through the grey strands of Osamu’s hair. The sensation brings a calming touch, something akin to welcoming him home. It’s not as if it had always been this way, hell Osamu didn’t even know how to swim until he was in his teens - and that had been more of a live or die situation than anything. Necessity breeds talent and all that. But since he’d been dragged upon the infamous Nine Tails in his early teens, this waterlogged beautiful piece of trash was his home. He’d never felt more comfortable and sure of himself than he had standing on the battered wood of the deck with his twin by his side and their chosen family flanking them.

Osamu’s grey eyes open to face the world once more, taking in the crowd in front of him, before settling on the figure leaning against the wooden walls of the ship, his captain. It’s the stranger standing to Kita’s left that quickly has Osamu’s attention shifting to. The stranger’s yellow gaze stares right back at Osamu with pure indifference. There’s a familiarity in those eyes that he can’t seem to place, but it could be from anywhere in the world.

“Who’s this kid?” Atsumu asks, being unable to help himself, and the unperturbed glance that the brunet stranger gives his brother has a feral smile pulling across Osamu’s lips. He doesn’t even have to look at Atsumu to see his brother bristle at the complete disregard from the newcomer, and it makes Osamu think the scrawny brunet might not be too bad.

“Suna Rintarou, and from today he’s part of our crew.” Kita explains, the conviction in his gaze having everyone keep whatever smart remark they were going to let fly stay firmly in their mouths.

As Aran, their quartermaster and second hand to Kita helps lay down the law, Osamu can’t tear his gaze off the new kid. Suna looks around their age, but it’s his eyes that have Osamu hesitating to look away. Not because of their familiarity, but because of the quick glances between Osamu and Atsumu, with the calculating glimmer circulating in them as if he’s putting together dots that he shouldn’t know. And only when smirk tugs at the man’s mouth seconds later does Osamu’s own lips downturn.

He knows something.

“-from Hyogo.” Without even thinking, Osamu’s thoughts explode like cannon fire until he finds himself looking his captain dead in the eye. Kita’s brown irises flicker between Osamu and his twin, a look that would seem like nothing but a brief glance to other people, but to Osamu; he knew his captain enough to guess where this is going, and that glance was Kita’s warning.

Look around you, listen to what’s going on. Pay attention to your surroundings now, Osamu.

Lessons embedded in him from childhood have him easily falling into fake disinterest, even as he pays more attention to the conversations around him than he ever did before.

“Suna is the son of an noble.” Kita explains further, many of the men burrowing their brows in confusion. Why would they want to know this? No one in their current company gives a flying shit about where you’re from, or your past. You’ve killed someone? Great, most people on this ship have - it’s a result of the profession. You’re an orphan? There are four others aboard who fit that category.

But the son of an aristocrat? Normally that would maybe raise some eyebrows. But one from Hyogo? That alone brings nothing but trouble.

“So? What’s it to us?” Ginjima questions, levelling Suna with a glare that currently covers many of the faces of his crewmates. One full of scepticism and fierce intimidation that has a sliver of something akin to fear entering Suna’s gaze for the briefest of seconds. It’s a look that clearly states; you fuck us over and you’re going to die - brutally.

“Like many aristocrats, he received a formal invitation to the coronation of his new majesty, his highness Wakatoshi Ushijima.”

For the first time in years Osamu finds himself catching glimpses of the marble floored palace that he had once called home. Followed by memories of stealing food, of the sweetest of smiles and the most stunningly enrapturing eyes Osamu has ever seen.

The crown princess of Hyogo.

Where are you now?

Because judging by the stunned faces of the other three people abroad that had once called the empire home, they were all thinking the same damned thing. Prince Wakatoshi was to be the next king?

Doesn’t matter if one is rich or nothing but a beggar in the side alleys of the slums of every city and town in the empire, everyone knows that succession within Hyogo isn’t by birth right, but by choice. A choice from ruler to successor, and a decision that could be contested if other contenders saw fit upon the death of the previous king. It was a brutal way of life, and many royals in the past had been killed by their own siblings for the spot on the throne.

Including the current king. Upon his succession to the throne, the warrior-king had been forced to defend his chosen position against three of his siblings. It was a bloodbath which resulted in the annihilation of almost all of the royal line but his majesty.

Was that what had happened to you? Has Ushijima challenged you?

Osamu’s heart lumps painfully in his throat as his body struggles to find a way to ask the question that he partially doesn’t want to know the answer to. There are so many questions the soft, reminiscent part of Osamu’s soul that lies hidden behind lock and key wants to ask, but the expressionless pirate mould he’s forced himself into knows better.

Luckily for him though, his brother doesn’t give a shit.

“What ‘bout the princess? Everyone with ruttin’ eyes knew she was the next in line.” Atsumu points out, hardening his glare at Suna as if he were lying to all their faces. For almost every memory Osamu has with you as the star in which he orbits, Atsumu was more often than not in rotation right with him. They were your shadows within those sea sprayed walls, providing you with a semblance of freedom in the regimented society you had been forced into.

“King named Wakatoshi his successor in the final testament.” Suna shrugs as if that response is answer enough. It’s not. Osamu doesn’t realise his mask has broken until Suna’s eyes almost grin at the frown stretched across his lips.

“That’s a crock of shit.” Just this once, he’d thank the gods for his moronic brother and his habit of not being able to hold his tongue. Just once.

“She’s the daughter of a rutting concubine. She was ostracised by every noble in the whole of Hyogo, not just Inarizaki.” This was common knowledge, along with the understanding that many of those people held high levels of sway and influence within the empire, and often used their positions to look down on you and add to your misery. Osamu had seen this first hand, hidden in shadows where adults thought no one resided. People talked, and stuck up aristocrats spoke the most - and the loudest.

“Even if she were to be chosen as successor, the council would have pushed for Ushijima to challenge it.”

“Is she still ya know… alive?” Riseki asks the question plaguing their minds and the unamused shrug that Suna responds with almost has Osamu reaching across the few feet to ring his throat.

“Not sure. Some people say they’ve seen her, but considering they haven’t had a public funeral for the King yet, no one’s completely sure.”

“And why is this important to us again?” Aran prods, looking completely unamused at this entire situation. No one can blame him though, his whole village had been burned to the ground by the Hyogo forces when he was just a kid. So the death of the man behind it all was to him no doubt a good thing.

But as Osamu glances at his captain once more, he can see the feral gleam to Kita’s eyes that has anticipation rising in response. As the small crowd around him erupts into questions, Osamu lets his brain run a mile a second, trying to put the pieces together. Out of all his teammates, his captain often relied on him to see through his unvoiced plans, it was both an exciting challenge and the bane of Osamu’s existence.

Why would an invitation to one of the biggest political events in one of the biggest superpowers matter to them? Such celebrations call for large crowds, and diplomatic relations will be reinforced due to a new political power…

“Kuroo.” The name has teeth gleaming in Osamu’s direction with pure malice and distaste. But as Osamu narrows his gaze at Kita once more, he knows he’s right. “Because there will be a delegation from Nekoma attending - ergo, Kuroo and the rest of the Fleetfoot will undoubtedly be there.”

“With King Yasufumi Nekomata sitting so deep in their pockets he can’t rutting see out.” Ōmimi growls, but no one protests it. In every known land, it’s common knowledge just how deep in pirate pocket’s the whole empire of Nekoma was. They don’t try to hide it, but the nation doesn’t publicly disclose they are either.

Until the past decade, the kingdom of Nekoma wasn’t even considered as a possible political threat or power. However that changed when a ship of pirates found themselves in front of the king with more gold than they could count and the nation became indebted to a bunch of rag-tag thugs that Osamu couldn’t stand.

But more than him, their captain Kita held the most loathing for the other captain, after he was stabbed in the back and mugged, literally, by the other crew. The scar dragged over Kita’s right eye was a permanent reminder to them all of the mildest repercussions of misplaced trust.

Osamu’s crew had been sitting in this shitty bay for a week, trying to figure out their next move, only for their next decisions to come straight to them on a silver platter. He did not care for how convenient it seemed, only that they were leaving. Finally.

With a final look, Osamu knew what his captain was going to say before Kita even said it.

With an animalistic grin pulled across Kita’s mouth and a cunning prowess that could be found on no one else, the energy had the rest of the crew beaming in but seconds.

“We’re heading to Inarizaki. Man the sails.” Turning around and walking off the deck into the galley, Aran and Suna followed behind the captain smoothly as Atsumu offered Osamu a savage grin.

It’s about time, right brother? His twin’s eyes seemed to say. They were going to the kingdom they were born in, not to remain but to settle old debts. The excitement in Atsumu’s step as he bounced down the deck was contagious enough to have a smirk pulling at Osamu’s mouth as he quickly slipped back inside, following Kita and the others down to the hold. Moment’s later, he steps to a stop beside Aran, watching quietly as Kita bends down against the bars separating one side from the other.

“Well, looks like we won’t have to wait as long as we thought,” He hums. Through the strip of sunlight the crack in one of the panels gives off, brown almost golden eyes stare back at them.

“Looks like you’ll get to see that captain of yours real soon, that’s if you’ve got anything useful to say Kenma.”

It’s not until the sails catch wind and the hull of the Nine Tails slices effortlessly through the dark sapphire waves does Osamu finally have a moment of peace once again. Although, living on a pirate ship with a crew of men with arrogant swagger dripping off them in waves isn’t a recipe for a peaceful lifestyle. So his momentary silence doesn’t last long, and the most frequent uninvited guest in his life is the one to break his stillness.

“Ya know she’s goin’ to be alright.’’ Atsumu’s voice lacks his usual arrogance, and Osamu’s gaze flicks towards his twin now leaning against the railing by his side. There’s none of the overly confident obnoxiousness that’s as much a part of twin as breathing, instead Atsumu’s shoulders lay slouched, and actual concern furrows at his brows and body like a deadweight ready to sink him to the depths.

Whether Atsumu’s saying it to try to convince himself or Osamu, he’s not sure - but he’s not buying it.

“There’s no way that the King left it all to Ushijima. By law, she would have been the next in line.”

“By law, she should have been killed before she reached her first name-day.” Atsumu point’s out, and a growl threatens to rip from Osamu’s mouth at the idea. Instead, he steels his spine and lets logic push his emotions aside.

“By law brother, we should also be dead.” A feral grin tugs at Osamu’s mouth, and as he turns to face his brother once more, a matching one falls across the blonde’s face.

“Look, she’s a smart one. I’m sure we’ll go in, see’er all happy and safe and we can be on our merry way.”

“And if we don’t?” Osamu questions. Once, there hadn’t been anything Osamu wouldn’t have done for both you and his brother. But since their families banishment from the kingdom, neither of the twins had heard a peep about you since.

“Then we’ll do what we must when the time comes.” Atsumu lets out a smothered shriek of surprise at their captain’s sudden appearance behind him and Osamu earns himself a glare from his twin as he tries to muffle a chuckle.

Go jump overboard, his brother’s eyes scream at him.

After you shithead, Osamu wags his brows in return. Atsumu just offers him a vulgar gesture which has Osamu wanting to reach out and break his finger.

“Is Kenma still alive?” Osamu questions Kita instead, tearing his gaze from his brother and then to the white and black haired captain.

“Yes.” The frustration that had dug its talons into Kita’s shoulders over the past few days seems to have released its grip ever so slightly, and a sense of relief fills Osamu’s veins.

“And I’m going to keep my word and give him back to his captain.”

“I’m assumin’ he told ya somethin’ useful then?” Kita nods in response, his fingers fiddling with the gold ring around his middle finger.

“Possibly, but we’ll have to see.” Their captain responds, his eyes staring off into the ocean as if he can see the mainland over the horizon to which they head. The three of them stand in silence, letting the crashing whitewash waves against the hull lull them into a peaceful quiet.

“I want you with us Osamu, when we go into the palace.”

There is a part of Osamu that wanted to just say no to his captain, a word he has never uttered in response to him being asked to do something before. Kita was aware of those around him, especially his men. He knew their limits, their weaknesses, what drove them. And he knew just what Osamu would have to face going into the stone castle.

His captain’s light brown eyes finally shifted from the darkening horizon until they rested on Osamu’s face. There was understanding in that gaze, as well as an apology. He knew why either him or his brother were needed for the task. Having grown up with the marble tiles beneath their feet and the domed ceilings above them, they remembered every nook and cranny of that place. So should something go wrong, they were prepared.

“Okay.”

“It’ll be like the old days little brother.” Atsumu grins, a useless fact that he continuously hangs over Osamu’s head in the most inconvenient of times.

“You’re staying here.” Kita settles the blonde with a stare and ignores his squawks of outrage.

“One of you not being recognised in there will be a borderline miracle, but both? Then we will be meeting the god of death much earlier than I intended to.” They were easily recognisable already, but if both him and his brother were to go into the kingdom side by side, any noble or worker within the castle would recognise them immediately. And the tattoo’s that peaked out from under their rolled up shirts didn’t help to hide their identities.

But they would make it work, because the fact that Atsumu didn’t argue back, plus the genuine sliver of concern in their captain’s gaze only emphasised the dangers of what they were about to do.

So they’d come out the other side, or they would die. There was no in between.

The chattering of your teeth vibrates inside your bones as the temperature drops and the equally cold soapy water drenches you from the shoulders down. Honestly, you can't remember a time you’ve ever felt so cold in your life.

In a familiar practiced silence that has been instilled in them from an early age, the three handmaids worked in a fluid elegance that tugs deeply at your heart strings. Never looking you in the eye, never even looking at your face until one was applying a light dusting of kohl to your eyes and a powder to bring out the roses of your cheeks, you feel less like a human and more like a puppet. Even though they show you no attention other than to perform their duties at the words of the queen, you much preferred the handmaids to the psychopaths that guarded your cell day and night.

It isn’t until you are being shoved into a dress do two of those psychopaths return to the room. The traditional snarl of disgust on his face as he takes you in is nowhere to be found, as if just remembering that you are in fact a woman. The look in his eye is anything other than innocent and it has your spine locking tightly. You would do anything to have none of them look at you like that, preferring to suffer kicks to the spine, punches to the stomach and broken bones rather than what’s no doubt running through his head.

“My eyes are on my face shit-bag.” You hiss to the guard, and any desire is immediately wiped straight from his face, as if he too remembered that you were but a bastard.

Although they lacked a moral compass, apparently that title was enough to keep men from you as if you carried the plague. And whilst as a child, you’d hated that it kept you from making friends - now, as a woman after her eighteenth nameday in a prison with only male guards, you were glad for it.

“Bite your tongue before I tear it from your mouth scum.” The dark haired guard growls in response, his tone promising nothing but pure malice. But as the handmaidens thread the golden earrings through your lobes, you tilt your head down, feigning fear of the promised words knowing full well that it wouldn’t happen - at least by his hands, and not yet.

Do not be afraid. The voice that feels like a gentle hand on your shoulder speaks into your mind. You do not yield to anyone.

You uphold the façade as the shackles around your wrists are unchained, slipping onto the handmaid’s hands quietly, and your ankles practically sighing in relief at the lack of weight of the metal. Your mind fills with images of your deepest nightmares to ensure that your anticipation is masked deeply by feigned horror and fear so it is hidden from all but yourself in preparation for the night ahead. The exotic scent of Jasmine fills the air as shoes are slipped onto your feet and more jewellery draped across your collarbones.

It was more finery than you had ever worn in your life, as if to show that you had been accepted into the ‘new’ royal family under the façade of being taken ‘under the queen’s wing’. No doubt, in order to appease any rumours and to cover the truth for the masses.

The chiffon of your skirts dusting against your feet was an unfamiliar feeling, yet you focused on the brushing of the material as you stalked down the hall, flanked by guards to seem as if you weren’t paying attention to every stationing and every weapon glittering their white golden armour. As you breach one of the main halls, you try not to gape at the many soldiers manning each doorway. What an auspicious occasion for a coronation, the whole of the known world would have eyes within Inarizaki tonight no doubt. Once upon a time, the idea of such a large crowd would have had nerves bubbling inside your blood, but now only anticipation remains. A large crowd means twice as many eyes, and many eyes mean that the guards could not hover over you like a prisoner, they would have to be lenient.

And as you took your first steps into the throne room for the first time in months, your eyes settling on the golden throne, flames etched into the metal as if it looked as if it was made of it you couldn’t help but release a sliver of your hidden emotions.

The smell of the food wafting from the kitchens down the hall almost had your stomach rumbling, however as your gaze shifts from the throne and to the glass dome ceilings, the constellation of Kalaeo glimmering down at you, the chill that had been straining your bones settled.

You do not yield, you do not falter.

And as you turn from the sky, you thank the gods for giving you a clear night sky one last time.

Because there was a high chance that your reckless slip of a plan would go up in flames, and you would find yourself never seeing that sky ever again. You had already accepted that tonight would be your one and only chance.

You know your days are numbered, a little more than mere hours if it doesn’t go to plan. But there was nothing here for you, and no one left to mourn you. So any chance, even the most microscopic, you would take it like a beast to flesh, and you will not yield.

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misterewrites · 3 years

Text

A Part of Something Bigger (Welcome to the Underground!)

Hello everyone! E here, hoping you are safe and sound and doing good! The new chapter of the Underground is here and I'm excited for this and the next chapter. I am so happy I finally get to reveal something I’ve had in my head since I first started creating the Underground! Man am I cheek E. oh puns, I’m terrible.

I hope you are all have a great week! Stay safe, wash your hands, take care of each other, get the vaccine if you can, push for companies to give it world wide all that jazz. Feel free to comment (I love feedback) tell your friends, reblog I appreciate it all!

If you’re new and curious what the heck I’m talking about, feel free to check out the whole story and have access to my other work right in the link below (cuz I’m 95% Tumblr has shadowbanned me)

https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrE42/pseuds/MrE42

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27814297/chapters/68094967 (first chapter)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27814297/chapters/78927370 (latest chapter)

Have a great week, E is out!

Summary: Turns out Oliver is a part of the Choir, a secret organization that operates within the Underground. Something big is happening tonight and It's up to Oliver and his allies to ensure it does not. However, the bard has to figure out what's going on before anything else.

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Oliver had been many things in the 18 years of his begrudging existence: An orphan, a thief, a con-kid, hopelessly in love, a scout, fry cook that one week and an aspiring minstrel. Many masks and different roles to survive each new day.

The one he took a quiet pride in was being a member of the Choir, a secret organization whose goal was to keep the Underground free from malicious and devious intent.

Every society had their dark, treacherous shadows where evil did its business (Oliver assumed. He only really ever lived in the Underground but you know universal constants and such.) The Choir’s purpose was to ensure those plans never came to fruition.

Rather than being an openly known identity, the Choir was more a loose collection of independent agents operating under secrecy. The organization employed any and everyone who was willing to fight for the cause, each in their own way: Merchants passed coded information, tavernkeepers offered safe havens, those with some level of magical proficiency gathered to study abnormal phenomenon. Fighters fought, clerics healed with lords and ladies used their influence for the greater good.

Sometimes, as is the case now, one individual was too limited for what was required of the organization’s purpose. In these rare moments, agents were granted permission to request help, often leaving hidden messages and imagery for other wandering members to respond to.

That’s what brought Oliver here to this dark alley in the middle of the night: When he first arrived to the capital, he caught sight of the coded symbol asking for any Choir member to lend their skill set to a mission tonight. No details added but that was par for the course.

Terri was the first to recover, her slivers eyes wide with wonder “A soprano? No joke?!Flora, he’s like you!”

Terri was tall, taller than anyone else here. She wore a red vest with torn off sleeves, probably because her muscles were too thick to actually allow them to exist in the first place. Her long jet black hair was elegantly tied into braids with her dark blue leggings tucked into thick hiking boots.

Flora pursed her lips thoughtfully, irises of lavender giving Oliver a curious look “A fellow magic user? Interesting. Wizard?”

“Bard” Oliver corrected “You?”

“Druid.” Flora spoke before drifting into an uncomfortable silence. Oliver suspected she wasn’t impressed by his response.

Flora seemed unassuming but Oliver knew better than to be lured in by appearances: Long silvery hair with petals of green and yellow flowers scattered within. She wore a white blouse with splotches of brown dirt and a long green skirt. Her feet were bare and free to be soiled by the floor.

Terri rushed over to the petrified Tyrell, dragging him into a bone crunching hug “Tyrell here is a baritone like me!”

Tyrell, the youngest beside Oliver, shifted his brown eyes away from anyone’s gaze. He wore rather well kept clothes: A tunic of purple tucked under a leather vest, his leggings were dark gray that blended fairly well in the darkness. His footwear seemed a little too fancy to be workman’s shoes.

“Fighters” Oliver nodded in understanding “Always useful. And you mysterious stranger in the darkness?”

The cloaked figure had pulled back deeper into the shadows, red eyes gleaming in the shades of night. They were trying to hard to hide their appearance but Oliver caught sight of a smooth featureless bronze face. Metallic armor of a matching color and sheen covered the rest of their body, an automaton it seems.

“You may call me Sel. I’m a tenor.” the figure responded, their voice tinged with scratchy static.

“You are going very useful. Lockpicking?”

Sel shrugged casually “Among other less savory techniques. As per usual for tenors.”

Oliver nodded “Okay, fill me in.”

Flora took a step forward, pulling a letter out of her pocket as she did so “Are you aware of one Reiner Brambleoak?”

“Oh fucking hell” Oliver rubbed his eyes tiredly “Him again? What’s he planning this time: Gonna burn an orphanage? Or maybe sell moldy food to the poor? Wait, I know!” Oliver snapped his finger “He’s going to be a terrible piece of shit.”

“Right on the money!” Terri growled.

Sel let out a mechanical click “He is planning to tear down several homes in West Haven.”

Oliver narrowed his eyes “I thought it was illegal to tear down homes in that area?”

“Not if the owners signed them over.” Flora explained “Then he would have the authority to do whatever he wished with them.”

“Let me guess, he tricked them?”

Terri flexed her muscles angrily “His representatives would change languages and double talk when they spoke to the poor folks. Most hadn’t the slightest idea what was going on and the orc thugs his people brought didn’t exactly make them feel warm and safe.”

“So.” Oliver stretched his arms “He’s strong armed his way into property, going to evict helpless folks onto the street and probably fill them with his own thugs to get the rest of the neighborhood to fall in line.”

“Unless we stop him.” Sel spoke with righteous fury.

“Tonight.” Oliver chimed in “Throwing another party?”

“You are good.” Tyrell whistled.

Oliver gave a playful wink “Naturally. What’s the plan?”

Flora reached into her pack and handed Oliver a letter: it was written in such a fancy hand he swore he was getting a headache just looking at it.

“One for each of us.” Flora explained, distributing the rest to the others “A fellow Choir member secured these tonight’s mission.”

“Helpful. Alright here’s the plan….”

“Wait” Flora interrupted “Who said you are in charge bard?”

“Me” Oliver countered with a grin “Because I’ve been to these types of festivities. Have any of you?”

Flora opened her mouth then promptly closed it, irritation in her glance. Tyrell gave a sheepish but unhelpful smile, Sel remained silent while Terri gave a thoughtful scratch of her chin.

“Thought so.” Oliver tried to keep the smugness out of his voice “Look we just need to work together for tonight.”

“Agreed.” Flora spoke with a softness that did not match her glare.

Sel inched closer to the group “What is the plan Oliver?”

“Where’s the party? Merchant Ward? I assume he’s using his office to host it.”

“Correct” Sel confirmed “His office has been chosen as the venue. He claims to be throwing the party as some sort of fundraiser for a charity that is no doubt a front for his illegal operations.”

Terri huffed, crossing her arms furiously “Probably making some more deals to trick people out of their hard earn money.”

“Without a doubt” Oliver agreed “But without any hard proof, we’re not taking him down tonight. Our mission is to ensure those contracts he forced people to sign mysteriously disappear.”

“Will that actually stop him?” Tyrell frowned unhappily “What’s stop him from forging new ones? Or just bullying people again?”

“He can’t forge new ones” Oliver explained carefully “They’re a special type of document only found here in Haven’s Nest. You can only get them from city hall and they’re magically enchanted to be untamperable with. He’ll need to get the ones he has to city hall on open court day which I assume is soon.”

“Indeed. Tomorrow in fact.”

Oliver continued on “So since open court day is the only day any major changes are allowed to be introduced to the city, if we grab them he’ll have to wait a month for another chance of snatching up that land. He’ll no doubt try to bully the folks again but now that they know what he’s up to, hopefully they’ll won’t be as easily pressured and if a few rough looking folks who can take punches and give them back start hanging around the neighborhood when his goons come knocking again…”

“They’re gonna be less eager” Terri cracked her knuckles cheerfully, already savoring the feel of bruised skin and broken bones that would bless her hands.

Oliver caught Tyrell’s eyes “One problem at a time. If you look at the mountain, you’re going to get scared.”

Tyrell nodded timidly in agreement.

“So.” Sel’s voice crackled with curiosity “What is the plan bard?”

Oliver closed his eyes, mentally mapping out the Brambleoak bank: three stories of corrupted, immoral finance who preyed on the helpless and lost. He could still see the faded green hue and cracked paint of the building in his mind’s eye. The ground floor would no doubt be where the bulk of the party would be taking place: a large space with an elevated stage normally reserved for long winded speeches could easily repurposed for a band or some sort of entertainment. His guests would range from any and everyone with any amount of influence or wealth. The second floor were the offices of his lecherous employees while his office took up the entirety of the third floor.

“Alright” Oliver spoke after a moment “I have a good idea what to expect. We’re going to break up into two teams.”

Everyone stared him expectedly.

Oliver gestured to Terri and Tyrell “You two are going to hang out at the bar across the street: The Stinkeye. Charming place, ran by a former pirate captain. Sunday is sea shanty night I think."

“Whoa, wait a minute” Terri grumbled unhappily “I am not letting Flora go into that place without me! It’s enemy turf and I don’t feel comfortable with the idea."

Flora took Terri’s hand within her own “Agreed sweetie.”

“Look this isn’t exactly a fist loaded, knives out situation. Any sort of brawling inside will be dealt with swiftly and painfully. Brambleoak doesn’t like anything scaring away the prey and causing a scene inside won’t accomplish anything. Outside, however.”

Terri’s eyes knowingly sparkled, Tyrell just looked dumbfounded.

Oliver gestured with his hand, muttering a phrase under his breath as magic formed around his hand in a golden light. A small image appeared in his palm: A heavily scarred elf with ashy blonde hair, one eye a brilliant forest green the other dull and cloudy. He wore an elegant officer’s uniform, dark green with various medals pinned to his chest with a long flowing red cape that trailed behind.

Oliver opened mouth to speak but Terri’s low snarl beat him to the punch.

“Lea Foot.”

“Acquaintance I guess?””

Flora nodded, gently squeezing Terri’s hand to get her to calm down “Lea has been a constant thorn in our sides. I believe he suspects we are a part of some greater organization. He has never seen us but he sends his underlings to bully us.”

“So I don’t need to explain his whole mercenaries for hire deal. Been exclusive to Brambleoak for a while now.”

“Can I punch him?” Terri murmured darkly.

“Yes, can she?” Flora chimed in, unable to keep the plead out of her voice.

Oliver shook his head “Maybe but we’ll see. He’s gotta show up at some point but I doubt he’ll be there right at the start. Likes to push old people around, probably eat a child or two before ‘working.’ Your job is to keep him distracted at all costs. He’s a sick man that likes to watch a good fight and the longer he’s out there, the better chance we’ll have.”

Sel tilted their head quizzically “Why is it important to keep him outside?”

“Basically” Oliver cracked his fingers “He’s very perceptive and the person most likely to catch our plan in action. His crew is made up of a nobodies with a perchance for cruelty and a thirst for violence but Lea is an old hand. Keeping himself outside is the best chance for success and if you guys accidentally get too close and managed to stray a hit his way…”

Terri chuckled manically the idea. Tyrell just looked sick.

“Meanwhile Flora, Sel and I will be inside. We’ll be looking for a chance to get Sel into the stairway so he can break into Brambleoak’s office. Without any sort of information, there’s no point to flesh out a full plan but we’ll make it up as we go. It’s a giant party of people who think they’re special. Shouldn’t be too hard to cause some drama and distractions.”

Flora said silent for a moment before speaking up “It’s not a lot to work with but admittedly better than anything I would’ve come up with.”

“Agreed.” Sel added “Without proper intel, it would be pointless to attempt to formulate any sort of long term plan. This works best to our strengths. Wait and create an opportunity,”

“That’s on us.” Oliver cut in “Your job is to get in and out. Preferably without being seen but who knows what will happen.”

The group, previously lost and anxious, glowed with renew sense of purpose and determination: 10 minutes ago they had no plan and now they were ready to do what they signed up for.

“Get ready team” Oliver gestured about “We leave in five.”

Everyone broke away to prepare for the mission: Terri cracked every bone in her body, ready for any brawl she would start. Sel slunk back into the shadows and remained still among the darkness. Tyrell held leaned unevenly against the brick building nearby, trying to steady his breathing.

Flora, on the other hand, approached Oliver, her voice dropping to a whisper.

“Oliver.”

“Flora.”

“I have a question for you.”

Oliver was confused “I’m not sure what about but go ahead.”

Flora pursed her lips “You were coming from West End, delivering a package to a Choir member out there correct?”

“Yeeeeees.” Oliver unsure where this was going “The old man. Lady Rozalin said it was the upmost importance.”

Flora bit her cheek nervously “Before you left, did you see him?”

His stomach turned cold as he remembered how uneasy he felt the day he left with Archie and Abigail, the chill that ran down his spine “No, why?”

“We haven’t been able to contact him. He is not responding to our wizards long range message spells. We’re…..worried.”

Oliver could feel his skin crawl with anxiety, his pulse raced as a horrible realization dawned on him.

“He’s missing.” Oliver spoke what Flora did not.

She nodded in response “As a high ranking member, he is important to our cause and since you were the last person to see him, the higher ups were wondering if anything suspicious happened the last day you spoke with him.”

Oliver remembered it clearly: The free money, rushing them out the door, his ‘tiredness.’ There was no such thing as free money in his mentor’s eyes and Roland was never known for pushing a guest out of his house or being tired in the middle of the day. He was attempting to get them to leave to prevent something from happening.

“He was acting weird.” Oliver admitted “At the time I found it strange but he gave me little room to argue. Now I’m wishing I had.”

Flora’s face was indifferent but Oliver could hear the sincerity in her voice “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this. If you need a moment…”

“No” Oliver cut her off quickly “I’m good. We have a mission to do and we need to focus on that now. Afterwards we can talk about finding out what happened to the old man.”

Flora gave a simple nod before wandering over to Terri’s side, lightly kissing her cheek with affection.

Oliver took a deep calming breath: There was no point to let his mind wander, to worry about things out of his control. Even if he wanted to do something, he was needed here and now. Besides the Choir would investigate Roland’s disappearance and there were agents far more experienced than he about.

He would leave it up to them. For the moment he needed to balance out the universe and root out the evil that laid in the shadows.

#Original Work #original story #my story #welcome to the underground

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officialgomezaddams · 3 years

Text

Morality

I honestly dk what this is but its set in AOTC kinda want to turn this into a little series $wag also shout out to my fellow nihilists this is for you bb

Palpatine had always kept watchful over her but never loomed. It would have been too obvious. When he met Anakin, it was like a breath of fresh air, a realization that this little boy was destined to restore the balance in the force and his daughter, Y/n, would be the one to defeat him. He had begun the idea of his daughter once he joined the Darkside, already knowing that the possibility to be overthrown was something he couldn’t let happen. The dark energy, the power, was simply too much to let go of. The moment he saw the nine-year-old boy, the lord was happy to know that the power would stay on the dark side.

Dooku trained Y/n as a padawan, and when he left the order, he took Y/n with him, kidnapping her into the night. When she asked why they were leaving the temple as he dragged her into a ship, he simply replied, “Sometimes when politicians can’t do their job, we must do something ourselves.” Over the years together, he would open up more, telling Y/n about the death of Qui-Gon and every step that drove him to leave.

“The Jedi rely on selflessness. To strip one’s ability to have connection and emotion. They lose themselves in conformity. We need to take control of the life we’re given. Emotion, passion, drive. Those are how we will be victorious. Corrupt politicians pull the Jedi around like kites on strings. You can not try and save a house that its lousy foundation has torn down. Tear it down and build a new one.”

It was her job to ensure just that, a new foundation set within the heart of the Darkside. Relentless training to mentally and physically defeat the chosen one. Palpatine would often tell her that her destiny was a part of the Sith Two, that the strongest one of the two would survive, and it was to be her. Darth Sidious found comfort that his creation would take over the Darkside once she had killed him and the Count. The most decisive Jedi ruling on the side of the night.

She didn’t quite understand it, but to stay on the Darkside made the most sense to her. It wasn’t about power. It was the lifestyle. Why be selfless if there was no personal gain? Why spend a life living for something else? Shouldn’t one live their life for themselves? Everyone, she determined, had to want something. As long as she did what she wanted, it was enough. It had to be. Because without drive and her idea of what was truly right and wrong, how would she get anything done?

She rationed that it all didn’t matter. She would never know who was right because, in her mind, the concept of being right varied too much. The Jedi thought they were right, the sith thought they were right, the politicians who voted against their people’s needs thought they were right. She had to suffer through Palpatine’s long lectures about how awful the senate was and now terrible the Jedi Order is. But who was to say he was right? That was only his opinion. Who was to say the Jedi were right because a frog that was almost nine hundred years old said so?

“I’m just…” Anakin went on, pulling a piece of grass out of the ground. “I mean, I don’t know. Padmè is beautiful and wonderful. She’s everything that could make someone perfect: marriage, it’s so permanent. I know I’m supposed to be excited, which I am, of course. But what if we were not supposed to be together.”

His speech made her frown. “Sometimes, it’s better just to dive in and see where you land.” She offered. The dreams with Anakin were a peaceful escape to a Jedi’s life. Neither knew why their dreams brought them together or what they even meant. Neither of them bothered, living the same training life on opposite sides. A sweet dream was the perfect reward. “And who are you going to be with then, me?” She teased back.

The setting of the dreams was in the meadows of Naboo. The pastel-colored flowers stood dim in the moonlight from the starry night above. Anakin laid with his head in her lap as they talked about their personal lives, never going in too deep about what their destinies were. Anakin no longer had the pressure of being the chosen one, and Y/n never had to admit she would kill the chosen one.

“I wish,” Anakin admitted, now looking up at her. “I want so bad to meet you Y/n, not just in my dreams but in real life. If I could have you by my side, all of this would be less confusing. I’ve fallen in love with you, a woman in my dreams. Why can’t you be in my reality?”

“Don’t say that,” She whispered. Whenever Anakin talked about his little girl-thing, Y/n wasn’t even one hundred percent sure what their relationship was, and she always felt a slight nic in her heart. Y/n knew that she was in love with Anakin, but to hear about another woman making him the happiest he’s been in the majority of the years that she knew him, that it wasn’t her, the one sneaking in kisses with him in the shadows. It brought out an ugly feeling of jealousy and possessiveness to Y/n that she didn’t know she had.

“I promise, one day, I’ll be with you in all the ways you want.” She spoke with a smile. She would often daydream about what life would be like to meet him real-time. They would run up to each other and crush each other in a hug. She imagined it all.

“Tell me about it,” Anakin edged on, closing his eyes as if it was going to play out in his head.

“Well, I want to go somewhere like D’Qar, somewhere quiet where I won’t have to worry about neighbors or anyone I don’t want finding me. Or us, because you’re coming with me no matter what your soon-to-be wife says,” You teased, making him laugh. “Maybe- Sometimes in my dreams, there’s no Padmè, it’s just us, and every so often there are kids, but it’s just us. Tucked away where we can be together, and nothing can bother us or stop us from being together.”

The silence that sat in between them began to scare Y/n, “Is that a future you would want with me?”

His eyes met hers, a peaceful moment in the chaos of their lives. He reached up to tuck a strand of hair that fell in front of her face, behind her ear. “If I were able to, I would.”

“And why can’t you? Why can’t you have the things you want, Anakin? Is it wrong to be happy?”

Waking up from the dreams was always the most challenging part, the reality of it not being a reality. Y/n woke up already in a bad mood, mentally kicking herself for pushing too far in. Of course, he wouldn’t want to. He’s getting married to someone else. You’re too late. It had always been Y/n’s plan to end up with Anakin in some way or another. From the first dream to now, she decided to leave the Sith once she had killed the chosen one. Somedays, she would pace around, impatiently waiting for whoever held the title to cross her path so she could just finish the job and take the next ship to wherever Anakin was.

She tore the necklace he had given her off her neck, clutching the carven japor snippet in her hand with a grip so hard she could have cracked it if it wasn’t made out of stone. She was squeezing her eyes shut, trying not to cry. Anakin had given Y/n the good luck charm when they were at the age of thirteen. Y/n was upset that once everything was over that he may not want to be with her, the reputation of her choices would drive him away.

“Well, you can’t be that bad,” He commented, pulling out the carved stone from his pocket and shyly handing it to her. “I made this for you,” Anakin explained as she put it around her neck, “So that when good things happen, you can think of me. It’ll be my way of keeping you safe, and in return, one day, you will come to me safely.”

She opened her eyes and stared at the carvings, remembering how Anakin said he made it just for her, so she better not lose it. Y/n wanted to break it, throw it away, and never see Anakin again. She wanted more than just the dreams. She wanted the sunsets and the early morning and the rainy days - all of it. Maybe they were wrong, they weren’t supposed to meet, and it was just a nice dream.

She couldn’t do that. She at least owes him a simple greeting, and then she can get rid of him. Putting the necklace back on and wiping her face to make sure she wasn’t crying, Y/n walked out of the room, ready for whatever the sith wanted her to do.

“Just be patient,” Her master told her as they waited outside the still open ship. Geonosis was overrun with battle, the sith fighting tooth and bone to claim the planet as its capital, the major droid foundries, and its Mandalorians. Nothing could be more perfect for the sith. The two force signatures caught Y/n’s attention. Looking up at Dooku, she told him, “Well, let’s make it quick then.”

“The chosen one will be here,” he whispered back. “I’ll leave that one to you.”

“You’re gonna pay for all the Jedi you killed, Dooku,” A familiar voice said as you both turned around in unison. “Y/N?” A pit dropped in her stomach. It was him, Anakin. Anakin’s blue saber was pointed at the ground, more focused on her than the older man.

The necklace he gave her burned her through her robes. Anakin was finally there in front of her. This Anakin was different from her dreams. He stood with more pride and confidence. He was also the chosen one. “I-I didn’t expect to meet you like this,” She told him, knowing full well once on the ship, she would be interrogated about her knowledge of the boy.

“Why are you with him?” The venom in his voice almost made her feel guilty about being who she was. “Are you-? Don’t tell me Y/n-” He couldn’t find the words to express his confusion and disappointment, “You’re a Sith. How can you be with them? You lied to me! Can’t you see what they’re doing to you? Can’t you see what they’ve done!”

“The Jedi know no facts,” She spoke, looking over at the Count, waiting for his head nod and sign of approval to ignite her orange saber. The whole weapon was made for destruction, a perfect saber to kill the chosen one. Its orange glow was representing strength. The curved hilt that matched hers of her masters was perfect for duels and close fights. “Only assumptions.”

It hurt her to have him looking at her in disgust. As if she was suddenly less than him because of her beliefs. “Anakin, you need to calm down,” She warned him as he charged towards her, only for Dooku to step in front of her, raising his hand to send bolds of electricity into the boy’s body and fling him into a rock wall. “Don’t keep me waiting,” Her master spoke before walking up the platform of the ship.

Y/n only had seconds to understand that not only her master had abandoned her, Anakin was also lying limp in a pile of rocks, and the other Jedi was making his way towards her. She pointed her saber straight ahead at him, taking careful steps around him, trying to think about how this all would end. Was this it? When is supposed to kill the chosen one who happened to be the boy Y/n had fallen in love with over the past ten years? She knew that once she killed Anakin, she would have to kill the two sith above her, starting the two over with her as a master.

“I heard the little green guy talks highly of you, Kenobi. What a pity it will be when I kill his two strongest men.”

Obi-wan shook his head, “You’re not Dooku’s apprentice. You’re just an assassin to him. Y/n why would he elect a child to be his successor?” He spoke as if he could read her mind, his blue eyes pleading with her.

“You don’t know anything!” Y/n yelled, making the first strike. His saber skills were advanced, but quickly she was able to disarm him and left two marks on him, one on his arm and one on his thigh. She walked up to him, the two staring at each other. Was she about to kill this man? She had never killed a human before. Taking down droids and other creatures were casual to her. Humans? This man was edging her on with his eyes, both understanding that she wasn’t able to drive her saber into his neck. She couldn’t just kill a man who had done nothing to her. That would be wrong, right? But if it was so bad, why was she encouraged to do it?

Before she could thoroughly choose, Anakin came at full force again. This time his master had tossed him his saber, making the fight two against one. “Why won’t you join our site, the right side?” Anakin asked, swiftly dodging her but failing to make any advancements to disarming her.

“I don’t believe in any right sides.” She told him, knocking the green lightsaber out of his hand, evening out the fight. “I believe in one thing. Power of human will.”

She walked into the ship quietly, ignoring the little green Jedi behind her. She didn’t care about the older man, Yoda or Count Dooku. She walked past the sith and made her way right to the pilot’s seat before sitting down.

Dooku followed her, giving her space as she sat down. Crossing his arms like a disappointed parent, he asked, “Well?”

“I cut his arm off,” Y/n spoke, taking out the necklace and looking at the charm in her hand. She left right after, watching him lay unconscious against his master, missing apart of his right arm. She had hurt him, and for a moment, when she was looking at the injured pair, the padawan’s master had the same look on his face as before. An eyebrow raised as if to say, Do it, kill us. I doubt you’ll do it.

“I’m disappointed in you.” He said. Y/n could have done it. She would have just pictured them as droids and slice the two in half. It would have been quick and painless. She could have plaid her life out, kill the chosen one, rule the sith, and live her life. Why didn’t you? She kept thinking as she admired the gift.

Looking at the charm, the future she talked about seemed too far away, especially now. The end with the boy she loved, Anakin, who also was the boy she was supposed to kill. But for right now, she thought to herself. She wouldn’t kill him, at least not yet, until she knew for sure that her fantasies with Anakin were just wild dreams. It was her own life. Why couldn’t she have the things she wanted?

#anakin skywalker imagine #star wars imagine #anakin imagine #anakin skywalker imagines #star wars imagines #anakin imagines #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin x reader #star wars x reader

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kryptsune · 3 years

Text

World Building Wednesday! (AU edition)~

The Hunt (Fellswap)

*I am going to start off with some basic information just to start!*

The Surface: The surface has been overrun by corrupt leaders. It is very much the concept of big brother. They are a council that presides over the affairs of the world. If you are seen as a threat you will be immediately thrown into “prison” without a trial. They hold occasional public trials in the guise of being fair. Just as WTU claims, the very concept of magic is a threat to them so those that have it are quickly disposed of but leaders don’t always do the dirty work themselves. No. In fact, they use another source by means of execution…the monsters. More accurately it is very similar to the idea of throwing your enemies into a kind of gladiatorial arena. It is not technically considered an execution if circumstances lead to death. The humans are not stupid they know what is going on. Some believe in rebellion against the state and some wonder if the monsters could fix their corrupt world. Either way, the corruption continues and they are not above tossing innocents into “the pit” if it suits their agenda. “The Pit” (aka the Underworld/Underground): The underworld is broken up into different factions by location. The only location without a faction or any type of ruler is The Ruins, because of its size and its isolation this is where humans try to reach for some form of Salvation. Asgore, the caretaker, has made it into an encampment for those that have fallen (the innocent ones). It is almost like a refugee camp. Unfortunately very few make it to Asgore’s safe haven. He does his best. Poor goat dad. He is not like canon Toriel however as he will use violence if necessary as he knows that humans are simply using them as tools to get rid of who they deem criminal. There are signs of old campfires, broken tents, and habitation. Before The Ruins is, of course, the main factions. “Snowdin” is the beginning and Crimson is one of the most powerful in the Underworld.

The Layout of the world: New Home= The Capital Snowdin= Magmire Waterfall= Windyspires Hotland= Tundra

The Underworld is backward to its original layout. The humans end up trapped in The Capital instead and they have to make their way to The Ruins to escape. So it would go like this: The Capital -> Tundra ->Windyspires ->Magmire. The closer the faction to the capital the higher the rank in other words because both Grimm and Crimson live in Tundra. Crim is the lord making him one of the most notorious. He is known for being a loyal “dog” to his queen. Whether that be out of loyalty or self preservation is unclear. Each faction has a lord or lady that rules over it. The ones loyal to Toriel’s (As a side note she is known as the ice queen) regime and their supposed way of life. This also means the closest ones receive the most benefits. Tundra is the one with the most prestige and of course other monsters are trying to strip that title from its current holder, The Crimson Lord. Due to Crimson’s loyalty, he is almost exempt from any wrongdoing in the Queens’ eyes which means he can do pretty much anything he wants. Which is dangerous and I will explain why in a bit. I have a faction ruler list sitting here so I am going to add that to this as well. They are as follows, of course, this does not account for potential power struggles during the story: The Capital -> QUEEN: Toriel Dreemurr Tundra -> Lord: Crimson Lady: N/A Windyspires -> Lord? (I mean she wouldn’t want to be called a lady SHE IS TOO TOUGH FOR THAT!): Alphys Lady: Undyne Magmire-> Lord: Grillby Lady: Muffet “It’s Hunt or be Hunted”: The motto of this verse. After so many centuries of humans being disposed of by monsters they become aggressive. In addition the anger toward all of humanity begins to fuel violence in the monsters. The hunts deter monster on monster violence. It also adds fuel to Queen Toriel’s fire that one of the humans that fell down the first time killed her son. This of course is a lie as Asriel seeks refuge with his father in The Ruins. He helps as much as he can watch his mother lose her mind from afar. It saddens him but he refuses to be a part of this new world order. That is when they realized that humans weren’t just falling into the Underworld. They were throwing throwing the worst of the worst. Their undesirables, criminals, and anyone that dare went against their own agenda. At first, they just captured them and held them in the Capitals network of catacombs but then some began to escape causing damage across their “New Home”. Toriel wouldn’t allow it. A proposal turns it into a game of cat and mouse. The humans are detained and released and then the monsters hunt them down. It used to be about protection but now it’s become a sick twisted death game. The forests of Tundra are littered with traps and deadly pitfalls along with the rest of the locations.

The Brothers Grimm:

Grimm is the wilder of the two brothers and is very much a predator type. His name is derived from the mythos of the Grimm or Black dog. I wanted to keep that dark omen symbology in both his name and design. He slinks around in the shadows so that the black dog aspect is not far off. He also loves watching from trees. He enjoys the catching and hunting aspect of his job and even plays around with his “toys” when he finds them. He will specifically call anyone “chew toy” in a mocking kind of way. That does not mean though that he will not spare you if he catches you. He is naturally curious by things. He also has a little skele tail too. Unlike his brother, Grimm doesn’t really have an ego he just finds his job fun. He is like a giant untamed wolf. Grimm has a love of sweets as well. He admires his brother but he is not bound to his brother. In other words this is not a master, dog dynamic. He is, however, the more accepting of the two. If he is asked to do something he doesn’t approve of then he most likely won’t. Also just because he has the whole puppy thing going on doesn’t mean he isn’t smart and cunning. Again he likes to play around with those he finds sometimes not even dragging them back to his brother for a while. If you are a threat he will kill you but if you’re not you can probably get on his good side. If he thinks you are cute he will probably flirt with you too. He is not beyond that. He plays the part of the dog quite well. Crimson is more sophisticated. He doesn’t go out on “hunts” himself often as he has a faction to rule over but those brought to him will see first hand that he is an insufferable flirt. He is prideful, egotistical, and commanding. He also has a bad habit of keeping mementos from those he deems worthy (what those are… you don’t want to know). He is stern with his brother and seems very outwardly cold to most unless he is playing up his charm. He is not someone you want to make angry as Toriel considers him to also be the Bloody Lord. His weapon of choice is a rapier. His drinks of choice are red wine and champagne specifically the pink kind. Crimson’s incisor teeth also have that vampire point to them. They are longer than the rest of them. There is far more to Crimson than just a ruthless skeleton lord.

The Ultimate Unlikely Hunters: This backstory will involve Grimm and Crimson’s unusual infliction and conditions. They were both experiments under Rivers research team in the beginning. Having been weak monsters as children unable to gain any LV they had to think of a way to survive. They did not seem to possess the ability to wield magic. Tired, injured, and without hope Papyrus carried his baby brother all the way to Windyspires banging weakly on the metal plated doors. The Royal scientist at the time, Dr. River Styx, took the boys in. River cares about the two brothers and he gives them a choice if they want to become stronger as their souls are not capable of it on their own. Grimm takes the offer hoping it will save his baby brother offering to be the first test subject. At the time Undyne was nothing but a teenage prodigy lab tech watching the events of soul manipulation take place. At first the process works. Pap is able to conjure new bone like attacks with magic and all seems to be well. The results cause River to start the experiment on Sans next. By this time complications have already begun to show signs. Pap seems to be more short tempered and aggressive even with little things. His mood swings cause him to lock himself up being monitored day by day.

Sans has never seen his gentle brother this aggressive before forcing himself to look away as they have to strap him down for a follow up experiment. He tries to help his brother the best he can and takes on the older brother role due to Pap’s inability to think clearly. Even he is starting to change. The longer this situation continues the more Sans becomes numb to the feeling. That is until one day Pap’s condition takes a turn for the worse causing him to lash out, bones shifting and elongating. He drops to the ground in agony transforming into a skeletal beast like wolf tearing the entire lab apart. Sans on the other hand continues to take care of his brother but he too is feeling some strange side effects to the soul manipulation. It turns out that each monster’s ancestry buried deep within their soul draws upon a primal power. Not all monsters were about love and compassion in the beginning. Bringing this primal trait to the surface causes adverse physical and biological changes within the two. Sans is more gradual as he starts to be in immense pain. His soul struggles to keep itself together but even he snaps lunging at a lab tech. He zeros in on their soul pulling it from their chest and sinking his teeth into it, draining it of its life force. The pain is suddenly gone. He realizes that he needs souls essence and power to keep that hunger/thirst at bay. It gives him extraordinary abilities. He remembers a long time ago reading about a monster that humans had such a fear of, the vampire. As he comes into power he realizes that humans concentrated soul traits are even better than monster souls. The blood has a high concentration of soul essence which sustains humans as well as monsters (yes the monsters bleed in this). His brother learns to control this new beast within himself but not before he nearly claws his brothers socket out, hence the signature scar. Crimson has scars on his entire body from trying to reason with his once feral brother. They slowly work their way up to eventually ruling the second most powerful kingdom in the entire Underworld with exception to The Capitol. The constant hunts keep both the brothers conditions satisfied. No one is quite sure how the two skeleton brothers became this way after River’s disappearance, all except Undyne.

*This is just to get started! If you have any questions about the characters, how the world works, the layout, story, any of that go ahead and drop me an ask I would love to answer them!*

#undertale #WBW #Worldbuilding Wednesday AU edition #underfell #Fellswap #undertale au #underfell au #The Hunt #friskys multiverse #kits multiverse #multiverse #The Crimson Lord #Crimson #my au #Fellswap au #fairytale aesthetic #lore

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rockofeye · 3 years

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Hi! I'm Haitian American and as you are a non-Haitian who practices Vodou, Im curious as to your opinion on this topic. Do you believe Aysiyen se yon pep lwa yo reklame? Many people say that because Haitian are not following Vodou that is why Haiti is in this condition. What do you think?

Hello!

Thanks for your interesting question. I think there are a few ways to look at this.

I do think lwa yo ap reklame pep ayisyen, but I do not think Haiti is suffering because Haitians are not serving the lwa. I fully believe that Haiti is suffering under the long term destabilization brought on by colonization and the continual reach of US and other Western superpower imperialism.

Religion and spirituality do have a part in that. Haiti has consistently been bombarded with messages that Vodou is evil/bad/the reason the country is suffering for a very long time, and it got seriously amped up after the earthquake with well-known religious figureheads in the country and outside it declaring that the earthquake was punishment for people serving the lwa. It has been ugly, and with the rise of the Protestant prosperity gospel nonsense and constant stream of missionaries and religious voluntourism, it continues to be ugly and to exploit the most vulnerable in the country. There are megachurches in the capital that promise people a meal if they renounce their lwa and convert on the spot. I imagine that if you are hungry and without means to get food for you and maybe your children, it seems like a good idea. So...that religious colonization has a big part to play.

With all that in mind, I do not believe the lwa punish for those things or for people not serving their spirits. I have seen the exact opposite happen with my own eyes. Someone I know quite well who has served the lwa since before I was born converted a few years ago due to her boyfriend being a Protestant. Good reason? I don't know, but she made the choice she thought best. During a ceremony under a tree that is very important to our lineage, she got possessed by one of her lwa who came sobbing and grabbed hold of the pye bwa/gwo poto mitan. After that Ogou arrived and spoke with her. He was sad, but he told her she always had a place with him and could return any time she wanted.

Similarly, I've watched the lwa speak to a Haitian who was second generation removed from Vodou (his parents were vehemently against Vodou and he was raised Protestant. A particular lwa looked him in the eye and said 'it's not your fault, you are not responsible, and if things were different you would be here in a different capacity'. It was pretty moving and was a window into the complex understanding the lwa have of their people and of life in general.

I think in the context of your question, it's also worth thinking about our ideas and preconceptions about punishment and the lwa. It's super easy to let ourselves buy into this idea that the lwa are going to smack us or are just waiting to smack us, but I do not believe that is true and it is not what I have seen at all.

Instead, when people do not do what the lwa determine we need for our own betterment, what we tell them we're going to do for them, etc they're not so much getting smacked as they are removing themselves from the influence of the lwa and limiting what the lwa can do for them and even what the lwa are willing to do for them. Even in doing whatever the worst thing you could think of to displease the lwa, they don't lift their hand...they just accept that we do not want what they want and so they become quiet, still, and retreat until we change our minds or whatever.

That's not to say there are not consequences to our actions, but they are consequences we bring on ourselves that fall from our hands and not the hands of the lwa. I've seen things ranging from a lwa looking someone in the eye and telling them that they are currently on their last chance and if they don't change, the lwa will no longer be able to help them to a spirit coming down in a pre-kanzo ceremony and telling someone who was to be made asogwe that they could not take up the asson because they had not yet done what they had promised that spirit to a lwa looking someone in the eye and telling them that the violent death of a family member was preventable, if only they had not broken the very oaths that protected them.

Those are hard things, but lwa yo pa egri...they offer a way out if we are willing to do the work. Even for the person who lost a family member, the lwa had ways for them to move forward. It couldn't bring the family member back but what it could do was prevent that from ever happening again. Men vreman yo pa egri. When we suffer our consequences, they suffer too. They grieve with us and grieve when we are unable to do what is in our best interests. I have never ever seen them turn someone away, not even when a person has betrayed them in the deepest most jaw-dropping way. There is always a chance to do things differently.

For Haiti in general, I think they suffer there too. As I am sure you understand, the situation in Haiti is so complex and multilayered, and it can't be boiled down to folks not serving the lwa. The lwa can do a lot, but the forces of corruption and imperialism are massive and have so crushed the power of the people. Millions and millions of foreign dollars have been invested in continuing to oppress the country while the country remains incredibly rich but without distribution of the vast resources available.

On an individual level, the tide is shifting and people are grasping on to their roots in different ways which ultimately will change their futures. My husband's best friend is Protestant, but he comes from a family who have served the lwa. For years, he's been dead set against serving the spirits and yet that has changed recently with the lwa calling him home...he's dreamed of the djevo and initiation and is going to make that happen. Another friend is a manbo but stopped serving the lwa after a falling out with her spiritual parent, but she was in the temple with us this summer for the first time in years and years and wants her husband and child to follow the lwa into the djevo.

Bit by bit things shift, which changes the larger currents which in turn changes Haiti. The lwa see all things and can see all outcomes, and they have a vision that far surpasses what we can grasp. They know how the proverbial story progresses, and yo pap janm kite pitit yo...they will see Haiti through no matter what.

I hope this helps; please feel free to follow up if I can offer more insight.

#vodou #haitian vodou #haiti

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nanso · 3 years

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Do you think Rhaegar should be seen as good?

Anon, are you trolling me, lol

Sorry, ok, so to begin, I'm not entirely sure what you mean about 'good' so I'll approach two ways.

Do I think the character of Rhaegar is a good person?

No. I judge this based on his actions primarily. He made choices that not only set off the events of the war and put his family in danger, but then chose to sit out the near entirety of the war and not reverse any of this. Upon returning to the capital from his "sabbatical" in Dorne, he not only chose to fight on behalf of his father, he left his wife and two children with said father who also happened to be very racist and very violent and very unhinged.

You could argue that he thought he was doing what needed to be done for a threat that, so far, we're not even sure he really knew what it was. But 1) that doesn't justify anything and 2) basic logic and possession of decent morals would say he did not do anything right. The only way you arrive at Rhaegar doing what he did is acknowledging the fact that this character deemed himself above the consequences. That, to me, is akin to a god complex. When you think about why Rhaegar left Elia and the kids with Aerys, you could argue that he did not think they would be harmed and all would be well because he was going to win. That's the kind of thinking of a man who has never faced the consequences of his own actions.

In modern times, all of this might also be called white male privilege or unearned privilege - call me crazy! Or call me a gal who is used to watching white men walk away from the consequences of their immoral actions.

To rotate back - alleged good intentions do not make you a good person. When you have privilege, when you have resources at your disposal to help people who have no power - and you do not use your power and privilege to help people but instead use it for your own interests - that is neglectful and corrupt. The reality is that, aside from getting his family killed, Rhaegar's actions also led to a war that claimed the lives of thousands of innocent civilians. Also war leads to less resources and higher prices, particularly food, and you know who that hits first? Civilians, particularly in this case the smallfolk (I can't remember if this is brought up in regards to the rebellion but we of course see this in the War of the Five Kings. Also there's, you know, our own real history). If Rhaegar was so concerned with a threat that would harm many people, shouldn't he be concerned with saving people in other ways too and not causing them harm now?

Now there is a different question that you may be asking - do I think Rhaegar is a good fictional character?

I mean, I think we're lacking information on him, foremost. We have a handful of quotes that we can attribute to him and a few kind of tell us certain things, in terms of his motivation 'it seems I must be a warrior, the dragon must have three heads.' A lot of the fandom tends to....follow what characters like Cersei do which is love a man because he's beautiful and a prince and oh, so tragic. Even with Jon Connington, we don't really hear anything that tells us anything about Rhaegar ('your father's lands are beautiful' - dats it? really, bruh?). But we actually don't know too much about what he was like as a person aside from his (pretty ridiculous!) actions, his good looks and possible hints towards motivation via Barristan and Aemon (motivation is still a bit cloudy tbf). Oh, and I guess people are drawn in by the melancholic and sad pretty guy thing.

I assume/hope that GRRM is going to deconstruct all of this by the end. (Though do we really need him to when Lyanna is being held against her will when her brother is trying to get to her? When he publicly humiliated his wife and then abandoned her and their children?) I don't find Rhaegar compelling as a character, but that's just me. I do think it’s interesting/hilarious/ridiculous that a lot of readers/fans like Rhaegar because of the very trope GRRM is likely trying to deconstruct

Maybe he did feel like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders but honestly - nah. If he did, indeed, believe in a prophecy, he clearly centered himself at it - first as the promised prince himself, then as one of his children - but that still involves him. See the trend? Obviously other people find him incredibly interesting.

I don't. Womp. There are other characters that are my problematic while male fave. (Jaime, wassup)

TLDR: When you have privilege and power and do not use it to help people and instead cause more harm (especially because everything centers around you), you lose all moral ground. I do not find that good.

#why are people asking me about rhaegar #is this cause of my fic #i dont mind I just dont think im a great authority #asoiaf #Rhaegar Targaryen #Elia Martell #this was a nice work distraction #I guess I could have just said 'no' to the question instead of this rant but shrug

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whetstonefires · 4 years

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mcu ethics bad

The thing is that, while I was angry at Tony during Age of Ultron, particularly when he rode over Bruce’s compunctions about building a giant combat super-robot and pressured him into the project like a very very bad friend who happened to also be wrong...

...and when he equipped Hulkbuster armor and fought the Hulk in the middle of a city rather than attempting de-escalation or attempting to haul the Hulk out into the giant adjacent desert....

(And my suspension of disbelief snapped like a frayed cable when he brought down a skyscraper that had had no time to be evacuated on a street full of fleeing people and the only reason we were given to believe he hadn’t just cold-bloodedly created massive civilian casualties was that he told his AI to find the impossible magic angle where doing this wouldn’t kill anyone...)

While I was angry with him then, and unspeakably relieved that he recognized his own damage and retired at the end, haha psych, I was revolted by him during Civil War.

It’s supposed to make us sympathize with a character more, spending so much time with them, getting into their heads, being shown their emotional drives and reactions to things, and we spent so much time with Tony during that film, understanding his point of view. And...I did understand him. He’s not complicated. I even sympathized with his emotional state.

But in the context of his actions, throughout the film, I gazed into that understanding the way I did into Kylo Ren’s face in the seconds after he first unmasked. I see you, I know you, everything you are is written here, and the lines of your shame and self-revulsion are so thick upon you, and you should be ashamed but your self-destruction does not expiate or justify one jot of the harm you do.

Because everything Tony did in Civil War came from a place of selfishness. He was selfish all throughout that movie down to his very spine.

And selfishness isn’t itself necessarily bad--you need a little, to get through life, you have the right to your own portion of it. Your boundaries and your needs. But the type of selfishness that is forcing other people pay dearly for your emotional comfort and sense of control: no.

That is tyranny. That is not acceptable.

And you know how I know he was being selfish? Because his motive for pushing the Sokovia Accords was his personal guilt for the destruction of Sokovia.

But the Accords didn’t address that at all! They were tangential to the issue! None of the terms of the Accords would have saved Sokovia--in fact, the existence of them could easily have prevented the evacuation and harm-reduction the Avengers managed there, without saving a single soul.

The Ultron crisis was something Tony did, not as Iron Man but as Tony Stark, with Bruce Banner’s help, and which Wanda as criminal fugitive later helped exacerbate, and which all the other Avengers were involved in only to mitigate harm.

Legislation, or...treaties, idk, the UN isn’t actually empowered to pass laws so who knows what this thing was...aimed at preventing another Sokovia would mandate constant ethical oversight of billionaire science man’s mad science. At the very least! He never has to run things by ethics boards because he’s self-funded, at the very least let’s invent a mechanism to make up for that.

That would address the actual Sokovia issue, both in terms of risks and in terms of Tony’s personal guilt feelings.

But no one suggests that! It’s not even on the table! Because no one, certainly not any government, can tell Tony Stark what to do unless he lets them, that’s been a clear matter of record since Iron Man 2.

And because no one writing this legal instrument of whatever description was actually motivated by wanting to avoid another Sokovia, or even another ‘Wanda tries to neutralize a suicide bomber but merely gives him a different, smaller victim pool’ incident.

They didn’t care! They blatantly didn’t care! The entire thing was a ghoulish use of the dead to gain enough political leverage over the Avengers to put a leash on them!

(Which might not be a bad thing in principle, everything needs its checks, but when the last quasi-governmental organization you worked for turned out to be Nazis who were only prevented from staging a mass slaughter of undesireables by the skin of your teeth, I think you’re well within your rights to be very choosy about who you agree to obey, and to be firmly against pledging your honor to follow people whose first move was dishonest coercive tactics.

Actually you’re well within your rights to demand to negotiate the terms of even a much less sweeping contract, even without the Nazis. The whole approach to this thing stank to high heaven.

The fact that it was written by the UN like a treaty, expected to be signed by private individuals like a contract, and then enforced like a law except not because 1) laws are for everyone 2) if you break a law you get a trial not extrajudicial incarceration and 3) being pressured to consent to a restriction and then punished for refusing consent is hypocritical circular logic and in fact police corruption at its finest, all continues to show it was a bullshit nonsense franken-document.)

The whole movie is people ghoulishly using the dead to manipulate Tony into making bad decisions in response to his emotional pain. That’s. The plot of the film.

Then Zemo staged T’Chaka’s assassination and framed Bucky for it to raise the tension, ramp up the pressure, and prevent any sitting-down and talking reasonably through this, which might have allowed for the recognition of how extremely bullshit the entire concept was.

Tony was being used. Tony was a tool of bad people for most of that movie, and while Zemo banked on using his wrath for it, the politicos were leaning on his guilt.

And there’s honestly little I hold in deeper scorn than going out and hurting other people to assuage your own guilt and treating this as having the moral high ground. No. You don’t have the moral high ground on account of your guilt motivation. You have it if the actions you took were just, or at least could reasonably be assumed to have been so at the time.

And Tony fucking knew they weren’t. He didn’t even last to the end of the movie before recognizing that he’d been manipulated and fucked up, and doubling back.

That he then walked into a different manipulation, turned on a dime, and had to be stopped from doing a murder doesn’t unwrite that.

And it drives me nuts that people will say Tony was acting out of principle while Steve was acting out of personal attachment. Because sure, the Bucky thing was important, was the reason he was walking forward against all opposition instead of standing still to argue, but it wasn’t the reason Steve said no, while...

Tony wasn’t acting out of principle. Tony isn’t...very good at having principles. That’s not even a criticism or condemnation, it’s just how he functions. Since Iron Man he’s been substituting good intentions and emotional investment, which has worked out to varying degrees. It works best for huge, difficult, very straightforward decisions like ‘ride the nuke through the portal and save my hometown.’ It works less well for nuanced situations.

Tony was, as usual, acting out of emotion. And some awful shitheads who’d figured out where his levers were had calculated how to jiggle his emotion switches in the right places to make him do exactly what they wanted.

And you can tell he wasn’t acting out of principle because, for example, someone who was trying to get the superhero community under outside control for the sake of harm mitigation...

...well, firstly wouldn’t have chosen to stage a massive battle? But it’s possible someone in the UN specifically told him to do that, and in theory they at the very least signed off on it, presumably for its PR value of making Captain America look deranged and violent since it’s a deranged decision from every other angle, so yay, he can pass that responsibility up the chain and not have to angst about it, as promised.

But I was going to say would not have approached a minor who (this timeline takes pains to show us) had no prior experience of battle or even, somehow, serious violent crime, to recruit him to go be a government child soldier on another continent, without his guardian’s knowledge or consent. There were overtones of blackmail in Tony’s approach, before it turned out Peter was such a big fan he didn’t need that. What the fuck frankly.

That is not the action of someone who wants to start doing things by the letter, scaling the violence down, keeping within the law and putting the power of decisionmaking in other people’s hands because he’s realized he can’t trust his own.

And frankly even if he did act like that I wouldn’t necessarily support his choices, in particular his snap decision to behave coercively toward other Avengers with vastly less social power and security than he has.

And that’s the other thing! Everything about ‘Tony + Accords BFFs’ rings so hollow because he has never thought rules applied to him, and he knows perfectly well the entire time he’s fighting to force this surrender of agency down other people’s throats that he is going to be practically immune.

This man was technically a terrorist, proabably the most prolific single terrorist in world history until his rogue android exceeded his body count, but he was immune to prosecution because he was in tight with the United States military-industrial complex and basically untouchable due to his status within capitalism, and pursuing their international goals anyway. In the time between Iron Man and Iron Man II he was basically a one-man upgrade of the US drone program, and so good at it that the crest of blood he carved through the Middle East allowed him to announce he had ‘privatized world peace.’

(You are never going to get a world peace worth anything on the basis of a giant flying gun, okay.)

He went to war as a private individual, against non-state actors who were not directly threatening him, which is very much defined as ‘mass murder’ in all domestic and international law, and the US army in response sued him for control of his weapon. And lost! Lost.

No one attempted to press charges. No one. Because Tony Stark is above all that. And he knows it.

And like. I’m willing to accept the mass murder under the heading of ‘superheroing’ within the terms of this setting! Even if, after his vengeance rampage on his specific kidnappers, this violence was kept strictly off-screen for a reason. I did that! I bent that far! Genre convention!

But this history is kind of vitally important to any analysis of what he thought he was doing, and what he actually was doing, when he decided to become the iron gauntlet of the Sokovia Accords.

The currently active member of the Avengers who needed muzzling most was very manifestly Iron Man, and he knew even as he jammed the muzzle on all his comrades to make himself feel better that it would affect him the least, even if he didn’t finally retire for real this time. You don’t force Tony Stark. Not if you want anything out of it but blown up. You persuade him.

And once you have...oh, look at what he can do.

#hoc est meum #mcu #tony stark critical #i am so angry with this man and i will never stop #i throw salt #an ocean of it

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