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the-sound-of-her-wings · 3 years

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I Am Not Starfire, And That's Okay

I recently read I Am Not Starfire and I had lots of thoughts, which are under the cut. It is spoiler-heavy and an analysis of the main character, who I find to be a charming, flawed, and incredibly human character.

Mandy is a fascinating character and a great look at a teenage girl who feels ostracized by the people around her and who feels disconnected from her parent. Mandy is by no means flawless, and that's what makes her very interesting. It also makes her relatable.

Mandy starts by talking about how she's noticeably different from her mom, being the "Anti-Starfire". She's a regular kid, can't fly, and doesn't own a swimsuit, while her mom is a superhero, can fly, and always wears bikinis.

On page 11 she mentions "her mom hasn't liked how I looked since I was twelve. She wears less than a yard of fabric every day, yet somehow, I'm the one who's dressing weird". While I understand people who call this slut-shaming, and I'm inclined to agree, but I think it's a little more nuanced than that. The next page reads, "My friend Lincoln convinced me this is the cultural divide that happens between family generations born in different countries or universes. His parents were born in Vietnam." This tells me that the authors intended to point out the difference in dress more as another difference between Starfire and Mandy, and less as a reason to blatantly slut-shame Starfire. I think there's absolutely a conversation to be had about why the authors decided to use this language instead of conveying the point differently. I also think it speaks to how Starfire has more or less been sexualized from inception, and how people look down upon her character because of that. In the context of this book, though, it's one of Mandy's character flaws that I think fits her both as a character and reflects what I've seen from actual teenage girls. Our society coaches us to view women who dress a certain way as less than women who don't and unlearning that takes time and effort. I don't think this comment about her mom should have been put in there by the authors, but I do think it fits in with the values American society in particular teaches about women.

Page 15, 16, and 17 all point to a far more complicated state of existence than Mandy points out within the first few pages. For one thing, Mandy has to deal with people who love her mother and only want to use her to get information about her mom and the other teen titans. This is shown by the "Titan groupies" who ask her to tell Starfire what they say about her. Another thing she has to deal with is the expectation to be a superhero and have powers like her mom, and the questions about who her dad might be. She gains her first real friend, Lincoln, because he tells the people asking about her parentage that they are assholes.

It is revealed that Mandy has a crush on Claire after she gets assigned a group project with her. Mandy is in denial over the crush. She thinks about the fact she's meeting Mandy at the end of the day throughout the rest of the school day, causing her to explode something in Chemistry Class. I find this to be highly relatable and gives her character a softer side to the edginess she desperately tries to portray herself as.

While talking about the project with Claire, it is revealed that Mandy ran out of her SATs and didn't complete them. While Mandy tries to paint this as a cool badass moment, the way the comic artist portrays the scene makes me think Mandy had an anxiety attack. Mandy didn't run out of her SAT because she's some kind of alternative badass who doesn't need to take them. Mandy ran out because she got overwhelmed by the sounds of people chewing and the pressure of the test. While she frames it differently, it's clear to me that Mandy is avoiding taking the SAT again because she doesn't want that to happen again.

When Claire invites her to hang out with her friends, Mandy gets treated like she isn't there, or as some kind of unwanted outsider. The topics they discuss seem to be specifically made to make Mandy uncomfortable, like mentioning how stretchy jeans are only made for fat people, and asking if aliens don't go to college. Jaded by this, Mandy makes up that aliens actually have to go through this huge blood right and battle to the death, but tells Claire's two friends she was joking before leaving. This tells me that Mandy deflects her pain by using humor to cope and has no issue clowning on people who are trying to belittle her for being an alien.

Starfire tries to bring up going to college after this, and Mandy just flees to her room. She hasn't told her mom she didn't take the SAT yet or that she isn't going to college. She feels distant from her mom, which is explained further through a montage of birthdays where she never got her powers. Her mom expects a lot from her, and Mandy thinks Starfire is disappointed about her lack of powers.

Later, Mandy invites Claire over to her house to complete the project they are working on. The Titans are still there when Claire arrives, but she seems to ignore them, as they leave shortly after. Mandy and Claire bond as they continue the project. Mandy reveals to the reader that she's never had a girlfriend, except for one time at sleep-away camp where she kind of dated a girl for four weeks. She didn't tell her who her mom was because she was tired of living in the shadow of a superhero. But the relationship ended because Mandy had lied about who her mom was, and the girl she was dating didn't understand why she would lie. I think this really shows just how much Mandy actually wants to be a normal girl like everyone else, to the extent that she'd lie about who her mom was. Her edgy demeanor at school and around town where her mom is known to be her mom is a defense mechanism to having lived under the shadow of a superhero her entire life.

When it's revealed that Claire took a photo with the Titans at Mandy's house, Mandy is understandable heartbroken, and furious. She thought she had been making a real connection with Claire, but this photo makes her think she's been used, again. Claire seems genuinely baffled by Mandy's reaction to this, thinking little of it. But to Mandy, it is a breach of trust from someone she thought cared about her. I think her angry reaction to Claire makes sense because of this, even if it might have been disproportionate to the offense.

On top of this, Starfire has discovered that Mandy walked out of the SAT and doesn't plan to go to college. After a heated conversation, she runs away, but her mom finds her. And then Blackfire finds her. Turns out the fake story she told Claire's friends earlier in the story was actually true, even though Mandy didn't know it.

Since Claire actually cares about Mandy, she tracks down Lincoln who explains to her why Mandy reacted badly, and that she should probably apologize for taking the photo. Claire also admits that one of the friends from earlier, Deb, actually dared her to take the photo. Claire is a good person at heart, but this action shows that she can still be influenced to do something that would hurt another person. And while she might not have known it would hurt Mandy, Deb probably did.

Starfire and Blackfire fight since Mandy has no powers, but Starfire gets injured causing Mandy to realize just how much she loves and cares about her mom, even though they don't see eye to eye on most things. This finally unlocks her powers, as she's let go of most of the resentment she's held against her mom. She even gets asked for an autograph by someone in the audience after the battle.

The story ends with Mandy training her powers, studying for the SAT, and reconciling with Claire, sharing a kiss, and becoming girlfriends.

I've seen a lot of discourse that frames Mandy as being "not like other girls". I don't believe this framing actually fits Mandy very well. The only girl Mandy ever says she is not like explicitly is her mom. She is the only woman she compares herself too, and the only person who she seems to have a lot of resentment for, aside from people who use her to get to Starfire. Additionally, Mandy falls for someone who is what a stereotypical, normal popular girl is often portrayed as. She's preppy, wears makeup, gets good grades, has friends, and runs a fairly popular Instagram account. If Mandy was extremely into the "Not like other girls" rhetoric, she would've made fun of Claire for all those things. Instead, she admires her for them. Mandy is fat, has acne/freckles, dresses goth, and wears a nose ring. If this is the reason people are identifying her as a "Not like other girls" girl, then they don't understand that trope. Simply dressing differently from your peers, being fat, and hating your mom does not make her the "not like other girls" trope. It actually makes her like other, real-life girls who dress and act similarly, because that's who they are, not because they somehow think they are better than other women.

I'd also make the argument that, fundamentally, Mandy IS different from other girls on the account of having a superhero mother and potentially a superhero father. Her life is completely altered by Starfire's existence as her mom and is likely only relatable to the children of other superheroes and celebrities. She is not like other girls because of her mom, and that still doesn't make her someone who falls in line with the conception of being "not like other girls".

I thoroughly enjoyed this book and hope others do too. I read Mandy as a flawed character who was trying to figure out how to exist outside the Shadow of her mom- and eventually succeeds, by learning to embrace her mom. I would've preferred if Mandy had a slightly darker skin tone, as her features seem black-coded to me and Starfire is also often black-coded. Otherwise, I do think this was one of the best DC Graphic Novels for Young Adults I've read, alongside Teen Titans: Beast Boy and Teen Titans: Raven.

#i am not starfire #mandy koriand'r #mandy anders #i am not starfire spoilers #starfire

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bilbao-song · 3 years

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heres an ask because i too am desperate to engage with people. i know u dont care about roxy music but you did say you would accept something as incoherent as a keysmash so here is an equivalent: admittedly i find the dynamics between ANY band and their fans very interesting, but roxy music in particular. there is a peculiar divide between those who are staunch bryan ferry fans (these people typically dont give half of a shit about anyone else in the band), those who are fans of the group as a whole and dont particularly care about individual members at all, and those who are most interested in phil manzanera and andy mackay and sometimes the other guys, who generally quite dislike bryan (i being the latter)- and often there is resentment between the groups. i think its so interesting that a group of people can be presented with the same exact material, love it and enjoy it for years, and yet latch onto different parts of it and make it such a part of their identity that should you confuse one with the other they become insulted, or if nothing else will tell you "no no, i like roxy music but i REALLY like bryan, i think hes the best", or "no no, i love roxy music and im a fan of andy and phil in particular but i dont care for byran much at all, dont get it twisted", etc. are there bands you're more familiar with who have this sort of divide amongst the fanbase? do tell me about them, if you like :>

first of all i absolutely love that u sent this ksdhgkshg this is like. exactly the kind of thing i wanted

sorry for taking 39485949 years to post this lmao. i wrote like FIVE entire paragraphs and then had to edit it but it was getting super late and anyway it’s still absurdly long (as in, i can say whatever i want in the below text bc no one is going to want to read it) and definitely devolved into a huge general rant about the annoying and creepy behaviors of some people within band fanbases (specifically ELO-related bc of course) as well as vagueing about my own controversial opinions but......nonetheless.

anyway!!! i find this kind of thing really interesting too!! and i know EXACTLY what you’re talking about. there are just sooo many facets to this, and i guess it’s different for every band. on the one hand i do think it’s kind of an interesting phenomenon bc if you think about it, they’re basically enjoying the same thing but taking wildly different/opposing stances on it. as a whole i would find it a lot more interesting/amusing and less frustrating if people could like...manage these kinds of differences without turning it into some kind of overly vitriolic/super hostile opposition that you would think is about politics or something and not a band we r supposed to be listening to for entertainment purposes. i mean, i 100% get that things don’t have to be Extremely Important to be worth discussing, but it just seems wild the way some people get SO intensely angry about these things, sometimes to the point of being kind of inappropriate. i have a lot of issues with the way some people within band fanbases tend to behave lol

.......anyway the Full Rant is below here (idk why i wrote this bc it’s long enough to be turned in for a grade and it’s only partially relevant. read at ur own risk):

so!! thankfully with most bands i enjoy i just kind of watch the fanbase from the sidelines and don't get too involved in or even aware of all the drama. like...i know about the band and enjoy the music but just manage to not get involved in whatever the community happens to be collectively freaking out about at any given moment. i feel like the kind of divide you mentioned is actually pretty common within band fanbases (i think there are things like this with like...styx and three dog night? among others? but i don't know all the details 👀) but like, FORTUNATELY with most of them i just would not know. that's very nice because i unfortunately do not always have that kind of luxury with the ELO fanbase...idk i have a lot of very strong ELO-related opinions that i usually don't like to discuss in great detail bc i get disproportionately frustrated but yeah basically what you described does kind of happen among ELO fans, although thankfully i'd say it's to a somewhat lesser extent? people are commonly at each other's throats about a variety of topics including (but not limited to) who they support or don't support, but there are still plenty of people who (thankfully) are not so aggressive lmao. there is sort of a divide within the fanbase but i feel like it's probably not so 50/50 as what you're talking about...maybe more like 85/15

THAT SAID, i have frequently commented on the fact that the ELO fanbase is largely a dumpster fire and there is a whole entire sector of the fanbase that is comprised of people who i absolutely cannot stand, and most of them do fight a lot lmao. this is only partially related to the subject at hand, but a good portion of the bickering is relevant to The Divide. like, i'm 100% okay with having a different opinion than someone else as long as they aren't acting like a complete freak about it, but idk, aside from the fact that most of these people are like?? needlessly aggressive?? there are certain opinions held by certain members of the Greater ELO Community that just give me that vibe of like...hmmmm this is a person i probably would not want to associate with at all, even in matters completely unrelated to this. Unsavory Person Vibes. i mean like, “opinions” that just boil down to "i am very very entitled and also incapable of seeing anyone else's perspective on literally anything ever BUT that isn't going to stop me from openly whining about this absolutely whenever possible." like!! it's one thing to have some kind of legitimate, reasonable criticism of an individual or band but some, if not most, of the things i've seen people losing their minds over within this fanbase have been so hilariously trivial that i just CANNOT understand how these people actually managed to get to be (presumably) functional adults who are probably like 50+ years old. i mean like, full-blown tantrums and calling someone all sorts of nasty things over something that shouldn't even be an issue because without exaggerating i cannot fathom how anyone could even be majorly upset about it in the first place. to give an example: someone once had a whole entire little strongly-worded, excessively presumptuous freakout because a guitar was no longer on loan to the rock and roll hall of fame. like...it was there for quite awhile and two out of four inductees loaned absolutely nothing but you're whining because one who DID loan something eventually took it back? do we not know what the word "loan" means? anyway the best part is that basically every time something like this happens, if someone tries to point out that the person is overreacting or perhaps just needs to look at a situation another way, they will then go off on that person bc god forbid we try to be level-headed about things. everything has to be Very Horrible All The Time or we’re doing something wrong or being stupid or something. idk i'm convinced that some people just want to be angry

also just...some of these people do some really shady things that i personally feel are morally questionable but there's nothing i can do about it so i try to just kind of avoid dwelling on it lmfao. like, it's not okay to violate people's privacy just because they're famous and you're overly entitled/nosy/desperate for clout/blatantly trying to profit off of them? i know in the Sane World that's a completely non-controversial idea but band fanbases apparently often aren't based on sanity skhglkshgks idk i could probably write a small novel on this and make a specific list of all the things they do that are just like...bafflingly tone deaf and kind of appalling but i digress. idk the worst part to me is the way they'll be like, saying/doing something that's just awful or like, maybe even totally factually wrong while acting like they're in the right. absolutely wild

to at least somewhat bring this back to what we were ATTEMPTING to talk about!!! personally i've reached a point where i pretty much no longer care about like 90% of anyone who has ever been in ELO (jeffrey/richard/roy/mike de albuquerque supremacy) but i'm not like, actively a Hater of the others lmao. i appreciate that they were there and enjoy the nostalgia(? i wasn’t alive) of it and i’m glad they’re out there existing but i just...don’t really care about anything they do at this point?? a good portion of it is a result of me taking issue with certain things some of them have done, which has impacted the way i feel about them, but MOST of it is really not that deep and it’s just that some of them just don't particularly interest me on that kind of level/i don't feel the need to get that invested in like 927509257 different people (fun fact: during the 1970s every third person in existence on earth was, at least briefly, a member of ELO). there's really only one ELO-adjacent person who i actually very strongly dislike and a) luckily i feel like they barely even count as a member b) the reasoning is kind of its own Thing and has very very very little to do with anything related to the band so it's kind of another subject entirely. anyway that’s as close as i’ll ever get to actually getting involved with any of the Drama sgsdgsdgfhdh. my primary beef is with the fanbase anyway because, as previously mentioned, there are too many insane people. i guess what i’m getting at here is that yeah there’s a divide and it does affect me BUT i also don’t really get why people allow this to make them act in a way that goes beyond just having a difference in opinion and is so overly hostile towards each other as well as the people they’re discussing. like...if anyone involved is a serial killer or something even remotely similar then yeah, being outraged on an extreme level and absolutely hating them even as an outsider makes sense. otherwise? calm down!!!!!

anyway. to wrap up this mostly incoherent rant that i hope no one read: i have always suspected that band fandoms kind of attract certain kinds of very distressingly weird people and i just think it's funny how there's always like, a little cluster of people within the fanbase who basically seem like they actually hate the band (those are almost always the Weird Ones bc i can’t tell you how many times i’ve witnessed a person who is like, into a band to a CREEPY extent and then one day they just flip and become a hater). at that point i'm just like, okay? so why are you still here lmfao. i guess that's the Main Idea of all of this lol. i just don't get why these people stick around when 98% of all they ever do is complain and act overly judgy? i just feel like if my so-called favorite band was making me that miserable i would try to find another band to like instead of becoming a menace to society. that’s just me tho

to bring all of this together i guess i just assume that some kind of phenomenon like this occurs within basically every band fanbase. idk it just seems pretty universal for some reason. certain kinds of people just love drama i guess and will turn any difference of opinion into some kind of shitshow

tl;dr: yes

#every time i talk about this sort of thing i think about how my mom joined some of the elo facebook groups #and after a few weeks she was like omg!!! you were right!!! they're crazy!!! they're FIGHTING with each other!!!#sadly the facebook ppl are actually pretty tame compared to what can be found lurking in other corners of the internet #anyway this mostly just turned into me vagueing about my beef with the elo fanbase again but it's hard not to go there sdhglkhsdgl #also i feel like with a lot of things that cause Controversy within band fandoms it's just like #people getting so angry over things that don't affect them and that the actual people involved aren't even that concerned about anymore #AND ppl assuming they have the whole story on a particular issue when oftentimes it's likely that they don't #whether it's bc the information just isn't out there or because certain sources are obviously going to slant things in their favor #which is not inherently a problem bc of course people have different perspectives but you just can't forget that that's a thing #idk i have.....so many very strong opinions but the idea of being specific about it in a conversation gives me hives #metaphorical hives #anyway thank you for sending this bc i am literally always waiting to rant about weird ppl within band fandoms #eddie-riff

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that-one-girl-behind-you · 4 years

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Illicio 16/?

Part 15

"Compel me, then. Ask." Martin looks at him in the eye, and Jon averts his gaze almost immediately.

"I wouldn't. Not to you," he mumbles.

"Then you'll have to take me at my word, I suppose." Martin gestures to the door. "Please."

"...Martin, I'm so sorry."

Stab the knife in. Twist it. Anything it takes.

"I'm not." Martin's heart aches, but it feels cold and far away, like everything else.

XVI

Gerry closes the door to Jon's office with a pleased smile, pushing his hair back into place.

"I must admit-" Tim says, immediately souring Gerry's mood. He's sitting behind a desk with his feet up on it, looking at him with a thoughtful frown. "I've known him for seven years, and I never thought I'd see the day he'd have a make out session in his office."

"Well, you never finish getting to know people. Did you need anything?" Gerry arches an eyebrow.

"Is Melanie going out with you today?" Tim asks, and Gerry scowls.

"How is that any of your business?"

Tim rolls his eyes, swinging his legs off the desk and climbing to his feet. "Apparently it's my business because Martin had to save your sorry ass from the hunters the other day, and now we have to have a buddy system, so thank you for that."

Oh. Oh, no.

It suddenly makes a lot of sense, why Jon pulled him back for a last, heavier kiss. Gerry feels like he's been had, and he somehow knows if he were to march back into the office to ask for an explanation, he would find an empty room.

"I don't need a babysitter, Stoker, and I definitely don't want you around meddling in my investigations." Gerry turns to head for the door, gritting his teeth when Tim comes to stand before him again. "Did Jon put you up to this? Because-"

"Don't be stupid." Tim snorts. "I couldn't care less about him-"

Gerry rolls his eyes. "Why don't you try selling that one to someone who didn't see you vaporize Manuela Domínguez?"

"-but Martin cares that you don't get killed, for some reason." Tim speaks louder to cover Gerry's words. "So you're going to have to suck it up, because I'm coming with you whether you like it or not."

Gerry crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back against Melanie's desk. "You have no idea how close I am to killing you every time you speak, Stoker."

"Why don't you try selling that to someone who doesn't know how whipped you are, Keay?" Tim's grin turns smug and he leans forward. "You can't touch me."

Gerry has to remind himself really quickly that decking him in the face wouldn't even bring the satisfaction of breaking something, and worse: it would make both Martin and Jon angry at him. It should be a relief, really, that Martin has a friend as dedicated to him as Tim.

It probably would be, if said friend wasn't this much of an asshole.

"Oh, they know you. They'll forgive me." Gerry narrows his eyes. "I just need to find a good excuse."

"So! Where are we going today, pal?"

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The door to the office opens silently, and Jon has a spare moment to be impressed at Daisy’s handiwork again.

The room is both empty and silent, and Jon feels a pang of pain when he realizes Martin isn't... Gerry has been by the flat a couple times -much to Tim’s annoyance-, but there’s no sign of him other than the thick fog that seems to linger in any space Martin has claimed as his own.

“Martin?” he calls out softly; the fog swirls in tantalizing spirals, disturbed both by the open door and his passage through it and gathered more thickly around the imposing mahogany desk. “A- are you here?”

There is no answer; the dense fog drifts away from the desk like pushed by an unseen wind. Jon sighs. He could- he could call on the Eye. Nothing should be hidden from him, here at his place of power. He could See Martin, no matter how tight a grasp the Lonely has on him.

“But you don’t want me to See you, do you?” he mutters, more to himself than to the flaky idea of Martin’s presence. “This is- It wouldn’t be fair to intervene just because I miss you. I- I trust you’ll let me know if you need me.”

He turns away then, because Martin’s memory bites at his core like a rabid dog.

It feels like he last saw him was an eternity ago, instead of just two months or so. It has occurred to Jon before that they don’t work on the same time as the rest of the world anymore. Theirs is a time measured not in minutes, but in losses.

“Enough. I- that’s enough.” A tape recorder clicks to life somewhere in the office, and Jon smiles, grateful. “Yes, thank you. Just… just a slip.”

He feels like a magnet that is facing the wrong pole, as he begins moving across the office.

Something in his chest pulls at him when he takes a step in a direction it doesn’t like; the desk calls at him, no doubt full of statements and tapes the Eye considers inoffensive. When he moves towards the stationary cabinet by the corner of the room, it feels like his feet weigh a ton each, like the floor has become sticky and viscous and unwilling to let him go. Jon closes his eyes; maybe it’ll help if he doesn’t see where he’s going?

When he opens them again he’s standing at the threshold, facing the corridor.

“Harder than I thought…” Jon mutters under his breath, before turning to the office. At least he knows he’s on the right track now.

‘What are you looking for?’

“What am I looking for?” Jon mutters to himself, before he turns towards the cabinet again. “It’s there, isn’t it? The thing you don’t want me to see.”

‘There’s nothing in there. Just old papers, and some tapes.’

Jon nods. “Yes. Yes, that’s what I need.” Or that’s what the Eye doesn’t want him to have, and if Gerry’s right, that’s exactly what he should be trying to get.

It feels like a year before Jon takes the last of the ten steps that separate the door from the cabinet, and he pulls the doors open like they weigh a ton each. They slide noiselessly on their hinges, revealing the filing boxes full of yellowed paper, and a single cardboard box bull of shiny black tapes.

Jon’s hand hovers over them for an eternity before he shoves it in with a clatter of plastic against plastic. It comes back out with a tape held tightly in its grip, and for a moment Jon thinks of fishing birds, diving in from hundreds of feet in the air to catch unsuspecting prey.

’Is that what you wanted?’

“Yes. This- this is the one I wanted. The one I need.” Jon feels a surge of dark triumph looking at the unassuming tape. Whatever could be so important that the Watcher is so desperate to keep from-

The tape slips from Jon’s left hand, but his right comes to catch it awkwardly; his burned fingers twitching and spasming as his whole hand cramps in pain, and for a moment Jon is afraid he’s going to drop it in the pile again and lose it forever.

The doors to the cabinet swing closed with a slam.

Jon jumps back a little, giving the room another once-over. It looks just as empty as before, swirling fog and unfinished paperwork on the desk.

“...Martin?” he asks again, a little more hopeful this time. Maybe the office was never empty, maybe… He takes a step towards the desk. Is he imagining the scent of tea, the sound of rustling footsteps echoing his own? “Martin, are you here?”

’You need to leave, Jon.’

He does, doesn’t he? His hands want to let go of the tape, to chuck it out the window and hope a car runs over it and turns it into a million pieces. Whatever it contains, it’s dangerous, and he needs to hear it. The faster he does it, the better.

Before he closes the door behind himself, he gives the desk another look. He could swear there’s a figure profiled in the fog, but then again his wistful thinking has gotten the best of him before.

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

"You must be Martin then," says a clearly amused voice as he closes the door to the office, without locking it, because apparently that's as unnecessary as it is useless. "I must say, Peter definitely wasn't exaggerating."

Martin heaves a long-suffering sigh. He shouldn't have come today. The thought that Tim or Gerry would look for him at the flat was really the only thing that kept him from staying there.

Jon's visit last morning left him shaken, and he's been trying to call the Lonely back ever since without great results to speak of. It's a bit impressive how loving can complicate things so much, even when Martin is only faintly aware of what loving means anymore. A little like watching trees shake under a stiff breeze, but not feeling anything against his skin.

"Well, there's no need for that." The man chuckles when Martin finally lifts his gaze to him. He's old, is the first thing Martin thinks. Wrinkled and either extremely short or hunched over by age, the only thing suggestive of life is the glint of mischief in his sky-blue eyes. "I'm merely visiting, I'll let you go back to trying to drown in your own misery in just a minute, see?"

"Who are you again?" Martin arches an eyebrow. Manners are an effort he's not willing to make right now.

"Ah, of course. I forgot, my apologies." The man extends a small, wrinkly hand that Martin looks at pointedly for a few moments, before it's retracted. "Should've known, I suppose. Simon Fairchild, I trust you've heard of me?"

Martin has, a lot. Perhaps in the past the name would've been enough to scare him. Now he just stares at him warily, and feels the fog curl around him almost protectively.

"What are you doing here?" Martin asks. "I told Peter I didn't need any more convincing. I believe him."

"Do you?" Simon's eyes spark with something that reminds Martin of years ago, when Sasha -not Sasha, never Sasha, probably- teased him about a crush over the rim of a cup of coffee.

"Does it matter?"

"I rather think that's up to you, don't you?" Simon leans against the wall across from him, tapping his cane against his thigh. His entire posture is like a tightly coiled spring, ready to bounce into action at any moment with an energy disproportionate to his age. "But no. I was brought in as an impartial judge, so to speak. Wagers can get messy, between those two."

Martin sighs again, feeling the start of a migraine blossoming behind his eyes and yearning for the cool, soft embrace of the fog. "Listen, I have no idea what you're talking about. Please just say your piece and go."

"Hmmm I suppose that was it, if you look at it purely in terms of what Peter asked. You're well and truly taken, aren't you?" The man's fingers tap impatiently against the length of the polished cane. "Humor an old man, if you will. Since you're apparently convinced of Peter's little theory, what do you make of it?"

"I didn't take you for someone who'd care." Martin thinks back at the paperwork he's been completely useless at finishing ever since Jon stumbled in yesterday, and he's suddenly struck by the futility of it. Will anyone even mind if he doesn't finish it? If he fades away and leaves behind only the slight scent of humidity and salt on the half filled forms?

"Oh, I don't. Not really." Simon grins when Martin looks up at him again. "But it makes for good conversation, and I find that corralling you lonely folk into idle chat is very amusing."

"Hm. What do you want to hear, then?" Martin shrugs. "There is another fear, and it's apparently bigger and meaner than the ones we already have, because that's just what we need it seems."

"That just about covers it."

"I guess my only question is... why is Peter the only one that seems interested in stopping it?" Martin scowls. The question has been fluttering around in his mind for a while now, a remnant of his connection to the Eye probably. "I get that Elias doesn't believe him, but you apparently do. Why don't you care?"

"I'm afraid I don't really care for anything at all, lad, not really." Simon shrugs with an unapologetic smile. "Nothing, no one really matters in the end, does it? We're merely... pieces. Insignificant in the face of the great, grand everything."

"That's a very lonely way of thinking."

"The overlap again, I suppose. Our patrons aren't really that different, don't you think Martin?"

"My question stands. If the Lonely wants to stop this new fear-"

"You're presuming an awful lot there." Simon gives him a knowing grin."I hardly think the Lonely wants to stop anything. This is all Peter's endeavor. And yours, of course."

"Mine." Martin sighs.

"Don't think the irony's lost on me, by the way. Two followers of the Forsaken, trying to save the world? You can't write a joke like that."

Martin arches an eyebrow. "What's the punchline?"

"Why, that no matter how much your entire existence is based around not caring, you very much do, it seems."

Martin rolls his eyes, shaking his head. "I used to." And he did, didn't he? Simon is not entirely wrong, it's a dark, bitter joke that Martin chose to sacrifice his humanity out of love. Is he still doing this for that reason, or is he just going along with it now because there's really nothing else to do anymore? With the fog wrapped so tightly around him that he can't see further than a step ahead, is there even a path to deviate from anymore?

"Martin?" Gerry's voice washes over him like a pail of cold water, and Martin flinches. The man is frozen at the end of the corridor, no doubt on his way to the office to try and wrest him out of the Forsaken again. His eyes are narrowed in suspicion as they jump from him to Simon, and Martin tenses a bit more. "Everything alright?"

"And you must be Peter's little headache." Simon's face lights up in delight.

"Simon Fairchild." Gerry doesn't really ask, stepping up to the two of them with steady, confident footsteps. Martin remembers quite abruptly that he too is a creature of the Eye, and this is very much his home turf. "What are you here for?"

"You're not the slightest bit intimidated, are you?" Simon chuckles. Martin's ears pop, and he focuses on Gerry's hand squeezing his arm to ignore the sudden nausea. "I can see why Peter is so annoyed with you."

"I'm flattered." Gerry says dryly. "Need me to show you the way out? I'm sure Martin needs to get back to work."

"Hm… I was planning on just leaving, but I suppose it's always good to stockpile on favors." Simon's eyes glint mischievously again as he pushes off the wall. It's sudden reminder that he's not merely a kooky old man having fun at Martin's expense.

"I'm sure Simon can find the exit by himself, actually." Martin says firmly, taking a step forward. Whatever is Gery thinking anyways, squaring up to Simon Fairchild himself? He has to have heard of him, he has to know how insanely dangerous he is. "And I think we're done with our chat, too."

Simon being on Peter's side probably means he will not hurt Martin, but he somehow doubts Gerry will be granted the same courtesy.

"See what I mean?" Simon chuckles. "Can't write a joke like that."

Martin rolls his eyes, but at least the man is focused on him. He takes another step to position himself firmly between the two of them. "You've seen whatever it was Peter wanted you to see, haven't you?"

"And a bit more too. Just a delightful conversation, if I do say so myself." The tip of the cane taps against the polished hardwood floors, one, two, three. "Hope to have another one soon. Have a nice evening, Martin."

He walks away then without sparing them another look, with the familiarity of one who's traversed these corridors countless times.

"Don't forget to close the window." Gerry says in a low grunt, and Martin rounds on him.

"Shut up." Martin snaps. "What were you thinking?"

Gerry arches a pierced eyebrow, his eyes unimpressed. "Unbelievably stupid, huh? Just up and having a chat with an avatar of the Vast. Can't think why anyone would-"

"Oh, cut it." Martin rolls his eyes. "What do you want?"

It takes a moment, but Gerry seems to deflate. "I wanted to check on you. Maybe ask you to call Tim off."

"Yes, because this really convinced me you don't need someone to keep you out of trouble."

"Implying Tim is not trouble." Gerry snorts. His lips remain curled in something that can't quite be called a smile, but almost the suggestion of one. "You're looking a bit more like yourself."

"...I guess I am." Martin sighs; his hands look a bit less blurred, and he guesses the rest of him does too. "That's not necessarily a good thing."

"It is in my books." Gerry shrugs. "Do you- should I leave?"

Martin arches an eyebrow. "Are you really asking for my opinion on the matter?"

Gerry's smile comes in full now, and it's blinding. It's easy to see why Jon fell in love with him; they deserve each other.

"I had to at least pretend, didn't I?"

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

"Is that the same tape you've been staring at since yesterday?" Helen asks, her voice echoing curiously from somewhere in Jon's desk.

His mouth twitches into a smile, and he pulls the drawer open to see Helen's face peeking out from the bottom-turned-door. "Have you been watching me?"

Helen gives him a sharp smile, all fractured, amused angles. "Isn't that what one does here?"

"I suppose." Jon nods simply. There is not much that can be done to stop Helen from popping in wherever she wants to, really. One just has to deal with her; at least she's noticeably less prone to stabbing than her predecessor.

"Well, why haven't you listened to it?"

"Someone doesn't want me to, I think."

"Which one?" Helen asks, and Jon gives it a moment's thought.

He doesn't not want to listen to the tape, which probably takes the Mother of Puppets off the equation. Instead, it feels like every particle in his body -a body that he's very aware was kept from death by the Beholding- is recoiling at the idea of pressing that button. Perhaps it would be easier, Jon thinks, if he hadn't allowed himself to change this far.

"The Eye, I think. Whatever's in there, it doesn't particularly want me to know."

"I thought the tapes were yours." Helen hums thoughtfully; it's several frequencies and rhythms at the same time, and Jon feels the beginnings of a headache start to pound at his temples.

"They are," Jon says. 'But I am the Eye's,' he doesn't add. It's not something he wants to declare. Not something he wants to call. His patron already has much too tight a grip on him without him declaring allegiance.

"Hm. Well, you only had to ask, dear." Helen grins.

A long fingered hand climbs its way out of the drawer like a flesh-colored spider, and Jon can't help but to snort in amusement. This is probably the only thing the entities could never plan ahead for.

"Thank you, Helen," he says as a too-sharp finger presses down on the play button, before the hand retreats back into the drawer.

"My pleasure." Helen's laughter echoes around the inside of the drawer as it slides shut on its own.

'Right. No use putting it off further.' Gertrude's voice is dry and businesslike as usual, and something in Jon immediately screams for him to throw himself against the tape, stop it.

This is the traitor, who never called herself the Archivist but used their powers to her own gain. The one that sought knowledge not to add to the Archives but to destroy the delicate balance of the entities, to sow war and destruction under the banner of the Eye in hopes of painting a target at its core. This is the one that hurt his Gerry, left him behind like a broken toy, bound into painful non-existence. This is the Enemy, turn it off!

Jon doesn't. Instead, he focuses on his predecessor's words to fend off the Eye's insidious whispers.

'And so Eric Delano ended.'

Oh.

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

Click.

"Oh. Hi." Martin lifts the stack of papers to reveal the tape recorder waiting underneath. "You know? I've always wanted to catch one of you on the move. I put those papers there ten minutes ago and you weren't under them." He taps the tape recorder like one would boop a cat's nose, and the device clicks contentedly.

It's been... an odd week. Between Jon's visit, having to actually speak to Tim to convince him of keeping an eye on Gerry, and then Gerry himself coming to try and pick a fight with Simon, he's feeling like he's standing with a foot on each side of the line.

The Lonely still has its hooks in him, enough so that Martin wants it back, but not enough that he can actually walk in and out of it like he did when the Hunters were threatening Gerry.

"Is that what you're here for? Do you want me to talk about my state?" he asks the recorder. "That's really the only thing I've got now. No new statements, no-"

A suspicion starts taking shape in his mind, and he narrows his eyes. "Peter? Are you-" The door to the office flies open, and Martin jumps back and to his feet, heart hammering in his chest. "Who-?!"

"Martin?" Jon all but trips his way to the desk, and Martin takes him in with a concerned look. His face looks ashen, his lips almost white; his hair is a mess, like he's been running his hands through it, and his hands themselves are shaking. His eyes are wide and frantic, halfway through going back to his natural color and swimming with something as he looks up at Martin. "I- it's great you're here, I-"

"If you're going to break into my office on the regular, I preferred the other way." Martin snaps; his heart's still racing, and he can feel the Lonely trying to pull him back.

"The other- oh. So you were here. I- I thought I heard your voice, I- I followed it instead of the Eye."

"Jon-"

"Right. Right, I- sorry for startling you. It wasn't my intention." He looks a bit lost now, like the wind has been taken from under his sails, like he hadn't planned as far as finding him here. His gaze has always held weight, but as his eyes run over his face Martin feels like he's standing under a spotlight. "I- I've missed you."

Martin winces, the three words imbued with a meaning he doesn't know how to process.

"Jon-"

His eyes burn on Martin's skin. Is this how his victims feel, or is the fear of being wanted different from the fear of being known?

Jon reaches a still shaky hand towards him. "I'm- I know what you said, I- I trust you. I know you know what you're doing and Martin, you-"

"Jon, what do you want?" This way is easier. It hurts, but he has to send him away. For his own good; for everyone's.

His hand drops, but Jon's eyes are still glued to his face like Jon's afraid if he stops looking for a single second, Martin will fade away.

"I think I found a way for us to leave the Institute."

"...What?" is all Martin can force out, his brain screeching to a halt. "Jon, what-"

"Gerry's father, he- he quit the Institute Martin. We could do it too." Jon sidesteps the desk, unsteady on his feet, just unsteady in general. Martin's mind is still trying to process the words.

"I- Gerry's father used to work here?"

"Martin, you're not listening!" Jon's hands clamp around his wrists, and Martin's mouth clips shut so fast he nearly bites his tongue off. "We could- we could leave."

"But- Jon, how?" The Beholding is not like the Lonely, you can't keep it at bay by being around other people, if anything that makes it worse. There will always be fear and suffering around, and as long as you can see it-

Oh. Oh, shit.

"...You're joking," Martin breathes out. It's the only thing that makes sense, because otherwise Jon would be suggesting-

"It's... I realize it's pretty drastic, but-"

"It is! Have you- did you tell the others or-"

"Uhm... n- not really." Jon's grip falters, like the breath has been punched out of him. "You're the first."

"I'm- why?" Martin asks. Perhaps the fact that he thinks he knows the answer is the scariest thing of them all.

"I thought-" just like that, Jon's hands drop from his wrists. "We could leave here, Martin."

"I- this is too much, where- Gerry, where is he?" Martin stutters out. He'll know if this is real, if it would work. He's been in this world for far longer than any of them and-

"He's by St. Paul's, with Melanie" Jon responds almost immediately, and even just the thought of Gerry seems to be enough to ground him a little. "They haven't found the Corruption book yet. They're- they're coming back now, but they're thinking of stopping for food."

"Stopping for- Jon he doesn't know?!" Martin runs a hand through his hair. All the fog is gone from the room, and dear lord, how he misses it. "Jon, what were you thinking?! Gouge your eyes out and just leave him to find you?"

"I haven't- he wasn't here," Jon mutters, averting his gaze. "Martin, it doesn't- Gerry's not tied to the Institute, he's tied to me-"

"Yes, by the Eye!" Martin snaps. "What, you think it's going to let you keep him after you do this?!"

"I-"

"A-and then what? Is he just- what is he going to do? Just... take care of two blind men for the rest of his life? That isn't fair, not without asking him!"

"What is the alternative, then?" Jon cuts in, and when Martin finally looks down at him, he looks positively devastated, the eyes of a drowning man that sees a ship take the wrong turn. "What are we going to do, Martin?"

"... Don't do this, Jon," Martin sighs, and Jon flinches back like he's been slapped. "I can't- don't make it my choice. I can't choose for- for you, for him."

"Martin-"

"Could you even survive at this point? Because- because if you die, he dies too. Have you thought about it?"

And what if he did? What if Jon did think about it, and he decided he'd rather be free, even if it meant not living? If everything Martin has done is for nothing, because saving the world has absolutely no meaning if Jon's not in it? If-

"Martin?" Jon's voice has a broken quality to it when it reaches him, and Martin opens his eyes -when did he close them?- to find that oh, the fog is back. "Martin, don't- please don't go."

"Please leave, Jon."

"I- What?"

Yes. This... this feels better. Even the heartbreak is numbed. What does it matter if Jon leaves him behind, if he's always been alone? If he wants to be?

"Peter is bound to come back soon, Jon. I'd much rather he doesn't find you here." Martin exhales, and mist breezes past his lips.

"I don't care. Martin, please- come and talk to Gerry with me. We can- we'll figure something out, we will."

"You made me a promise, Jon." Martin looks towards the door. "You said you trusted me."

"A- and I do! You know that, but Martin, I- we could go. Together, please-"

"I don't think it's something I want anymore." Martin shrugs. "And you need to respect that. I thought you'd moved on with him, I thought you'd leave me alone."

"Is- I don't believe it. I can't believe that's what you want." Jon's voice is soft like the caress of the fog on Martin's skin. This is it. This is- he could make him leave. Maybe forever, and if this crazy self-mutilation plan of his is right, maybe, just maybe, he will be safe.

"Compel me, then. Ask." Martin looks at him in the eye, and Jon averts his gaze almost immediately.

"I wouldn't. Not to you," he mumbles.

"Then you'll have to take me at my word, I suppose." Martin gestures to the door. "Please."

"...Martin, I'm so sorry."

Stab the knife in. Twist it. Anything it takes.

"I'm not." Martin's heart aches, but it feels cold and far away, like everything else.

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

Jon is antsy.

It would be obvious even if Gerry couldn’t taste the anxiety in the quiet 'Thank you' that Jon gives after he helps him out of his coat. They usually talk on the way home, but this evening went by with Gerry narrating his and Melanie's hunt for the Corruption book to a mostly silent Jon.

It's... it's alright, he decides as he goes into the bathroom for a shower. Jon promised not to lie to him; if it's something he needs to know, then he trusts he will tell him. He's pretty much forgotten about it by the time he comes out in a cloud of steam, his hair still pinned up on a loose bun to keep it out of the way and wearing a loose t-shirt comfortable enough to sleep in.

Still, his stomach falls to the ground when a pair of arms come to wrap around his middle as he stands before the kitchen counter, brewing himself a cup of coffee.

"I'm here," Gerry says before Jon can even voice a question, because that's what matters. Anything else they can fix together. "What's bothering you? Did- is everything alright with Martin?"

Jon's forehead comes to rest between his shoulder blades, and Gerry lays a hand over Jon's tangled fingers on his stomach.

"Nothing is alright with Martin. But this- I- this is not about him."

"Then?" Gerry asks, even though he's got pretty clear feeling of who it is about. Jon shifts behind him to reach up and press a kiss on the back of his neck. "Jon-"

"I stole a tape from the Institute."

Gerry scowls. "I hardly think you can steal something that's yours, Jon."

"I'm- this one is not mine." Jon's arms tighten around him, and Gerry runs soothing circles with his thumb over the burn-smooth knuckles. "I- I think you should listen to it."

"Is it about me?" Is it about someone he couldn't save?

Jon steps back, and waits until Gerry's turned to face him to tentatively brush a hand against his.

"It's- it's a Gertrude tape." Oh. Well, those are never easy. Gertrude is still a can of worms Gerry doesn't dare look too deeply into, she- "She's calling your father from the book."

Gerry freezes.

The words echo around in his mind as he tries to connect them in a way he can process, in a way that he can deal with. How come his chest feels so heavy when there's not a heart in there?

"I'm- s- so he was in there after all," he says. His voice sounds strained, and he clears his throat, his gaze stubbornly fixed on Jon's collarbone. "I always wondered."

Jon says nothing, simply looks over to the little breakfast table tucked in against a corner. A single tape recorder waits there, like a miniature coffin containing the only remains of a man he never knew.

"How did you find it?" Gerry asks, and fuck, his voice is hoarse again. "I- did it come to you?"

"The- I went into Martin's office yesterday after you left. It- I was looking for things the Eye didn't want me to see." Jon's free hand comes to rest at Gerry's hip, and Gerry can feel his gaze on him, trying to catch his eye. "You don't have to listen to it if you don't- I can tell you what he-"

"No," Gerry blurts out so suddenly it startles even himself. "I'm- I'll do it. "

"Would- I can leave if you want me to. I'll wait at the living room, or- please look at me?" Jon's voice sounds thin, almost begging, and Gerry shuts his eyes for a second just to get his bearings, before opening them again.

"I'll- stay. Please."

Jon nods once, firmly. Gerry can't help but to marvel at the thought that all he needed to do was ask for what he wanted for Jon to do it. That Jon won't think he's weak for it.

The tape recorder still looks deceptively harmless when they come to sit at the table. Gerry lifts a hand to it, and is quietly surprised at how steady it is; is all the chaos confined only to his head?

"I'm here," Jon whispers by his side when he hesitates over the button. Gerry nods. It's- that's all that matters.

Click.

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

His father sounds like him, is all Gerry can think for the first few minutes.

Not- not exactly like him of course, but enough that if you heard them talk closely after the one another, you'd know they were related. There's a similar cadence to their words, a rhythm in the way they start their sentences, and- Jon's hand wraps around his again, and Gerry abruptly remembers to pay attention to the actual words being said.

'You should've seen what she did to my body afterwards.'

Ah.

It's... he's known she killed him for a long time, but the confirmation still hurts a little. Would his life have been any different if he'd found the page himself? Maybe a little less lonely.

'So why did she give me to you?'

'I- I don't know. She seemed to think it was a gift.'

Gerry doesn't think he ever heard Gertrude sound so dubious, so lost. Not the woman that strolled into Pinhole Books and single-handedly got rid of his mother, the one who took him around the globe with her, hunting avatars, stoping rituals.

He misses her, he thinks with a full sort of ache in his chest. What is it that Eric -his father- just said? Aware of the heartbreak, but not really feeling it.

'So? What did they not want me to know?' Gertrude asks in the tape, and Gerry's lips curl into a bitter smirk. Of course she wouldn't like to be kept in the dark. It's poetic, really.

'I quit.'

Everything in Gerry's mind comes to a screeching halt at those words. It's- you can't quit the Institute, he Knows that. The Beholding has its chosen tied to its place of power more tightly than any other entity.

But... but then why was the Eye so determined to not let Jon find this tape? If- if there's a way to get him out, to get Melanie and Martin out-

'I want you to find my son. If Mary is- if she's gone, or worse, I want you to make sure he's alright.'

...Oh.

"Turn it- turn it off," he blurts just as Gertrude concedes that he might be useful. "Jon-"

"Ger- are you alright?" The tape clicks to a sudden stop, and Gerry realizes he's closed his eyes only when he has to open them again to look at Jon. "I'm-"

"Gertrude knew." The words weigh like two lead blocks placed over his chest. He takes as deep a breath as he can, though it comes in shaky as he pushes his chair away from the table and leans on his knees, burying his face in his hands. "All that time- she knew what happened to him. And she never told me."

What else is new? She moved him across a board she never allowed him to see. You're not supposed to ask questions, Gerard, you don't want to lean more into the Beholding than you already are, do you?

"Gerry, I'm-" Jon chair screeches against the floor when he stands from it to crouch before him, his face framed by the long black curtains of Gerry's hair. His hands stop a few inches short of reaching him; Jon hasn't hesitated to touch him for a while now, but teetering on the edge of a breakdown would do it, Gerry guesses. "Gertrude-"

"Don't. Please don't talk about her," Gerry interrupts, because he's not sure if Jon's words will be attacking or excusing Gertrude, and he can't for the life of him work out which he'd rather hear less.

"I won't, I'm- sorry." Jon's hands finally come to rest at his knees and he stays there immobile, just staring up at him like Gerry's all that's ever existed. He gets the odd, dispassionate thought that not many beings have been looked at this intensely by an Archivist and felt reassured instead of terrified. "I'm- I'm here."

"She never- I knew she'd known my father. I found a photograph of her old team, with Michael and Emma and h- but she never-" Gerry tries for another deep breath, but it feels like no air is actually going into his lungs, and he shoots to his feet so abruptly Jon almost topples back. "She was the last person to see him. She- she went to find me because he asked her to."

It's infuriating, to feel gratitude towards a man he never knew. To grieve a voice in a tape without the slightest hint of what Eric- what his father was really like.

He's aware he's been pacing the room only when he stops, his back thumping harshly against the wall because at least physical pain is something he knows how to deal with. Jon comes to sit by his side when he slides down to the floor, like that day at the Institute so long ago when Jon got marked by the Flesh.

"He loved her." Gerry's voice is heavy and slow, like a drunk man trying to sort out through the hazy memories of past nights. "Even- she did all those things to him, and he still loved my mother."

"Did- did you notice?" Jon's voice is just a weak murmur, no Archivist here, just a man that cares for him, hard as it may be to believe.

"What?" Gerry darts a sideways look at him, tired. Jon's hands are stretched the slightest bit towards him, like he wants to touch him but doesn't dare to; his face is a mask of empathy, as sad for him as Gerry has never seen him look for himself.

"He- Eric... your father called you Gerry." Jon's lips curl into a small, careful smile, and Gerry breaks.

Surely he's too old an adult to crumble down in tears for the ghost of a man he never knew, but Jon clumsily reaches to wrap his arms around him, and Gerry thinks that maybe, just maybe he can be weak for once, in this hug that feels like home.

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

"We don't- you don't have to listen to the rest of it, if you don't want to." Jon's voice is almost too quiet, like he's afraid to break the silence they've fallen into.

Gerry looks up at him from where he's resting his head on Jon's lap; the kitchen floor is unforgiving on his back and shoulders, but the slight discomfort helps in keeping him grounded. "Is it true?"

"Hm?" Jon pushes a lock of hair away from his face, and Gerry leans his cheek into his palm.

"Is there a way to quit?" Gerry asks. The shock of piercing, migraine-like pain that strikes his mind is enough of an answer.

"I- apparently. It's not- I don't know if- I might be too far gone."

"What do you have to do?" It's on the tape, he knows, but he can't- maybe one day he'll be able to listen to the whole thing, but for now all he can think of is this pained ghost that only wanted to make sure his son was alright.

Jon exhales slowly through his teeth, before bringing his free hand up to his face and making a plucking motion with index and thumb just an inch from his eye.

"Oh." It makes sense, Gerry guesses. No eyes to behold with, problem solved. "Will you do it?"

"I'm- I can't leave Martin there." Jon sighs again, a bit more defeated this time. "I'm sorry, just-'

"I get it." Gerry shrugs, tangling his fingers with Jon's over his cheek. It's no good. Either all three get out, or no one does. "is that what happened then? He said no?"

Jon nods once, slowly. "I think it was too much for him, in his state. He- he was worried about you, though."

Huh. That's- logically, Gerry knows Martin has worried about him before. It's been twice now that Martin steps between him and an avatar with bad intentions. Still, it comes as a pleasant surprise that Martin cares not only when in the heat of the moment.

"About me?" he asks, because it's a bit easier than to make heads or tails of everything he's feeling right now. "I'm not an Institute empl- oh. Huh. I guess it is very likely that I'd die if you quit."

Jon scoffs. "I didn't- it's stupid, but I forgot all about that in the moment. I just- you're mine, you're not tied to the Institute. I forgot the Eye-"

Gerry snorts when Jon cuts himself abruptly. "What was that?"

"I'm- I didn't-" Jon sputters, his face growing red. "I didn't mean it that way, I'm-"

Gerry laughs, delighted.

It still hurts, the not-quite memory of the father that was ripped from him. The chain around all of them, and the terrible condition to break it off. The fact that Martin is keeping them at arm's length to try and save the world, when they'd much rather save him.

But it all looks a lot less grim when watching Jon try to regain his composure after the slip. When he remembers that for once, he's fighting not just to harm the entities, but to keep the ones he cares for from them. When he thinks about how for the first time in his life, other people are interested in protecting him for a change.

"Stop laughing!" Jon snaps, smacking softly at Gerry's shoulder. "I didn't mean-"

"It's alright. You could've." Gerry catches his struggling wrist, and brings it up to his lips to lay a kiss on the palm of his hand. "I kind of am yours."

"I- what?" Jon freezes.

The problem with these things, Gerry decides, is that they're often painted as the culmination of a whole journey. The last thing you say before the credits roll, the last words on a final page.

He doesn't want that, a tale of hardship with the suggestion of happiness at the very end. He wants his story to be a promise, a challenge to a world that, no matter how hard it tries, can't take this from him.

"I love you."

#jongerrymartin #vit writes #illicio #jgm

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elyvorg · 4 years

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Still a Hero - author’s commentary (part ADHD)

Yep, it’s that fic of mine again, the one I still haven’t stopped thinking about even though I published it like half a year ago now. I’m finally getting around to doing a little bit more author’s commentary on it that I didn’t do back then, because these bits involve the idea that Kaito has ADHD, and at the time I hadn’t yet made my post explaining all the reasons why I’m sure of that and all the symptoms of ADHD that Kaito is definitely affected by. For the purposes of this post here, I’m going to assume you’ve read that. Heck, even if you’re not interested in my fic, if you enjoy my analyses of Kaito, please go read that post if you haven’t already! It’d mean a lot to me.

My headcanon of ADHD-Kaito in DRV3 itself may or may not have been something the writers actually meant to drop a million hints towards and therefore may or may not be the official canon “truth” about him. But, since I’m the writer of Kaito in this particular fic, and I did have it consciously in mind that he’s ADHD while writing it, Kaito being (unknowingly) ADHD is officially canon in the Still a Hero universe, because I say so.

(And yeah, I doubt anyone even noticed this. Imagining that he’s ADHD doesn’t change anything about who Kaito is; it only adds an extra interesting layer to why he is this way. All I did was use that to help inform the ways I wrote him reacting to some of the things he went through in the fic.)

Chapter 2 – emotional dysregulation

The second and significantly worse half of Kaito’s self-torturing session, once he snaps and gets uncontrollably, painfully angry, was something I deliberately wrote as being some very nasty emotional dysregulation.

For the first half of this ordeal, when he’s thinking about breaking out on behalf of the kids to prove it’s possible after all, Kaito’s still basically in control of himself. He’s being stubborn and short-sighted and self-destructive and definitely making the wrong choice, but it’s still him making a choice and consciously deciding of his own volition that this is a good idea, that this pain will be worth the end result that he can totally reach.

This stops being the case after long enough, though – and it’s no coincidence that it happens right when it begins to sink in for Kaito on a deep, visceral level just how horribly helpless he is.

At that point, Kaito pretty much just snaps and loses control entirely, getting overwhelmed by a disproportionately-amplified rage that’s really just a defence mechanism for those other feelings that he simply can’t cope with. He drops any sense of the vaguely-rational mindset he had at the beginning that this is going to take a while and only gradually chip away at the frame’s integrity each time, and devolves into a completely irrational THIS NEXT SINGLE HIT WILL DEFINITELY BREAK IT. Which, of course, is incredibly counterproductive in that it only serves to make him feel even more weak and helpless furious when it repeatedly doesn’t.

Thankfully I don’t get the fly-into-a-rage kind of ADHD emotional dysregulation that often – but this also means that I can look at the very specific edge cases that do happen to trigger it for me and figure out that the root cause is almost certainly a completely immovable sense of helplessness. I’m not saying this is necessarily the case for every ADHDer who suffers from anger issues, but man does that make for some delightfully convenient personal experience for me to have drawn on when writing this particular scene.

I can also confirm from this experience that what sucks way more than the actual initial problem that the anger is triggered by (which doesn’t even have to be that big of a deal! ADHD loves to amplify stupid tiny things!) is the anger itself once it takes hold, how completely all-encompassing and uncontrollable it is. Nobody should ever want to feel that way. It’s different when you have a cause to be righteously angry about, like Kaito did at the beginning of this scene, but what I’m talking about doesn’t feel anything like that – it just feels ugly and painful and wrong.

Mind you, when this anger first takes control of him, Kaito does also choose to indulge in it rather than fight it, because he’s still stubbornly insisting to himself that any kind of pain is better than giving up. (Meanwhile, in other situations where Kaito’s gripped by this kind of too-strong anger, such as when he might end up hurting someone he cares about (oh hi trial 4), he’d probably be trying to fight it to some extent… but even when he does that, it doesn’t seem like it’s very successful.)

But even then, there’s some small, smothered, barely-acknowledged part of Kaito that really doesn’t want this at all. That part of him begins to feel more trapped by his own anger than by the contraption itself, hating the way he refuses to let up on hurting himself both physically and emotionally and really wishing he could control himself and just stop.

The problem is that the only real way to try and quell this kind of anger is to confront the true (and equally-amplified) painful emotions that the anger is just a cover for. Which in this case would, in theory, result in Kaito breaking down in a huge crying fit over how utterly trapped and helpless he feels. Yeah, no way he's doing that at this point in his arc, so furious self-destruction it is!

Chapter 4 – uncontrollable thoughts

Multiple times throughout the fic, but especially in chapter 4 when he’s attempting to sleep, Kaito tries to just think about nothing at all. He never truly manages it, because ADHD minds cannot ever think about nothing.

(…You know, even as I say that, there’s still a part of my brain going “but isn’t it actually because it’s not possible for anyone to think about nothing?”, despite that I’ve heard that actually that’s a perfectly reasonable thing for neurotypical people to be able to do. Sounds fake, but okay. My brain has never shut up even once in my life.)

The other problem here is the ADHD inability to properly control what we’re focusing on and thinking about. I’ve found that this gets even worse when I’m tired, dulling what little control I ever had in the first place. Instead of thinking about nothing, I just end up thinking about whatever random crap happens to be in the path of least resistance for my train of thought. This can be… not great when it comes to avoiding bad thoughts that it’s easy to spiral into focusing on when left unchecked.

I had this idea in mind a lot for this chapter as Kaito attempts to sleep. Usually, he’d be firmly trying to think about anything but what’s happening to him right now and how he’s feeling about it. When he’s this horribly exhausted, though, he has so much less control over that. So he keeps getting unwillingly bombarded by thoughts about the most immediate physical sensations he’s feeling – hungry, thirsty, hurting – and how much he wishes they’d just go away, even though that’s the last thing he wants to think about.

The whole “someone who thinks he’s strong” thing was meant to be this kind of idea, too. When Takehira says that to him at the beginning, it lodges somewhere deep in Kaito’s mind, because he subconsciously already feels like it’s the truth about him and is terrified of what it’d mean if it was. So naturally, on the surface, he stubbornly files it away as Not Worth Wasting Time Thinking About. But then it keeps popping into his head anyway, usually in moments where his mental defences are weakened, because an ADHD brain does not care what its owner doesn’t want to be thinking about and will nudge their train of thought down those paths whether they like it or not.

(Okay, so maybe all of this isn’t quite so specifically being caused by Kaito having ADHD. Probably anyone who’d been through what Kaito had would have lost a lot of their ability to control what they’re focusing on and thinking about by this point. …Unless the neurotypical equivalent here really would be to just naturally stop thinking about anything out of exhaustion, despite not being able to actually sleep? I wouldn’t know. But my point is that I had ADHD-related ideas in my mind to help me write this, either way.)

Chapter 6 – rejection sensitivity dysphoria

Kaito’s huge sobbing fit over believing he’s failing Shuichi and Maki was something I had very consciously in mind as the absolute worst kind of RSD-fuelled breakdown imaginable.

It might have seemed a bit excessive of me to have Kaito’s emotional pain completely eclipse the actual physical torture for so long – and he was sobbing uncontrollably for something like half an hour, maybe more, before it wore itself out – but, no, can confirm, RSD really is just that fucking awful. Imagine the already-very-legitimate pain of being convinced that his best friends are going to die because of him, but disproportionately multiplied by like a thousand. Next to that, the excruciating torture-poison is nothing.

(Well, maybe this would have made sense anyway, because the fact that the thought of getting his friends killed hurts even more than the torture is precisely why Kaito was obviously never going to break! But that wasn’t actually the main thing on my mind when I wrote it that way; I just realised that it fit that after the fact.)

I also drew off my own experiences of some of my worst RSD episodes (which were still not nearly as bad as what Kaito went through here, and which thankfully I haven’t had that many of) to help me write Kaito’s physical reactions to this kind of emotional agony. I hope I did a good job of getting across what it physically feels like to be crying that horrendously, uncontrollably hard – not just quiet sobbing, but straight-up loud, ugly, inconsolable bawling. In a way, writing it felt almost like yet another kind of torture I was putting him through.

#danganronpa v3 #kaito momota #kaito whump #torture #adhd headcanons #personal?#ramble #writing #as vaguely promised ages ago #for the tiny intersection of people who might be interested

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bordeauxatdusk · 4 years

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Mystique (A Detroit: Become Human Fanfic) Part 1

Read the full fic (so far) on Ao3 here!

DISCLAIMER this fic is about gay android detectives in 2038. Please know that I am a BLM supporter and that I do not write in this in support of our current shitty criminal justice system.

Forget-me-nots.

The dead woman’s eyes were the same color as the flowers in her hair.

She was poised, artfully, in an elegant position that looked almost like a sculpture. Rigor mortis held her in place. The crown of forget-me-nots was integrated with an elaborate veil of white lace that fell gracefully down her back.

The bloodstained silk wedding gown she was wrapped in extended outward, rippling over the room, which was staged like a movie set; a host of antique items and classic still-life objects had been structured to frame her. Elaborate globes mingled with vases of flowers mingled with stacks of old yellowing books, covers frayed. Warm light streamed in lazily from large arcing windows, illuminating the oakwood floors of the room.

The light glinted off the pearl dagger embedded in the woman’s chest. In front of her, a gold-leafed, leather-bound edition of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet had been left open to the infamous scene:

“O, happy dagger, this is thy sheath.”

A human would undoubtedly call the scene beautiful.

To Nines, however, it was simply another murder.

He was capable of appreciating beauty, although many would be surprised to hear it. (Some people were surprised to hear that androids were capable of any abstract thought at all.)

Nines understand the concept of aesthetic value perfectly well. What he was not capable of understanding was how humans, in their love of aesthetic value, sometimes seemed to discard logic and reason.

The concept of a beautiful murder was immaterial to him. It was still murder. Whether it was committed in a wide-open oak room or in a rotting gutter made no difference.

Nines would hunt down and eliminate the murderer either way.

He was glad that Gavin felt the same, although Nines was concerned that he seemed disproportionately unnerved by something. What exactly it was, Nines couldn’t tell.

He knew that Gavin was upset partially from the rising levels of adrenaline in his scans, partially from the fact that Gavin’s pupils were dilated and he was beginning to fidget in the way he typically expressed distress (tapping his fingers together and pacing, mostly) and partially from the fact that he was increasing his profanity from its normal rate of about every one in fifteen words to every one in ten.

Nines had spent a lot of time analyzing Gavin Reed. Perhaps an irrational amount.

It hadn’t helped much.

Nines guessed that the cause of his partner’s distress must be some deeply-held psychological trauma. Humans often experienced it, and Gavin personally had suffered a difficult childhood. Whatever the reason for his distress, it must be very serious.

“What the fuck do you mean, ‘ I don’t know ’, Tina?! ” his partner was currently yelling into his phone. “It’s a simple goddamn question! Do they have jalapeno poppers or not?!”

Fascinating.

Nines was well equipped to read Gavin, but very poorly equipped to understand him. The difference, he felt, was vast. He was... displeased by it. Androids were predictable, generally. Deviants much less so than non-deviants, of course, but they were still more logical than humans. At first Nines had been convinced that Gavin was simply uncomfortable expressing his emotions, but the android had begun to discover that Gavin himself was often unaware of them.

Perhaps there was some unpleasant memory jalapeno poppers evoked for his partner. He would have to ask later. Nines would have preferred to have Gavin leave the room and take a few minutes to calm down, but he had learned recently that it wasn’t an option. Apparently, Nines doing what he was designed to do and examining the physical evidence without Gavin’s interference meant he was “being a fucking know-it-all” and a “stuck-up asshole.”

“Look,” Gavin had said a few weeks ago, waving a hand dismissively to try and distract from the fact that he was clearly upset. “ It’s no big deal. Just don’t keep fucking asking me to leave in the middle of crime scenes, okay?”

Nines had been unable to see the point of this request. “ Gavin, you were clearly disgusted by the scope of the damage done to the victim.”

“Well, yeah,” Gavin had muttered sulkily, “but you don’t need to be all weird about it. Look, Nines, I want to do my job. Let me do it. Even if I’m not really helping, just let me feel like I am, okay?”

Nines had been even more confused. “ If you aren’t going to help, why are you so determined to be there? Humans aren’t exactly well-equipped for forensic analysis to begin with. I don’t hold it against you.”

It had escalated into a full-blown fight that left Nines more confused than ever until Gavin was finally able to articulate that he didn’t want to feel useless.

The absurdity and simplicity of the answer had caught Nines off guard. Gavin Reed, useless? They had won a medal together just six months ago for solving an incredibly dangerous case, saving the lives of ten other officers in the process (and possibly the entire DPD). Their success had almost entirely been due to Gavin. Useless?

Nines strongly disagreed.

He had told Gavin so. Nines always said what he meant.

Gavin had huffed under his breath.

“ Alright, shit, I get it,” he’d said, trying and failing not to smile. “You’re a big fucking suck-up.”

Nines knew enough about humans to understand that the insulting response had roughly meant, in Gavin-language,“Thank you, Nines. I’m flattered.”

What confused him is why Gavin didn’t just say that instead.

Humans never said what they meant. It was inconvenient.

Gavin's voice snapped him out of his reverie.

“Hey, Robocop. You find anything?”

Nines blinked. Gavin was staring at him, phone in hand, waiting.

Nine shook his head. “This crime scene is so elaborately staged, I can’t move through it without risking disrupting the evidence. Every object in this room is potentially a key to solving the case. There’s a very low probability the killer managed to set this up without leaving some traces of his presence behind-- fingerprints, hair, DNA. It would be better to wait until forensics arrives, and allow them to do their job. “

Gavin wrinkled his nose, thinking. It was a habit of his.

(One that Nines found extremely distracting, but it wasn’t the time for that.)

“Is something bothering you, Detective?” Nines asked.

Gavin huffed. “Yeah, stop calling me ‘detective.’ You know my name.”

He paused for a moment, sighed, and then gestured to the scene in front of them.

“It’s this whole thing, Nines. I hate it when they do this shit. It’s so fucked up. Trying to turn something so horrible into something pretty, or romantic, or-- I don’t know. You’ll see. These cases are always hell to investigate. We can’t let a single drop of this leak to the media, or else this poor girl is going to be on the front page of every newspaper across the country. ‘The Girl In the Wedding Dress’, or some shit like that.”

Nines didn’t understand. “I’m not sure I’m following you. You don’t want her case to be publicized?”

Gavin shook his head. “Hell no. How do I explain this? Okay. This girl, she’s not fucking Juliet, right? What's her real name? You know it already with your facial recognition?”

“Ashley Briggs.”

“Okay. She’s not Juliet. She’s Ashley. Ashley was a whole person, with a life and family and friends, and then some fucking creepy asshole murdered her and dressed her up like Juliet. The media’s problem is, they like stories with publicity. They like stuff that has a nice ring to it. Ashley Briggs, not so much. ‘The Girl in the White Dress?’ ‘The Woman in White?’ some other bullshit like that? They eat that up. A picture of a pretty girl in a wedding dress with a dagger in her chest? That’s the kind of stuff they eat for breakfast. They love it, Nines! It’s like the Black Dahlia. If any of this gets out, nobody will give two fucks about Ashley Briggs, but they’ll all love her death."

Gavin stopped for a moment to take a breath, hands gesturing wildly, eyes narrowed in anger.

"Rumors will be everywhere. Poor Ashley’s family is gonna have to deal with photos of their little girl murdered and dressed up in a fucking wedding dress all over every tabloid in the grocery store for the next eight years. And not a single one of the people obsessed with ‘Juliet’ is gonna give a shit about Ashley. Everyone’s gonna see her how the killer saw her, how he wanted us to see her, how he set her up: as pretty tragic Juliet in a wedding dress. Nobody is gonna know or remember Ashley Briggs. Don’t you see how fucked up that is? They never give a shit about the victim, even though they pretend to. It’s always about the fucking killer and his ideology.”

Nines was stunned. He had never considered that aspect of a crime before. Looking at it from that perspective, it did seem disturbing.

“They’ll romanticize her murder," he finished for Gavin, who looked almost too angry to continue.

Gavin nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets. “The most fucked up part is, that’s what he wants. Her killer staged her this way because he’s trying to put on a fucking show. This is a murder with a message, we just don’t know what it is. I hate that those bastards always seem to get the attention they want. People always remember the killer, but they never remember the victim. Hell, how many people do you think could name a single victim of Ted Bundy? Or Jeffery Dahmer? Or any of the other sick bastards that decide to take their sexual fantasies out on so many innocent people that everyone forgets about?”

Nines raised an eyebrow. “We don’t know that this murder is sexual in nature.”

Gavin huffed. “Nah, but there’s a pattern when it comes to motive and method. There’s tons of examples. Um. Execution-style gunshots to the back of the head are cold, professional. Victim’s turned away, there’s a distance between them and the killer. No eye contact. Hired killers, a lot of the time.”

Gavin demonstrated with a finger gun, eyes distant, like he was remembering cases he’d seen before.

“Stranglings are personal, and a lot of the time they’re sexual. Killer’s up close, right in their face. Looking them in the eye, watching them slowly die, hands-on contact. It’s ‘intimate’ for those fucked-up pieces of shit. They’re normally sexual sadists. Hate those ones.”

Gavin’s brow wrinkled in disgust as he demonstrated.

“Stabbings are personal too, but in a different way. Bloody, aggressive, painful. Personal vendetta, lots of times. Someone close to the victim with a grudge. Betrayal maybe, ‘cause there’s anger behind it. Besides, she’s staged as fucking Juliet. Who do you think her Romeo’s supposed to be? The mailman?”

Nines hummed in response. He didn’t doubt Gavin’s theory, but any investigation should work from the external to the internal. The solid evidence should be interpreted to form theories, not theories interpreted to fit the evidence. The second an investigator began to let their personal opinions dictate the situation, they became biased.

“I still believe we should wait for the evidence to be analyzed before assuming anything.”

Gavin crossed his arms. His body language throughout this speech had been aggressive. Nines’ scans told him that Gavin was intensely angry.

“I’m not fucking assuming, I’m theorizing. If the evidence says something different then I’ll change my tune. I’m just saying, maybe the fact that she’s being staged all pretty in a fancy room in a wedding dress mirroring the suicide from goddamn ‘ Romeo and Juliet’ might have some tiny romantic undertones, Nines.”

“So perhaps we should interview her neighbors first.”

“Hell yes, we should,” Gavin said. “Starting with whoever found the body.”

He started to turn away to head out the door.

Nines stopped him. “Gavin, wait.”

He twisted back around in surprise. “What?”

Nines pressed his hands together, standing stiffly. “Are you angry with me?”

Gavin stopped in his tracks and paused for a moment in an emotion Nines was unable to read. There was a second of tension, and then Nines’ partner seemed to crumple inward as he sighed heavily, shoving his hands back into his pockets.

“No,” he said to the floor by his feet. “Sorry. It’s this case. Stuff like this- it’s fucking creepy. I get all tense. Of course I’m not mad at you, dumbass. I’m just- I’m not good at expressing shit, y’know. ”

Nines walked up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Is there anything I can do?”

Gavin’s entire demeanor changed, going from aggressive to something much more vulnerable instantly. It was a switch that, even though they’d been together for six months now, Nines had rarely seen.

“No,” Gavin said softly. “I just want to catch the bastard. Otherwise, cases like this, they always stick with me. I’ll- I’ll see her everywhere. Ashley, I mean. In mirrors, reflections, dreams. Asking me why I couldn’t do it. People always act like murder investigations are some cop-show badass bullshit, but they aren’t. The pressure’s gonna be hell. We’re gonna have to go through her whole life and dig up a lot of secrets. Everyone has graves that are better left buried. Take my word for it, it’s gonna suck. And even if we find the fucking bastard, he still might get off. Normally, I can distance myself from it, I guess, but when it’s something this creepy- I just- I don’t know if I can do it. There's something about this case. I have such a bad fucking feeling about this whole thing. It’s driving me crazy. ”

Nines reached out and wrapped his arms around Gavin, pulling him close. It was meant as a comforting gesture, and he noticed with satisfaction that his partner’s distress seemed to decrease.

Nines was beginning to understand how to react to Gavin’s moods, even if he didn’t always understand the reason why they were happening. They had both worked dozens of homicide cases. Nines didn’t understand how this case was any different, but it didn’t matter. He was programmed to adapt to human unpredictability.

He never knew what to make of Gavin’s hunches, though. They were objectively irrational, and they were also always right. It drove him insane. It defied reason.

Then again, nothing about Gavin was reasonable.

“We’re professionals,” Nines began, “and-”

“And you’re hugging me in the middle of a fucking murder scene,” Gavin interrupted, voice muffled from pressing his face into Nines’ shoulder, “like a true professional.”

“You needed a hug. Let me finish. We’re professionals, and there’s a lot of potential just in this room for the killer to have made a mistake. The chances of him staging all this with zero forensic evidence left behind are very low-”

“Mhmmm,” Gavin said, leaning into the hug.

“Are you even listening to me?”

“Nope,” Gavin muttered.

Nines sighed.

He gently pulled Gavin away from him, brushing off his partner’s coat, which was eternally covered in cat hair.

“We need to go interview the neighbors. Listen. We work very well together. We’ve faced near-impossible odds before. Compared to our last big case, this will most likely be easy.”

“Nothing’s ever easy,” Gavin groaned. “Especially not in fucking homicide.”

“Well then, we’ll support each other, just like last time.”

Gavin smiled wryly. “Are you going to break a rib and give me a concussion again?”

“That highly depends,” Nines said, “on whether or not you plan to shoot me a second time.”

“You told me to!”

“I was paralyzed and all my communications were disabled. I couldn’t tell you to do anything."

“Your light flashed!”

“My LED,” Nines said, raising an eyebrow, “never stops flashing, unless I’m decommissioned.”

Gavin shoved him-- an adorably futile effort, considering he didn’t move even a fraction of an inch.

“Come on, smartass,” Gavin said. “We have some friendly neighbors to interrogate.”

#dbh #detroit become human #dbh fanfic #reed900 #gavin reed #rk900 #nines

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gcldenchild · 3 years

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let it be known that goldie is not okay by any stretch of the imagination.

as shown in the ask post, he has some serious mental health issues. his most pressing? his suicidal tendencies and thoughts. this covers how those came to be, and how they’ve affected him throughout his life.

to say that he’d always dealt with it is inaccurate, but it certainly has been persistent for a good portion of his life, even before the attempt at transmutation.

at first, it was only the thoughts. they were minor, of course. after his mom died and he and al were truly left orphaned, ed had wondered if it was because he existed that their dad left. hohenheim was crying in that one photo they had together, after all. it always stuck at the back of his mind, and thus began the fantasizing in order to somehow justify what had happened to him and his brother.

he grew a mild fascination with death. constantly envisioning what it would’ve been like if he’d never been born- or died before he could damage his parents relationship somehow- and how al would’ve lived afterwards.

how al would’ve felt having a normal family to take care of him for his whole childhood, instead of it being completely taken away when he was only four.

part of it stemmed from an inherent longing to see his mother again in some fashion, twisted into childlike fantasies where he’s the one to die first and watches on from whatever kind of heaven he’d go to, reunited when the rest of his family passed on. peacefully.

he didn’t want to deal with grief anymore, but he couldn’t deny his true reality. their mother was gone, their shithead father was nowhere to be seen, and the house was unbearably lonely. things began to get overwhelming. he’d begun to grow slightly delirious in his study of alchemy.

most of it is masked as enthusiasm. it becomes a subconscious habit to talk about alchemy with a fake sense of determination, in order to fool the people around him into believing he wasn’t losing his mind understanding the greater world of science ahead of him, with every single word he’d read swirling around in his brain as he attached it all to the fading face of his father.

yock island, though instilling a certain lesson, does intense damage to his psyche. it was the first time he’d started to grow uncomfortable with his own fascinations. at this point, it wasn’t his own life at stake- it was al’s, too. he’d already started losing it by studying things for days on end, but nearly starving to death with his brother really put things into perspective.

he learned the meaning of all is one and one is all, but the cost could not be justifiable. not when a pool of fear stirred in his gut constantly, him finally aware of the true nature behind all his “harmless” fantasies.

he tried to shut them out. to ignore them. and then izumi had to go and warn them to never commit the taboo of human transmutation.

something broke in ed the day he even suggested that they try to find a way to crack human transmutation. so much had grown. he’d barely been able to get up that morning. even still, he acted like everything was normal. like he wasn’t struggling to even stand, being crushed under the weight of his spiraling, pent up emotions and thoughts.

he just talks with al, and something in him just... breaks. completely. he can’t bear the weight of it all anymore, and he finally talks, from the darkest recesses of his soul.

“i think we could bring mom back.”

he wishes al could’ve known better. he regrets ever saying those words, ever pushing his brother to help him with it all, ever placing his hands on that transmutation circle.

for a brief moment, he feels like he dies. it’s almost satisfying, to him. and then he wakes up in the fucking gate, truth taking his leg as payment. and then- the fucking thing they brought to life, for the cost of al’s whole body and his leg. it spits blood, reaches out at him, and he has to literally resist the urge to retch and let himself bleed out.

he only continues for al. to get al back. al didn’t deserve this. he was only ten, damnit.

it gets worse. he screams during his automail surgery, ranting about anything he can think of, trying to keep himself breathing. trying to push through it all for alphonse. everything is boiling over, and he can’t handle it.

he slowly begins to develop anger as a protective shield. it’s the only way he’s able to shut everything in his head up. the only time it begins to boil over to a point he can’t control is when he can’t bring himself to be angry.

ed still cared for other people, no matter how much he tried to ignore it. he still does good things out of his own natural moral code. unfortunately, though, being that nice? it actively hurt him, because it lets the chaos spiraling in his stomach return. he’d barely be able to get up the next day without a solid thirty minutes of extra “sleep.”

his naps become ways for him to cope with the hellish cacophony. it’s just so much easier to yell and not acknowledge the fact that people want to help him, no matter how much he may need it.

when nina happens, the nightmare that follows- although not the first of its kind- is one of the only ones to render him inconsolable upon waking. he can’t just go back to sleep, but he can’t talk, either. he has to sit through it, with his heightened breath, the heavy feeling in his chest practically choking him the entire time.

he shuts people out. he shuts his own brother out. the normal facade serves its purpose well.

when scar almost kills him, he is pained to say that the conflict in his head is wildly disproportionate.

living for al’s sake is outclassed by the want to die.

it’s the first example of his thoughts breaking out from their prison. he was ready to accept death, above all else. and then al punches him for being stupid. with everything having already snapped, he can only respond as if he were a deer in headlights, unable to truly comprehend the situation.

things just get worse. and worse. and worse. he can’t cope with it all. his anger keeps exploding, trying to protect him from himself. to keep him from going through with some of those thoughts and just sacrificing himself to get his own brother’s body back, as if the world would be better off without him.

to an extent, he was convinced it would. he never acted upon it consciously, however.

ed would never make a direct attempt. he’d do stupidly self-sacrificial things sometimes, yes, but he’d never try to kill himself outright. he wouldn’t want al to see- al had already had enough death in his life, and ed didn’t want to burden him with both his own death and the fact he was his own murderer at once.

this doesn’t stop the fantasies from getting worse. though. nor does it stop him from looking at himself in the mirror, hallucinating both the feel and sight of choking himself. (not like that would be the only way, though, of course. he’d imagined so many, over and over, and they played in his head constantly.)

he thinks about it so, so much. al is the only thing to keep him grounded. his little brother is the only being that grounds him.

it doesn’t stop him from doing things to harm himself, though. when he’s alone, he finds himself knocking against the side of his own head hard or pulling on his hair to intentionally cause pain. his head becomes sensitive, but only because hes desperate to do anything to drown everything out.

one could even find scratch marks along his arm from when he gripped onto it too hard during one of his fits, paired with the tips of his automail having a sharper edge. he hates letting people see those, but at least they’re faint. he can play them off as simple wounds from getting into a fight. the bruises are a different story, but its not as if he cant make something else up to explain them.

he panics when people see through his facade, and retaliates with even worse anger. he goes on the attack like a caged animal because deep down, he WANTS help. it’s just hard for him to even receive it before he’s been completely, utterly broken for that day.

being separated from al is debilitating.

even though he knows that alphonse can handle himself, it still does not change the fact that he’s become unhealthily dependent on him. al is his entire reason for living, and being far from that tether eats away at what composure he has left.

when he’s impaled, he wasn’t even sure if what he was going to do would even work. to envision himself as a philosopher’s stone? he’d never had that sort of a handle on his own soul before.

as he’d seen with envy, though, the yelling of everything inside him, screaming to be let out perfectly matched the stones of the homunculi. ed saved his own life, only letting himself live for alphonse, wherever he may have gone.

the months of being separated are fucking torture.

or, at least, they are, for only a while. by the time he was in alenthaal, ed had grown ... unnaturally hopeless. even though he looked fine, almost everyone in town saw through his mask.

luitumi is the one to break him first.

“edward?” “yeah, whats up, luitumi?” “you don’t need to pretend anymore.”

he’s completely dumbfounded. she attacks him right at his core. naturally, he puts up his shield, trying to force her out. to get her away from his problems. and then she fucking takes his normal hand, squeezes it, and looks at him with those unwavering glass eyes, and he breaks.

it’s all let out at once. every thought swirling around manifests as panicked crying, yelling, whining- really, anything he can verbalize. he says “you don’t know anything,” and she shuts him up completely by saying “i wouldn’t be talking to you if i didn’t, edward.”

she doesn’t destroy his shield. she takes the other route of forcing him to put it down.

ed still doesn’t remember a lot from that day, other than the feeling of being hugged by multiple people at once. the entirety of team lazarus.

emotionally drained, he can barely get up the next day, too. but instead of suffering through it by himself, he can feel a hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him through it.

he’d fallen asleep inside the living room, and lucaun and carson were waiting for him the next morning. luitumi was making food with yularosá, and cobalt was talking with heinkel and darius and greed.

it’s ... sickeningly domestic.

and yet, it wasn’t something he’d experienced since mom died. he hadn’t felt this familial safety since then, not even at the rockbell house. luitumi had broken down his walls in a single night, most likely fueled by whatever emotions charity had been able to pick up on, and now the rest of the people who could be considered “friends” in this fucking town are doing what they can to help.

talking with any of them about his feelings becomes mandatory. they don’t give him a choice, and for some reason, he can’t bring himself to fight it. the better part of him knows that he needs it.

at first, its twice a day. usually luitumi and lucaun handle it. cobalt and carson deal with his constantly presenting daddy issues, though. carson knew the feeling of growing up with a dad who didn’t love him (and, initially, no dad at all), and cobalt knew the feeling of fucking hating his own father.

his need for a parental figure slowly dies down. cobalt will never be a father to him, just like mustang, but he’s okay with that. cobalt doesn’t have any legal standing over him unlike the colonel, and he’s a lot more fucking comfortable with that.

cobalt doesnt have to pretend like he’s a father in any capacity for ed. what he does is out of his own heart, not because he sees ed as a ward.

at least, that’s what ed believes. and he likes it like that. people not pretending to be things they aren’t helps him shut away that one need.

it moves to once a day. he trails them a lot. his attachment issues come into presence, but they keep reminding him that its okay to need someone. slowly but surely, he’s able to deal with being left alone, though not for very long.

it moves to every other day. his thoughts are a lot less loud than he remembers them being.

it moves to only twice a week. the first time ed doesn’t artificially smile is for their christmas and new years celebrations, when luitumi drags him into the dancing circle with her. the whole thing reminds him of some of the celebrations they used to have in resembool in the summer. he says he’s not a good dancer, but luitumi doesn’t care. he lets her take the lead for the start, and just like everything else in his life, he learns fast.

he finally begins smiling, completely free of his thoughts for once. he actually has fun that isn’t tethered to everything he’s been building up for over these many years.

alenthaal becomes his safe place. “whats said in alenthaal, stays in alenthaal.” he genuinely believes it to be true.

when the promised day draws closer and closer, he promises to come back. it’s not just al he’s living for, anymore. he’s living for this town, too, full of people who make him feel safe.

when al sacrifices himself to bring his arm back, it sets ed back what feels like years. his anger returns, completely unstoppable, and his one focus is to kill father. and then greed dies.

it just gets worse. even with the bastard gone, his progress is still set back significantly.

he yells at hohenheim. calls him a rotten father. he didnt want to deal with any of that self sacrificial garbage, not because that was the man who left them, but because thats exactly what ed does.

he thinks. thinks so, so hard. finally, he draws out the circle, everything finally becoming clear.

he sacrifices his own alchemy. ed doesn’t need it anymore, not when it’s caused him and his brother so much pain.

he has the town of alenthaal. he has his friends. he has his family.

who needs alchemy, when he’s got them?

and he beats truth, in his own special way. al is brought back. even though they spend months in rehabilitation, ed’s head is so much clearer than its ever been.

he returns home resembool. everything was worth it.

when he visits alenthaal once again, luitumi’s changed. she’s permanently merged with charity as a result of the promised day. they become two extremes- a complete lack of any alchemy at all, and a newfound power that still has so much unknown alchemy to tap into. even still, they share that hug, ed having kept his promise to not die.

he does his best to be more open. alenthaal is his safe haven, but having more than one isn’t impossible.

in the time before he goes off to the west, he tries to open up, bit by bit. its hard. the thoughts aren’t gone, and he knows they never will be. he’ll still have times where he’s rendered useless by them all, but this time, winry and al are there to help.

his emotions are genuine. his smiles are genuine. he doesn’t have to fake anymore.

when decides to study alchemy in the west, he knows every possible risk. he continues, despite the danger, because this would be his way of coming to terms with what happened to hohenheim. he ties alchemy to him, and even in death, that doesn’t change.

his father is gone. his father was one of the greatest alchemists the world had seen.

so ed will just overcome him, even without being able to perform alchemy anymore. he’ll prove that he’s more than just his kid. he’ll make his dad proud, as much as he hates calling him by that name.

luitumi joins him on his journey. they ground eachother. neither will have to deal with their pain alone, not this time. ed knows suffering through it isn’t an option for him anymore.

the thoughts will return, once in a while.

ed no longer shuts them out at this point. he lets them be, allowing them to stir until the mental soup is done. until his head finally becomes clear.

#tw suicidal thoughts #cw suicidal thoughts #tw suicide mention #cw suicide mention #tw self harm #cw self harm #goldie is seriously fucked this is a general warning #post promised day hes a lot better but before it? he still needs consistent help. things still constantly overwhelm him.#even though he gets a lot better at dealing with it in alenthaal it still very much is all there.#this is also a uhhh super fucking long post HGDJHS #{|❂|} THE GOLDEN CHILD | edward.#{|❂|} HE WHO TRAVELS THE STARS | info.

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paperclipninja · 4 years

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Lucifer post-ep ramble 5x01

Hi there, long time fangirl, first time Lucifan. After devouring all 4.5 seasons of this magnificent show in an impressive/alarming (all a matter of perspective) amount of time, I have very quickly found myself well and truly obsessed dedicated to all things Lucifer. And when a show grabs me like this one has, I tend to have a lot of thoughts and feelings that I can’t help but share, and so the post-ep ramble was born. It will probably contain many words, it may or may not be particularly coherent, there will definitely be over-analysing, but I thought I might indulge in re-capping the season 5 eps as I re-watch, so this is the first ramble off the rank.

‘Really Sad Devil Guy’ (A+ ep name btw) kicks off as we’re still scrambling to pick up all our heart pieces after the season 4 finale, which is why Mr. Said Out Bitch (aka Lee Garner) being in Hell is such a cracker of an opening. Lucifer just waiting below deck on Fishizzle II (wth happened to Fishizzle I??) to greet him with his trademark ‘hello’ made me disproportionately happy, mostly because he was on my screen but also because his encounters with Mr. SOB are always great and this was no exception. Getting an insight into ‘life in Hell’, the way the characters in the Hell loops are played by Demons and Lucifer in action as the King was fab at this point in the series. And does anyone else have a visceral reaction to Lucifer stopping that bullet? I know it’s brief, I cannot explain it, it might be the command he has, the fact it’s awesome, but it makes me FEEL things. Just me? Cool.

I think what really strikes me in the way Lucifer just has to pop in on Mr. SOB upon hearing of his arrival, is the fact that he is a link to Lucifer’s life on Earth. They’ve existed in the same places there, breathed the same air, it’s a way for Lucifer to make that connection to his home more tangible. And when he realises where Mr. SOB’s hell loop has them moored, at Marina Del Ray, the way Lucifer says 'Los Angeles' with such yearning makes those heart pieces I had started cobbling back together really begin to ache. What this episode pulls off so brilliantly is the way Chloe and Lucifer remain connected despite being apart, and it’s all set up when Lucifer tells Mr. SOB, ‘You know, there's a good chance I know who's on your case. To them it's only been a few months, a blink of an eye, but here it's been much much longer’.

What’s happening ‘below deck’ in Hell (sorry...or am I?) is of course mirrored at the crime scene, where Maze is still calling Ella Ellen (never change Maze ILY) and Ella is banging on about Lucifer not responding to her DM’s and texts and it’s all so on brand and the thought of her sending Lucifer a clip of a parrot dancing to techno and him finding it funny is just too perf. Maze having Chloe’s back from the get-go and telling Ella to ‘read the room’ just shows how far this Demon has come. And of course Chloe saying that she hasn’t even really thought about Lucifer since he left...(spoiler alert: she has).

Seeing Maze and Chloe out drinking and dancing, somehow they're kinda dorky together and I love it, but it’s also really clear that they’re both leaning on each other pretty heavily and being there for one another and honestly, I love literally every combination of characters on Lucifer, you put any two together and the dynamic is 100% their own and these two are up there. It’s so weird seeing Amandiel running Lux, I big L LOVE Amenadiel but it’s just...wrong. Plus hats off to D.B. because his delivery of ‘No one sells drugs in my place...without me getting a piece of the action’, not gonna lie, I was THROWN.

So are we assuming that the number of months Lucifer has been gone = the number of times Chloe has rocked up to work with a hangover? Lol at the sunglasses but also, you do you Chloe, whatever you gotta do babe. Just like Amenadiel running Lux is like watching a slightly off AU version of the show, so is seeing Maze and Chloe as partners at work. Don’t get me wrong, Maze clearly supporting her and when they’re interrogating a lead, seeing Chloe and Maze have such a groove that they’re finishing each other's sentences and communicating without talking, I dig it. But I love that while it’s great, it still doesn’t feel right. Because that there is why this show is so clever, as an audience we crave the return to the way things were just as the characters we are watching do.

Linda being a completely OTT mum is so fab. I could write an entire essay about my Linda love. Her adamance that ‘Charlie’s special’ and Ella’s ‘every child is special in their mum’s eyes, huh?’ sums it up perfectly. Did I mention I adore Ella? I definitely get the distinct impression Ella is doing a bit of self-reflection, her comment about being drawn to the bad boys for some reason clearly foreshadowing, but also her reflecting that she deserves a good guy for once (just not this ep when there is a bad boy/potential suspect to be hooked up with). I am curious to see the ‘darkness’ Ella has alluded to in earlier seasons being explored further and feel like this is sowing the seeds and I’m also waiting for a significant Linda/Ella D&M at some point. But clearly not this point, because 'science lesson Wednesdays...I checked your schedule and that's your day off' Linda is NOT about deep and meaningfuls (or anyone who isn’t a 2 month old baby), you need to DIAL IT DOWN friend. I love that it takes Trixie pulling some funny faces and Dan offering some sage parenting advice as he returns the self-help books (love the irony there) for Linda to begin to chill a bit.

So Dan has gone all new age with his oils and self improvement and you know what? I love it. And then of course we have Amenadiel needing to help make the world a safer place, he just needs to make sure for Charlie ya know and ugh my ovaries. I must say, I was relieved to realise that the club life had not in fact corrupted the delightful warrior we all love after all - it’s all a ploy to catch a REAL BIG TIME drug dealer (nooooo I can feel the second hand embarrassment already...)! Amenadiel setting up the ‘drug bust’, telling the dealer, ‘looks like gooood drugs’, oh you dear sweet naïve Angel you. We of course discover that the bust is, well, a bust, because the ‘drug lord’ is actually a kid trying to offload his mum’s pain meds *insert facepalm emoii here*. But rather than ridicule or be angry, Dan is so understanding and supportive of Amenadiel and once again offers up advice and I really am so into this friendship on every level and the care and openness it models.

Meanwhile, the genius parallel between what is happening on Earth and in Hell really takes effect as Chloe and Maze go undercover (I mean, they are a glam couple lbh) to the poker game while Lucifer is at a game hosted by the same suspect in Mr. SOB’s ‘exquisite’ Hell loop. His exclamation that it’s exquisite reflects that Lucifer and Mr. SOB are not that different, that it’s the kind of place Lucifer might manifest as well, but I also feel that Lucifer could be admiring his own Kingdom’s handiwork at creating LA with such accuracy from someone’s subconscious. He allows himself to be absorbed in it, ‘City of Angels, I’ve missed you’, and I can’t help but get the impression that hearing Lucifer call LA this for the first time is confirmation that his Heaven, or place of Angels, is in fact there with Chloe.

Chloe remains firmly in the forefront of Lucifer’s mind this entire episode, with him asking ‘what would she do?’ and wanting to replicate the life he had with her at the precinct. But of course he is soon reminded of his reality, as he tries to get more information from Mr. SOB who is being useless. Lucifer incorrectly calling him ’Detective’ shatters the illusion that he is any closer to Chloe, and this is impressively emphasised as he erases the LA cityscape to reveal the Hellscape. For a moment he’d let himself believe he was back there. Back home. His, ‘you’re not her’ making some of my heart pieces fall out once again.

But then the messenger arrives, ‘Lord Morningstar, there’s someone you should meet’ and lo and behold it’s guy who just got hit by car up on the Earth-side of this investigation and I.am. loving. it. Also, did Lucifer put out a Hell-wide memo that if ANYONE arrives from LA they are to be bought to him so he can send messages to Chloe through their bodies??? NO REALLY I'M FINE. Having a Demon possess the dead dude’s body to pass on the tip from Lucifer was just TOO MUCH. His, ‘hey is that Mazikeen?’ made me actually lol but also, look how far we’ve come! Chloe doesn’t even flinch when the dead guy wakes up possessed to pass on Lucifer’s message. I’m so proud.

'It's safe where you stored it' caused me way more amusement than was perhaps intended, but Ella, Maze and Chloe together, trying to figure out what it meant, it's such a great moment and the comedic timing is gold. Also, the fact it actually helps the case, ugh, Chloe and Lucifer are still connected and working together even though they are not on the same plane of existence and I’m just going to need to curl up for a minute because feelings.

You know who else is having a lot of feelings in this ep? The Devil himself. After he is satisfied he has passed on the message, he’s done with Mr. SOB, sending him, ‘back to your torture. And me to mine’. Any remnants of my heart are now once again shattered all over the floor in case you’re wondering. Lucifer doesn’t even try to hide the fact that being away from Chloe is so painful, almost revealing more than he ever usually would when Mr. SOB asks if she’s ‘somebody important?' to which he replies, 'more than you could ever know'.

He only just stops himself before telling Mr. SOB her name, when he realises he's trying to manipulate him. And I'm so glad, Lucifer so sparingly uses Chloe’s name, it's always significant when he does and I feel like he reserves those moments for only between them. But Mr. SOB really does sum it up when he observes, ‘you just seem like a really sad Devil guy’, BECAUSE HE IS A REALLY SAD DEVIL GUY (can we just take a moment to appreciate how not at all scared of Lucifer Mr. SOB is, he doesn’t even refer to him as THE Devil, just ‘Devil guy’. It’s kind of nice that he sees and accepts him as both Devil and human without really questioning it).

The parallel continues as Chloe and Lucifer are talking to a sister and brother and the way this highlights the place they're both in. It's just brilliant writing and execution. Chloe is talking to Meg about her brother’s death and both her and Lucifer's yearning for one another is palpable. At the same time, Maze telling Chloe that they don’t need Lucifer and kissing Chloe highlights Maze’s desire for connection and love. She wants it so badly and the way she shuts down when Chloe suggests they stop working together breaks my heart.

When Lucifer takes Mr. SOB to the root of his Hell loop, yes, it’s about Lucifer projecting his own guilt and lack of self worth onto him, but his assertion that, 'it is inevitable sooner or later you're going to disappoint them all over again. So you'd rather stay away for all eternity’, really feels as though it carries multiple meanings. As a self-referential comment, is Lucifer talking about Heaven or Earth? Is it his fear of disappointing and letting down Chloe and the other humans or is it his belief that he disappointed his family? And if Angels self-actualise does that mean he was never 'stuck' in Hell at all and could have returned to Heaven? I certainly feel there is some sort of realisation occurring here. Or could be completely over-analysing it. Why not have both 🤷‍♀️

You know the line that just up and got me though? ‘Whose hell is this anyway? Are you sure this is my hell? You just here torturing yourself’- Mr. SOB calling Lucifer out is A MOMENT. And I can’t help but wonder if a part of it is Lucifer wanting Mr. SOB to come to terms with his own guilt, wanting to help him because he knows he’s not evil and he is trying to reconcile his own guilt too. If he can help Mr. SOB face and let go of the guilt then he has a chance of it too. And that’s when Mr. SOB challenges Lucifer, pointing out that he missed his chance, ‘but what about you?’ 'The self-centred simplicity of you humans never ceases to amaze me...I am here out of responsibility, I had to protect humanity, I had to protect HER', the delivery of this line, the frustration of being misunderstood, of ppl thinking that he acts for himself when his very reason for being back in Hell is for others, I can feel it through the screen.

The dead guy we saw get shot in the kitchen appearing at that moment with news about ‘the Detective’ and then cutting straight back to the shoot up in the house, file under: how to brilliantly edit. “Lucifer” appearing; the whistle, the casually strolling in, the ‘hello bad guys’ = I was FOOLED. I mean you have to admit, the ‘thought I'd give you a hand' pun was well played, classic Lucifer, very convincing. My shipper heart was SO FULL for the split second Lucifer and the Detective kissed, until Chloe realised that something was off and her open eyes told us something was up. The cut back to Hell and seeing Lucifer still standing there with Mr. SOB...you may have heard my ‘noooooooo’ from wherever you are. ‘She’ll be just fine without me’...said every Devil who has a dick twin brother who’s going to try and destroy, nay STEAL, his life and love of his life ever.

Michael, you're an evil bastard but damn you nailed that villainous smirk over-the-shoulder pose in the final shot. Whatever you have in store, I will no doubt revel in your awfulness and be confused about whether or not I hate you.

#lucifer #lucifans #lucifer 5x01 #ramble #lucifer morningstar #chloe decker #ella lopez #dan espinoza #amenadiel #deckerstar #recap

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miggydiaz · 4 years

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You know, overall, I really support what Lili is doing. I think her having dialogues with Black voices and Latinx voices is super important, and I actually love that she’s talking with them and not just giving them space on her platform because I think that that’s more meaningful. It says, to me, that she’s trying to educate herself in real time. That she’s listening to these experiences and trying to understand them. She says things like “I didn’t even consider that” and I think as white people (or white passing people), those are some of the most pivotal moments in our growth — when we have those instances that make us stop and realize that our experiences are not universal. And not just with police, but even with things that seem simple and every day for us, like haircare.

So in all, I think Lili is using her platform in an incredibly constructive way, and I’ve never once felt that her concern in all of this was disingenuous. It seems (at least to me) that this is an issue that she has recently taken an interest in, most likely because something in her perspective shifted. And that’s okay! Just because she wasn’t a BLM activist 6 months ago doesn’t mean she’s using her platform performatively now. It just means that she had what I like to refer to as her “moment of clarity” — where she either heard something or saw something that made these realities that BIPOC face ‘click’ in her brain, and now that it has, she wants to do something about them. She learned and is continuing to learn how to listen. And that’s a good thing!

But I gotta admit, her comments about the show and Roberto fell a little flat to me. Not even because I don’t believe Roberto for a second (but to be clear — I don’t. If Josie and the Pussycats come back, it’s 1000% because KK is being cancelled, and in fact, him saying anything, even through Lili, to me indicates that he knows KK is being cancelled...)

But what bothered me is I think Asha made it incredibly clear before Lili made her comment that this isn’t a Riverdale specific problem. What I took away from what Asha said is that we need to normalize the reality that black people do not share one experience across the board, and so limiting ensembles to one black voice that is supposed to represent the entire black community, and limiting that character to the “sassy black friend” trope or the “angry black person” trope is really harmful, and as a black actor, she struggles with this dichotomy between offering the black community SOME representation versus not taking roles and thereby decreasing diverse representation overall because it’s not GOOD representation.

(Note: Good representation is not to be confused with “nice” representation here... although black characters are disproportionately villains or antagonistic in television and movies, but that’s a... tangentially related different rant).

But Lili following that up with “Well this is what Roberto is planning to do!!” just kind of... missed the mark completely for me. To be honest, it felt a little like she was just waiting for her chance for Asha to be done talking to... pseudo-defend Riverdale. And that really bothered me.

And I get it to some extent. This is Lili’s job, and even though Riverdale would quickly cease to exist without her, she still has to be careful. Even white actresses have had their careers tanked by biting the hand that feeds. She doesn’t want to lose her job, or the momentum that she has built, and that’s okay! To be honest, it’s that momentum that has made her such a good ally in this because she IS using her platform to amplify voices like Asha’s. So it’s important that we consider she has the opportunity to do this in part because of the show, because of her position of power and privilege afforded to her by the show.

That being said, I still don’t think it was the right move. It seemed a little narrow coming from Lili who has been so good at dialogue in these lives, like she missed Asha’s point about this being a wider issue for black characters and the black actors that play them. And I can’t speak for Asha, but her demeanor and the fact that she RE-emphasizes that it isn’t just a RIVERDALE PROBLEM right after? Kind of tells me that Asha also felt like Lili didn’t really listen to what she was saying and just patiently waited for her opportunity to chime in and sorta-defend the show.

I hope she really does reflect on what Asha was saying there. I hope she actually DID hear her, and listened, and wasn’t just waiting to talk like it seemed she was. I hope as a producer going forward, these are things she thinks about. But in the meantime, I think people criticizing this portion of the conversation are valid, and if you don’t see anything wrong with how Lili handled this particular part of the exchange, then... I don’t really know.

Anyway, that’s just my two cents. Also, casual reminder that Roberto is also a known liar so like, take everything he says with a grain of salt, even if it comes from Lili’s mouth, and don’t hold it against Lili when he doesn’t fulfill that promise (although most people will). That’s not her fault.

#my soapbox for the day #but hey #at least she’s not out there camping!#girl is trying... but the only way we grow is by learning from our mistakes #the handling of this part of the conversation was a mistake IMO

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dogbearinggifts · 5 years

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“Dad Sent Me to the Moon” vs. “Because Dad Made Me”

How Luther and Vanya Talk About Trauma, Part Eight

This is part eight of my series comparing how Luther and Vanya discuss their own trauma and respond to the trauma of others. If this is your first time seeing it on your dash, you can catch up with prior installments here:

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven

A quick note for this installment: I will only cover part of Episode 9. This is mainly because I got a bit verbose and didn’t want it to get too long.

Episode 9, Part One: Changes (aka The One With That Scene™)

Our first trauma mention this episode comes shortly after Vanya discovers her father’s journal in Leonard’s bag.

Leonard: Vanya, I can explain. Vanya: You’ve been manipulating me all this time? Leonard: No, that’s not true. I’m only trying to protect you. Vanya: From who? Leonard: From your family! They’re the ones trying to hurt you. Vanya, it’s all there, in that journal. Your father was afraid of you. That’s why he put you on those pills. It wasn’t to help you. It was to hold you back. He didn’t trust that you were strong enough to control your powers, but I’ve never been afraid of you. I embraced you. I’m the only one who ever accepted you for who you really are. Your brothers and your sister, they went along with him every step of the way. Vanya: Who is Harold Jenkins? Leonard: He’s….someone like us. A lonely boy. An outsider whose family was cruel to him. All he ever wanted was to be heard, to be loved. Vanya: Allison was right. You’re sick. Leonard: I’m not the one who tried to kill you.

So, the first thing I’ll point out about this exchange is that Vanya jumped to the right conclusion upon finding that book. Her habit of jumping to conclusions has led her further and further down the road to the apocalypse up to this point, and those conclusions (assuming her siblings intentionally excluded her from their meeting because they don’t consider her family; assuming Allison Rumored her because she was jealous) have been wildly incorrect. But in this case, her interpretation of the facts is 100 percent correct.

Another thing that jumped out at me about this conversation is that the things Leonard says to Vanya? The reasons he gives her for pushing her away from her family and manipulating her into lashing out against them? Those words echo what certain corners of the fandom say about Vanya’s siblings. Not about Leonard being the only one who embraced her for who she is (no one is agreeing with him on that) or about why Reginald put her on her meds (he’s actually right on that one). But when he says that her “brothers and sister went along with him every step of the way,” that sounds eerily similar to what some segments of this fandom say about Vanya’s relationship with her siblings. Furthermore, based on a few excerpts we’ve gotten from her book (namely, the passage where she assumes her siblings “learned cruelty” from Reginald and excluded her accordingly) Leonard’s words echo Vanya’s worst and widely publicized allegations against her siblings.

And he’s patently wrong.

There is a chance her siblings excluded her intentionally in childhood, although Allison’s surprise at seeing Vanya off by herself in so many of the security tapes seems to refute this. But in the present, the biggest moment when Vanya was excluded by her siblings—when she walked in on that emergency meeting and Allison told her it was a “family matter”—was both unintentional and a result of Vanya’s own choices. Early on, Diego does tell her she doesn’t belong there, but clarifies that it’s because of the book she wrote; when he later says “She shouldn’t get a vote,” it’s implied that he’s still angry with her because of her book; he’s not leaving her out because of her lack of powers. Reginald may have enforced Vanya’s isolation in childhood, but from what we’ve seen of her adulthood thus far, it seems Vanya’s own choices have isolated her from her siblings far more than Reginald’s influence on them.

Furthermore, Allison did not try to kill Vanya. She didn’t even attempt to Rumor her until Vanya made it abundantly clear that she would not be reasoned with and Allison was left with her power as her only defense. She came unarmed, her behavior was nowhere near threatening, and the only reason Vanya saw it as threatening is because she refused to trust her sister’s own account of an event that had haunted her for decades.

Yet a not-insubstantial portion of the fandom not only fails to see this evidence refuting Leonard and Vanya’s assumptions, but they actually agree with Vanya’s emotionally abusive boyfriend who stalked and isolated her so he could use her powers for his own ends.

I’m not even going to go into how deeply disturbing that is.

As for what comes after this exchange—namely, Leonard’s death. I’m torn. On the one hand, I’m not going to say Leonard didn’t deserve what he got, because this is a man who has murdered two people (that we know of) with little remorse and is perfectly willing to end the world if it means he gets his petty revenge on the Umbrella Academy for something they didn’t even do. He smiled when he saw Allison’s throat pouring blood and tried to convince Vanya that her sister deserved to die. This man is dangerous, he is toxic, and the world is a safer place without him in it.

On the other hand, Vanya’s reaction is…troubling, to say the least. She doesn’t lash out at him when he confesses to murdering Helen Cho, and she doesn’t lash out when he lies about her family and tries to manipulate her into seeing Allison’s presumed death as a good thing. No, she lashes out at him when he begins calling her ordinary in a deliberate attempt to enrage her. What causes her to snap is not horror at his actions or empathy for her siblings, but the fact he is forcing her to relive her childhood trauma.

Furthermore, her retribution is….let’s call it disproportionate. She doesn’t run out screaming, and she doesn’t pin him up against the wall so she can make a getaway. Both of these would be the actions of a timid woman who abhors violence, but Vanya impales him with every vaguely sharp object in his kitchen and walks away without a tear in her eye.

I’m not going to say Leonard’s behavior isn’t awful here, because it is. And I have a hard time mustering a single ounce of sympathy for him. But he wasn’t threatening her. He didn’t have a gun or even a knife in his hands; he had a book. He didn’t block the exit; Vanya could have easily ran for the door and started screaming until the neighbors ran to her aid. He was simply slamming a book against his hand and chanting “Ordinary! Ordinary! Not special! Nothing!” It is this that makes Vanya decide he must die.

It’s entirely possible that she was leaning toward killing him when he confessed to murdering Helen, and it’s equally possible that this notion became stronger when she heard what he had to say about her siblings. It’s clear she’s afraid of him in this scene; however, as in her earlier confrontation with Allison, Vanya is the one with the real power here. She is the one who can commit a gruesome murder without lifting a finger. Leonard is the one at her mercy.

Unlike in her confrontation with Allison, Vanya exhibits no horror or remorse. She doesn’t even pause as the reality of what she’s done hits her full force. She simply gazes at his lifeless body and walks away.

Like the scene where she slit Allison’s throat, this one refutes the theory that Vanya’s tendency toward violence and desire for revenge at any cost is a direct result of Luther locking her up, because at this point, she has not yet returned to the Academy. Luther knows of her powers by now, but she hasn’t seen him. Yet here she is, murdering her abusive boyfriend without a single twinge of conscience. Leonard may be the very definition of an asshole victim, but that does not make Vanya’s complete and utter indifference toward the sight of his mangled corpse any less disturbing.

******

Our next trauma mention comes when Luther is sitting beside Allison in the infirmary. She is unconscious and covered in blood, but stable.

Luther: I know that peaceful dark place you’re in right now. And I know the pain you’ll be in when you leave it and wake up…to someone who’s not quite you anymore. When I woke up, I was angry. I was angry that you were gone, that you’d moved on with your life. And I was still stuck here, alone with Dad in this shitty old house. But I was wrong, because I pushed everyone away and…and that’s including the only person I love with all my heart. Crying Allison, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there. And I won’t let you wake up alone.

I’d like to take a minute to say that this fandom needs to CTFD* about Allison/Luther. Not only because 1) it’s a small portion of the series itself and 2) Netflix harnesses new, cutting-edge, downright revolutionary technology allowing viewers to simply skip the “Dancing in the Moonlight” scene, but because the rather disproportionate fury toward the pairing overshadows the sweetness Luther exhibits in this scene.

Since I brought it up and I know there’s a good chance it’ll become a Thing if I don’t, I’m going to make my stance on Allison/Luther clear: I am neutral. I don’t ship it, but it doesn’t fill me with rage, either. It was a thing in the comics, and when I read those, I simply saw it as another result of their fucked-up childhood. These are two kids raised in a cloistered environment, addressed by numbers instead of names, and taught more about all the many, many ways to hurt an assailant than they are about the birds and the bees (or whatever sort of lesson “don’t date your siblings even if you’re both adopted” would pop up in). If I were writing the series, I would not have added it in, but the fact it’s there doesn’t ruin the show for me and I feel no desire whatsoever to shame those few fans who do ship SpaceRumor. Klaus/Dave exists. I’d rather spend my time obsessing over a ship that makes my heart sing, cry, and sing while crying than spend it berating others for enjoying a ship that makes my heart go “meh.”

Now that I’ve gotten that out of the way….

This is a sweet scene, no doubt about it. Luther isn’t confessing his love to her; he’s confessing something even more difficult to share—his guilt. He knows he treated her badly after his accident. He knows he was angry with her, and he knows that was wrong. In this scene, Luther proves he has not only changed and grown beyond what he was mere days prior, but he exhibits a healthy degree of self-awareness.

What he says here, “I know the pain you’ll be in when you leave it and wake up…to someone who’s not quite you anymore”—that’s what empathy is. That’s what it looks like in practice. He knows how Allison will feel, because he’s felt that way. He knows how horrific it is to wake up and find that your body has been altered, but that knowledge isn’t limited to Oh, this was bad for me and so I’m going to protect myself from anything that resembles it. His recognition of the injustice he suffered leads him to ensure someone else in the same situation won’t suffer everything he suffered. He can’t reverse the damage, but he can be there when she wakes up—and he’s going to do it.

But I’d like to call your attention to something else, something that’s even more overlooked than the kindness of Luther’s words: “Allison, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”

Some fans have already pointed out that Luther’s whole identity is wrapped up in his position as Number One. Sometimes this is used to draw attention to his anxiety and lack of confidence; sometimes it’s used to accuse him of being Sir Reginald 2.0. But what the latter group forget is that Luther’s identity as Number One is built on the notion of him as not just a hero, but a leader of heroes. He’s not supposed to be the one rushing in after shit has already gone down to do whatever he can to assist victims; he’s supposed to be the one who gets to the scene before shit goes down, the one who keeps the victims from becoming victims and sends everyone home with smiles on their faces. To Luther, always getting the front seat and taking the lead in family meetings are small components of what being Number One is all about. The crux of his identity, the core of being Number One, is saving people.

And in his eyes, he has failed at that.

Never mind that he didn’t know Allison was in danger until Diego told him. Never mind that he had no way of knowing Vanya had powers or that Allison would find her instead of Leonard. Never mind that there was no possible way he could have made it to the cabin in time. To Luther’s mind, it was his responsibility to be the hero before Allison knew she’d need one, and all of those things we consider justifications for his absence are excuses to him.

Luther’s extreme dedication to his every task is what gained Reginald’s favor. But there’s a dark side to dedication, and we see it here with Luther’s self-blame for something that was absolutely not his fault. Knowing Reginald, he likely encouraged this self-blame. When that persistent voice in Luther’s head tells him he should have been there to save Allison before things got ugly, I’d be willing to bet it sounds a lot like Sir Reginald.

*******

Now, I would like to talk about That Scene. You know the one. Luther, Vanya, and a very bad hug?

I’m not going to reproduce the dialogue, because it’s not relevant to the points I’d like to discuss. I’m less interested in what is said—and even in what happens—than in the oft-ignored context surrounding it, so that is what I will focus on.

Let me get this out of the way first: I don’t like what Luther does in this scene. It’s so difficult to watch that I nearly always skip it. What he does to Vanya is horrifying, the scene is horrifying, and I don’t support his actions at all. However, I’ve seen some fans taking him to task for not giving her some of her meds, which have been proven effective. Leaving aside the fact that 1) all of those pills were with Vanya when Leonard flushed them down the drain and 2) her pharmacy will absolutely not give Luther an early refill for someone else’s medication just because he asks nicely, I have a question:

How was he supposed to get her to take them? I mean…..

Luther: Heyyyyyyyy, Vanya! Long time no see! We’re having a cranberry juice party! Can’t come in until you drink this whole glass of cranberry juice! Vanya: Luther: Vanya: What the fuck kind of party is— Luther: IT’S ALSO A NO-QUESTIONS PARTY!

Arguably, that would have been even worse.

Now, part of what makes this scene so awful is that we know Vanya does not plan to harm her siblings. We know she’s genuinely remorseful, and that she has returned simply to say she’s sorry. However, what I think many fans forget is that there is an enormous gap between what we the audience know and what Luther knows. We’ve seen Vanya immediately scream and rush to Allison’s side, trying in vain to stanch the bleeding. We’ve seen Leonard drag her away, and we’ve seen her sit nearly catatonic in the tub as he washes the blood off. We’ve seen her break down at Allison’s message, and we’ve seen her horror as she realizes that this is what Leonard wanted all along. Speaking more broadly, we’ve seen her display the full spectrum of emotion: anger at her siblings, yes, but also joy at getting first chair, gentle teasing when she tells Leonard she’s “sorry you got the ordinary one,” confusion and horror as she replays the fight outside the restaurant in her mind.

Luther has seen less than five percent of that.

He wasn’t at the cabin when Vanya slit Allison’s throat, and the only thing Allison has said to him about it is VANYA POWERS. He got the rest of the truth from Pogo, who as we know is practically allergic to saying anything negative about Reginald.** Pogo would never have told Luther that the anechoic chamber frightened Vanya when she was a child, let alone the way Reginald left her alone in there, shaking and crying as he simply walked away. If Luther said something to the effect of “This seems a little extreme,” Pogo probably would have responded with, “Her powers were simply too great. He believed they are limitless, and endlessly destructive. Your sister had little interest in controlling them. This was the only way to keep all of you safe—including Miss Vanya.” So, if you’re arguing that Luther intentionally made her relive her childhood trauma, stop. Just….stop.

Furthermore, the Vanya Luther has known all his life has been a zombie. She’s been on those pills since she was four, and so he probably has few, if any, memories of Vanya displaying much emotion at all. The only strong emotion he’s seen from her in the course of this series came when she flew off the handle because she erroneously assumed she had been intentionally left out of a very awkward conversation. To us, Vanya’s conduct is a heartfelt display of genuine relief and remorse. To Luther, it probably comes across as overacting.

So, to recap, here’s what we know:

Vanya went off her meds involuntarily and just recently learned what the pills actually did.

She has spent much of that time being ruled by her emotions, never even thinking to stop and take a deep breath until she crossed a line.

Believing she killed Allison was a turning point for her.

She is really, truly, deeply remorseful for what she did and relieved beyond words that Allison survived.

And here’s what Luther knows:

Vanya went off her meds, possibly by choice.

She is angry, and most of that anger is directed toward her family—particularly Allison, given her “There is nothing fair about being your sister” tirade.

She is unreasonable, blaming others for situations she created when she does not like the result.

She is quite possibly more powerful than the rest of her siblings combined.

Her first act upon coming into her powers could very well have been the attempted murder of her own sister.

It’s not just the fact Luther is acting on limited information that’s crucial to the understanding of this scene. It’s what his information was limited to. We see all the evidence and we know Vanya is, while not quite innocent, definitely not acting out of any sort of intent to harm. Luther sees a fraction of what we see, and what he sees is enough to convince him she needs to be contained until they know what to do. For all he knows, she’s returned to finish Allison off and kill the rest of them.

Now, I hope you’ll pardon a small tangent here: Diego receives much love for insisting that “She needs our help, and we can’t do that if she’s locked in a cage.” Fans point to his being locked in a cell despite his innocence as the reason for this empathy—and all that makes for good character development, but it ignores one vital piece of the puzzle:

The police didn’t know Diego was innocent, either.

From his perspective and our perspective, he’s innocent. He was heartbroken and inadvertently planted evidence on a scene he didn’t arrive at until after Eudora’s body was cold. Fingerprints, possibly hair and other bits of DNA were left behind, and when all that is put together with his take-no-shit-from-nobody attitude, the fights he and Eudora had, their possibly acrimonious breakup, and the fact that the last time they were known to speak together, she lectured him on his childish antics and kicked him out without allowing him to speak in his own defense….well, it’s enough to build a strong case, that’s for sure. The police gain much ire for locking Diego up on suspicion alone, but that is literally how the criminal justice system works. If there is evidence beyond a reasonable doubt, the suspect is kept in custody until the police can be certain they did not commit the crime in question and will not commit a similar crime once released. A failure to follow this step can allow a serial killer to roam free (and it has, on several notable occasions). No, it’s not fair or right that Diego could have been convicted on mostly circumstantial evidence; but suppose he had been guilty of a cold-blooded revenge killing. Should the police have let him go then? Should they have said, “Well, we have this evidence against you, and it makes a pretty compelling case, but we’re not 100 percent sure, so be free and try not to kill anyone else”? Point is, they didn’t know what they were dealing with—innocent man or cold-blooded killer—and so they had to err on the side of caution.

The same principle applies to Vanya. I don’t think Luther was planning to leave her there indefinitely. I am certain he didn’t think she would suffer a psychotic break. He was probably intending to wait a while, give her some time to cool off, and then try to talk to her and see if she’d tried to kill Allison or if it had been an accident. Locking her up was not the right choice, and it was not a kind one, but from his perspective, it was probably better to play it safe and keep her from hurting anyone else. We know she wasn’t guilty, just as we know Diego wasn’t guilty. But the evidence against them both was strong enough to convince the police and Luther that they needed to be kept under watch and kept from hurting anyone else.

I don’t think Luther was right to ignore his siblings. I think he should have listened to Allison especially, when she said to let Vanya go. But I think I know why he didn’t, and I’ll cover that in my next installment.

******

Running count of trauma mentions (cumulative of all episodes thus far)

Own Trauma: Vanya 10, Luther 11

Trauma of Others: Vanya 5, Luther 4

*********

*Stands for CALM THE FUCK DOWN.

**I have a lot more to say about Pogo and his loyalty to Reginald, but I’ll be a good essayist and keep this one focused on Luther and Vanya.

Read on to Part Nine

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tsumex · 5 years

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‘Cause the night is, baby, when all the demons come out. (Rinharu fanfiction--Free!)

It's always been hit-or-miss for them--or maybe it's just that they've been running from their issues too successfully.

Dammit.

Dammit, dammit, dammit.

Haruka has never been one for swearing much, but every expletive he knows is currently running a litany in his head, twisting over and under and back again through the convoluted mess in his head. He’s angry—not angry, not exasperated, not decidedly anything, and that uncertainty only adds to the resultant irritation. He’s always known his mind, he thinks—maybe even prided himself on the lack of complication in his thought process—and he curses this past year, too, for sending that stronghold teetering on its foundation. Like the quivering of shattered glass the tension in the air stands as he lies in bed, in the same bed as Rin, warmed by the body heat of the only ascertainable source of all his problems.

The day has been—it’s been one of the strangest Haruka has ever experienced—which is not saying much, given his generally uninteresting yardstick, but he’s pretty sure being whisked off to a foreign country without notice would figure as unprecedented by anyone’s standards. It’s not only that, though. Being so up close and personal with figments of Rin’s past had made him a kind of uncomfortable his own limited vocabulary couldn’t even begin to describe. It’s never pleasant, he’s realizing, to have illusions shattered, even less so to be made to introspect, and it’s that, and more—this panorama of everything he’d missed all the years that slipped by like beads on a string, so stuck in his own perception of betrayal, of not talking to Rin, or writing to Rin, blind to anything else.

He wants to bury his head in his hands, drown out everything else. The epiphany that somewhere inside him, he’s always believed that Rin had had it easy, easier than him left to agonize over and ponder the whys and the hows, haunts him, has haunted him ever since they’d gone to that godforsaken beach and Rin’s eyes had looked to something Haruka couldn’t see. Limpid with something Haruka couldn’t reach as he’d talked as someone would talk of an old flame. Haruka—he’s used to being on the outside looking in, but that had been—something else altogether. And since he couldn’t place it—again—he’d disguised with an annoyance not altogether feigned. Not interested, uncaring, all the labels he’s always stuck by, they’d made life easier for him. But—and he’s only just realizing this, too—they’ve left him with a void that begs the question of whether he’d really ever had the pulse of what he was feeling, or if he only thought it because he never felt anything much at all. Another illusion, another obliteration.

He’d never thought Rin would apologize. Penitence and Rin—they’ve always been poles apart, and it was whiplash to Haruka, seeing it. The Rin he knew would never—but has it really been that long? Has that Rin Haruka knew really walked so far along the path away from him? It’d left him fumbling for words then, it’s left him grasping for something appropriate to feel now—and that’s the only thing that hasn’t changed between them. And so, more strikingly by connection, where does that flux leave himself?

Has he really

Not progressed at all?

It’d never bothered him before. He’d always figured he’d get by, one way or another. It’d only been when—and he can still hear Rin’s voice, raised, lethal as a gunshot, don’t you have a dream—when the bruising hold on his shoulders had blazed a trail right into something dormant in him, that he’d gotten a glimpse of it. Where it had been not just getting by like a match into water, like oh.

So this is emotion.

He’s had people care for him. He’s cared for people, too, he thinks. As far as caring goes for someone like him, that is. But Rin—Rin is a conundrum, making Haruka feel by turns anxious, irritated and—hungry, even, when he sees the easy camaraderie between him and his homestay parents, for lack of something like that to call his own. Does he care for Rin? Does Rin, in turn, care for him? They’re all questions that loom like apparitions, ready to jump out at him from the shadows. He just doesn’t know, but all in all, he doesn’t like one bit the idea of a world where Rin is his only anchor. He’s passive, not helpless—but it’s been a reinforcement of the latter all day, and some part of him had been looking forward to the night, time away from Rin and in his own comfortable space to ponder over—or, alternatively, escape from—it all.

But here they are.

He’s never—done so many things he’s done in the span of this past month. Unbidden, the vision of Makoto’s face, the emotion dancing in the usually tranquil green eyes and how Haruka hadn’t even stopped to listen, swims into focus. It hurts like the phantom pain of a lost limb, and Haruka smothers his sudden gasp into the pillow. He doesn’t know how to fix it. He doesn’t even know what he’ll do without Makoto, and he clenches his eyes shut against the ocean of regret—so many of them—that suddenly lurches in his chest. Forcibly, he evens his breathing out, hoping sleep will claim his exhausted senses before—

“Haru?”

His eyes fly open before he’s had time to think about it. For a moment, he considers pretending to be asleep, but the stiffening of his posture must have given him away, because Rin keeps talking.

“I told you I’ve always admired you, right?”

Haruka wants to shake him, then, because of course and how could he forget those words, so uncharacteristic of, once again, the Rin he knew—but he’s quickly finding out that the Rin he knew is nothing but a mirage of fireshine and shadow now, born of memory and instinct. And in his place is this—this man,all at once so distinct and yet so painfully evocative of everything he remembers. He doesn’t know what to think of it, what to make of this heat suddenly rising in his cheeks at it, but he’s not given the opportunity to, because Rin is speaking again, voice quiet and full of a meaning Haruka can’t understand, only feel.

“You might not remember it, but I still remember the day I first met you.” Haruka’s not sure it’s possible at this point, but his body tenses even further, a little bit at the air which is suddenly heavy around them, but mostly because that simple sentence has opened the floodgates in his mind of the folder marked Rin and in bold red lettering do not open. That elation of a worthy adversary, the sparking electric buzz in the water he’d first and only felt when he’d shared it with Rin, young as they both were, all of it comes surging up, and his throat is suddenly tight with a million unspoken sentiments. “To be honest, it had never occurred to me that I could lose to someone.”

Haruka hides a smile into the darkness, because there it is, that flash of Rin’s past self, that childish competitiveness he could never quite grow out of—that Haruka doesn’t want him to grow out of, he’s beginning to think. That maybe it’s that bone of contention which makes them who they are—something by turns painful and exhilarating, as hard to contain as the ebb and flow of tide.

“But any frustration I felt vanished when I thought that there was someone more amazing than me, that I wanted to be able to swim like him.”

Amazing. Haruka’s breath catches on that word. He’s been called it before one too many times, and it’s caused him nothing but discomfort and the weight of frustrated expectation. But to hear Rin say it—openly, not a trace of hesitation or shyness—he repeats it over and over to himself. Amazing amazing amazing. His fists, he finds, are suddenly clenched, body coiled tight as a tripwire while he fights the urge to react, to just—turn over and respond to Rin in kind. Because who the hell is he kidding, he’s always thought Rin amazing, too, more than amazing. Like someone in the bland schema of his quotidian that doesn’t quite fit. He doesn’t know what to do, really, like always with Rin, so he settles for waiting for him to continue and hoping that the warm feeling in his chest and cheeks hasn’t spilled out to anything tangible.

“That’s why it’s hard for me when you’re not always there ahead of me, showing me what path I should take.” And, really, if Haruka had thought the air was tense before, it’s practically electric now, with Rin’s voice laving it over like running water. Anyone who isn’t—well, Haruka, would think his speech to be remarkably put-together, calm even. But it’s him and it’s Rin, and somehow they always know, with each other. And if instinct tells Haruka there’s an undercurrent to Rin’s words, there probably is.

Something in Haruka’s chest hurts with the fullness of it—his heart beats strangely and he almost thinks Rin can hear it like this. Because he’s talking, actually admitting these things out loud instead of sublimating them into tears or disproportionate anger. And if he knows to do this, then he must, must know how it’s affecting Haruka. He can’t be oblivious to the way Haruka wants to turn around and tell him to shut up, that he can’t be a guide to what he doesn’t know himself—and at the same time, he wants—

“Without you, I have nothing to aim for, you know?”

Haruka’s heart stops. He doesn’t know if Rin understands the propensity of what he’s just said. His mind blanks. And somehow, suddenly, the word anchor ceases to be just a tiresome burden to him. Before he can stop himself, the words are out.

“I remember it too. The tournament.” It’s a simple admission, maybe inadequate after all Rin’s said, but it’s all he can trust himself to say in the threshold of safe. It’s in his characteristic taciturn way, too, but somehow he doesn’t want to force the words back down, and Rin catches onto it, the rift in the ice. He turns, and for one frozen moment of horrified anticipation Haruka thinks he’s going to hug him. But he just shifts so he’s facing the ceiling, laughs softly.

“Do you remember the freestyle race we swam during the tournament this spring, when we tied and set a new tournament record together?” And again, it’s an inane question. Because it’s nigh impossible for Haruka to forget, not unless he barges into the corner of his mind reserved for precious things and obliterates the entirety of it. He doesn’t know how to begin putting this into words, but it’s simple enough to mutter out a yeah into the sheets. It’s a poor response at best, but it seems Rin reads something from his end of the silence, because he doesn’t stop talking. “I was testing you then. I wanted to see if that was really the farthest you could go.”

And really, hasn’t their relationship been so much of that, Haruka wants to ask. To push and push and push the other to—snap, he used to think, but with this Rin, this Haruka, maybe it’s like Rin has said. Go farther, be better, swim faster. He’s thinking a lot of things he hasn’t thought before, like maybe Rin’s right and he’s wrong for once, like maybe the world doesn’t exist in one dimension that is his.

“And when I sensed you coming up from behind me, I knew for sure.” The fervency in Rin’s voice is rising now, palpable in the still air around them. “That you were definitely going to enter the same world as me.”

It’s absolutely silent in the little room apart from the thud of Haruka’s heart, the blood pounding in his ears. It’s all painfully obvious to him now, that he’s been blind, ungrateful, selfish—everything else he can think to add on to that. Because Rin—Rin’s believed in him when neither of them knew it, believes in him now, and it’s about time Haruka found a little belief of his own. But all he can do is lie frozen on his side, Rin’s body burning like a furnace beside him, making him feel suddenly hot in the sharp chill of the Australian winter. Very slowly, almost imperceptibly, Rin inches closer, just the barest brush of their bodies as his voice goes very tender, soft like a whisper.

“Hey, Haru. During that race, didn’t you feel something, too?”

Rin—he doesn’t need to say it, what he’s insinuating under cover of darkness and his ambiguous wording, because if Haruka was unsure of just what this weight in the air meant before, the way his entire body thrills at their little brush of contact leaves him in no doubt now. They’ve spent so long walking circles around each other. And here Rin is coming on to him, Rin is coming on to him. And all the almosts and near misses and second-guessings—he balls his fists. There’s so much—so much.

So slow he could be measuring out each minutiae of the action, he turns around. The ceiling flashes into view, then, and he grits his teeth when he’s finally on his other side, facing Rin. This one answer, he knows, he can’t trust to words alone. Rin stiffens for a moment, and Haruka can hear his breath hitch before he, wordlessly, turns over, too, so that he’s occupying the entirety of Haruka’s field of vision, eyes dark and a wry little smile playing at his lips. Up so close, Haruka can count each of Rin’s lashes, the tiny beauty marks on his cheekbones, and he’s so preoccupied at the unexpected attractiveness that the remaining space between them vanishes unnoticed. Rin shifts even closer, Haruka leans in and—oh.

So this is emotion.

The brush of their lips is chaste, once, twice more before they come to press up against each other. It’s—Haruka’s never experienced anything like it before, but he’s pretty sure that something simple as that shouldn’t have his skin heating up where pinpricks of blood rise under the surface of it, nor make his heart feel like fight-or-flight. When they pull away, when Haruka opens his eyes—when had he shut them?—he finds Rin already looking at him with something inscrutable in his expresssion.

“What,” he mutters, averting his gaze somewhere off to the right for a split second before Rin’s hands cups his chin and guides him back into the deadlock of their gazes.

“That’s your answer?” he sounds suddenly as quietly fervent as he had done before, gaze burning into Haruka—and he isn’t going to back down from this now. There’s no panic, no misgiving—just this muted sort of quiet heat charging the atmosphere. And he knows this to be a sure thing simply because it’s not a sure thing. The world knew it when they were two immature, stubborn idiots—but the sweetness of it now that it’s seasoned with maturity, makes up for lost time, Haruka thinks. So he looks Rin right back in the eye, seals his fate.

“That’s my answer.”

For a minute, Rin just stares at him like—like he’s never seen him before. But before Haruka can look away again, he’s surging forward, grip on his chin tightening as he presses their lips together again, this time with more intention. Haruka’s head is rapidly fogging up as he wonders whether it’s something Australian, something he’s learnt to do here—but then his mouth opens in a gasp and Rin’s licking inside it and he decides it doesn’t matter. Nothing could be truer, more right in this moment and he lets himself be swept along, free hand finding its way into Rin’s hair, tugging a bit to elicit a low mmm into his mouth—there’s so much heat between them now, Rin always burns a little hot anyway but Haruka knows it’s not just him right now, his own body responding in kind to Rin’s pull.

They’re both breathing hard when they pull away this time, and Haruka finds his gaze dropping to Rin’s lips, glistening and just a little bit redder than usual. It sends a shiver down his spine, and, like in a daze, he makes to claim them again before Rin stops him with a hand stroking along his face.

“Haru,” he says, almost pained. “If you don’t stop now—I don’t know where this’ll go.”

Haruka sucks in a breath. He hadn’t considered—hadn’t ever thought that they could do that.Stupid of him in retrospect, buttwo guys—or with anyone for that matter, it’s weird no matter how you look at it for him, at least. But this isn’t—it’s Rin. And somehow, the idea of it with Rin, when he thinks of it, is just—not disgusting or abhorrent or anything but natural. The decision, it comes to him in a blinding flash, isn’t one he has to make right here. It’s one he’d made a long, long time ago. Because really, there’s only ever one person in the world who’s shown him that sight he’d never seen before. And only ever one person he’s wanted to see it with.

“Rin—,” he begins, then stops short. Words, for him, are immaterial. And there’s no way in hell he’ll ever find enough to say all of this. So he just acts. Throws caution to the winds. Ignores Rin’s warning hand on his cheek and seeks out his lips, parting them with his own. The slick slide of their tongues together makes— noises which send Haruka’s pulse thrumming under his skin, his breathing choppy and fragmented. It’s like that for a long moment, Rin slowly melting under the contact—and then Haruka’s on his back, looking up into Rin’s burning eyes, Rin’s jaw clenched tight, arms effectively caging him in.

“Don’t fucking blame me if you can’t walk tomorrow, Haru.”

Haruka is hard-pressed to repress the shudder than goes through him at Rin’s words, at the way Rin says his name, low and dangerous. But he raises an eyebrow at him, knows that something inside Rin will rise to the challenge—and he’s right. He’s so, so right when all he can do is get out a surprised interjection as he’s pressed into the mattress before Rin is kissing him, kissing him like he’s hungry for it while he ruts his hips down into Haruka’s once, experimentally. And Haruka’s been aware of—that in the background all this while, but with the hard ridge of Rin’s arousal pressing up into his own now, he’s aware of it, and suddenly, it’s like he can’t stop. He can’t stop himself from moaning, and he can’t stop his hips from twitching back up against the friction. Rin smirks—he can feel him doing it into the kiss, and he channels his irritation into retribution. Buries his hands into Rin’s hair and pulls hard, rocks his hips up again just to hear Rin stifle a groan.

“Don’t play dirty,” Rin grits out, ever the hypocrite, and Haruka open his mouth to tell him just that, but then Rin’s hand finds its way under the drawstring of his sweats and all that comes out is a low hiss. It’s a bit dry, the friction, but Haruka’s hips buck up into it nonetheless—and when Rin removes his hand to lick over it, the blood rushes to his head so fast it makes him dizzy. He’s thankful he’s lying down like he’s never been thankful for anything else before, especially when Rin’s hand returns to stroking him and he joins their mouths again to keep in the embarrassing noises he’s making.

“Feels good?” It would be a sympathetic question except for the way Rin murmurs it into his ear, voice honeyed and dripping seduction like heknows.And Haruka’s reached his breaking point.

“Bastard…,” he grits out, blindly reaching for the waistband of Rin’s own pants and grasping the fullness of his cock from under it. And it’s worth the effort for the way the pace of Rin’s hand falters on his own cock, the way his head slumps down on the pillow next to him as he groans.

“Haru—,” he kisses at his neck, slides his other hand up under his t-shirt to thumb at his nipples, making his back arch. “You don’t have to.”

Haruka rolls his eyes even though he knows Rin can’t see, and speeds up the movements of his hand, moistening it with the precome that is steadily leaking from the tip, spreading it around. “You were saying?”

“Fuck,” Rin moans out, biting down on the soft skin at the juncture of Haruka’s neck and shoulder in retaliation, sending a spark of electricity to the heat pooling in his belly. “You’re so unfair.”

“I’m unfair?” Haruka can’t fight the heat in his voice anymore, any attempts at a mild intonation thrown out the window as he twists his wrist on the upstroke to watch Rin’s entire body shudder as he stills Haruka’s hand with a bruising grip on his wrist after he does it again.

“Enough.”

Can’t take more? Haruka wants to ask, wants to set the smoldering embers in Rin’s eyes ablaze, but then Rin is pulling Haruka’s shirt over his head, then his own, and looking at his body in a way that makes him feel even barer than he is. Down his eyes travel like a caress, making Haruka’s skin heat under the phantom touch—and it’s worse when he rejoins the trail of his gaze with his lips, kissing lower, lower, mouth and tongue working at his nipples as he slides his pants down over the jut of his hips, his cock, until he’s completely exposed. Rin kicks the blanket off of them, and Haruka can’t even find it in himself to care at the cold air because Rin’s on him, Rin’s going to be inside him, and Rin chooses that moment to graze his teeth over a pebbled nipple and all he can think of is the heat of his body and his mouth. He’s moaning, must have been, because there’s no resistance when Rin’s fingers nudge at the seam of his mouth. He sucks them in on instinct, tongue flicking over them in ways he didn’t even know he was capable of, and Rin makes a low noise into his skin, trailing his hand down from where it had been caressing Haruka’s side to push his legs apart.

“I’m gonna fuck you now, Haru.” The words are deceptively gentle, belied only by Rin’s fingers digging bruises into the inside of his thigh—and yet they pour into Haruka’s insides like something molten, burning him from the inside out. All he can do is nod, then, as fervent as Rin ever was, and he’s only given till that little movement before Rin’s fingers are gone from his mouth, only to push at his entrance as Rin lifts himself back up so that their noses are brushing, scrutinizing Haruka’s face. It’s such a foreign sensation that it forces a gasp past his lips despite himself, skin prickling into goosebumps. When Rin slides one long, callused finger into him, Haruka can’t help another catch in his breath, the flutter of his lashes. It’s weird—doesn’t feel like anything he’s ever felt before, but the anticipation laden in it has him pressing down tight against the breach. Rin makes an almost frustrated sound, licking at the shell of Haruka’s ear before breathing into it. “You’re tight, so fucking—I need you to relax a bit for me.”

Rin’s finger jostles a tiny bit as he trails sucking kisses, excruciatingly slow, across Haruka’s throat, and Haruka makes a soft noise lost somewhere between the shudder wracking his body and Rin’s lips as he silences him with the heat of his mouth and the press of his tongue. His other hand, rubbing soothing circles over his thigh, suddenly grips hard, hard enough to hurt as he moves his finger with intent, curls it a bit and—

“Ahhh—!” Heat jolts up Haruka’s spine as he throws his head back, breaking the kiss to make a sound that seems obscenely loud in the still air of the room. Rin’s looking at him with a kind of dark focus which is almost frightening in its intensity as he does it again, and Haruka’s entire body jerks.

“Here?” And damn him, he knows, even with Haruka’s lack of response, as he adds another finger, driving it straight into that spot which makes his vision short out. Haruka’s so—he’s slowly going insane with the assault on his senses, and he needs—he needs more. All of it. He can’t think, can’t judge what is safe to be said anymore. So when Rin scissors his fingers, he forces his eyes open, doesn’t hold back the broken keen that’s straining against the confines of his throat.

“Please, Rin.”

The reaction is instantaneous. The movement of Rin’s fingers inside him stills completely for a second before he drives back in with a force that sends Haruka sliding back a little. He’s another finger in, then, biting hard at Haruka’s clavicle, muttering out nonsense against the forming bruise. “Yeah, Haru, just let me—let me—”

It’s all a dizzying blur to Haruka now, a fever dream—Rin’s mouth has found its way back to his nipples as he moves his fingers faster, faster—the slick sounds echoing through the room, a background track that’s only feeding the flames licking at the base of his spine. And then it’s all gone, the stretch of Rin’s fingers giving way to an aching emptiness and a blunt pressure at his entrance—and this is it. Haruka holds his breath as Rin raises his head to look him in the eye, something unspoken and yet more concrete than anything he could ever voice passing its silent way between them as Rin presses his hips forward, because this is it. All of Rin.

Haruka bites his lip as he fights to keep his eyes from fluttering shut, but something soft and wrecked trembles out of him all the same at the burning stretch as Rin sheathes himself fully inside of him. He’s breathing hard and his jaw is set with the restraint of it as he waits for Haruka to adjust for a long, agonizing moment before he speaks, voice shaking. “Fuck, Haru—please, can I move?”

Haruka’s whole body is drawn taut, and he knows it’s not going to take long for him to break like this, where he can feel the reverberations of each throb of Rin’s pulse where they’re joined—but the prospect doesn’t scare him. Not anymore. And so he lets his arms snake around Rin’s back, nails digging in as he braces himself. “Yes. Rin, yes.”

Rin fucks like he swims—deliberate, brutal, completely single-minded. It doesn’t take them long to find a rhythm, the driving of Rin’s cock into Haruka harder and harder after the first few tentative thrusts, like he’s looking for Haruka’s limit and isn’t afraid to push it. Haruka is torn between clenching his eyes shut against the onslaught of sensation and just—watching Rin’s tether fray and snap, licking up the droplets of sweat beading on his skin, but he’s not given the space to think about it, the low groans Rin makes every time Haruka tightens around him and the constant friction of his thrusts crowding out everything else. He’s left to drag his nails down Rin’s back at the little moans punched out of him at every snap of his hips, tears forming at the corners of his eyes when it gets too much. And Rin is still looking straight at him, eyes fogged up with arousal. Even as he hitches one of Haruka’s legs up over his shoulder to bend him double, even as Haruka cries out from how good it is, his gaze never wavers. It’d make Haruka uncomfortable if he didn’t know exactly what it is—how absolutely beautiful Rin looks to him right now, too.

“Ah, Rin, Rin, Rin—,” he chants, he knows he’s moaning nonsense syllables, but it’s all subconscious at this point—he’s saying all he’s thinking, and all he’s thinking is that the boy above him is beautiful—that he wants more of him, more of that delicious pleasure gathering in the pit of his stomach every time the pressure splitting him open brushes up against that spot. Rin groans long and low into Haruka’s ear at it, hips stuttering.

“Haru—fuck, don’t—don’t just say my name like that, shit—,” he gets out between thrusts, swiveling his hips in a way that makes Haruka’s back arch right up off the bed—buries his face in Haruka’s neck, sucking a dark-edged bruise into the hollow of his throat, drinking in the choked-off moan that reverberates within it before he pulls back, eyes feverish and pinning the other down more effectively than if he’s used brute force. “Or I don’t know what I’ll do.”

And really, who ever said that it was only Rin who could test Haruka?

“What’ll you—ah—do?” Haruka matches his gaze with his own, unflinching, lets the heat thrumming in his body show on his face as he bucks his hips up to meet Rin thrust for thrust. “Show me, Rin.”

He lets his voice linger over the last syllable, drawing it out and tasting it on his tongue like something sweet—and it’s almost tangible, clear as shattering glass as the last of Rin’s restraint—and sanity therewith—snaps, slips through his fingers like running sand. A low growl is his only warning before Rin pulls out, almost all the way, and snaps his hips back in. Deep. Haruka can barely think to comprehend how loud his answering moan is, before Rin does it again. It’s painful, almost, how deep he can get like this, and the knife-edge of it somewhere on the wrong side of pleasurable makes him dig his nails into Rin’s skin, hiss out a more into his ear. And Rin gives. Again and again, that same brutal pace at the same unforgiving angle, and Haruka thinks he’ll go insane from how rapidly he’s hurtling towards the edge. He just needs—the friction of his cock against Rin’s stomach is nothing short of frustrating, and the thought of getting a hand between them has barely crossed his mind before Rin’s beaten him to it, fingers wrapping around his cock and bringing him off in fast, sloppy jerks.

“Ngh—touch… me—,” Haruka’s voice is leaving him before he’s had the opportunity to filter his thoughts, judgement gone and lying shattered somewhere on the outer edge of his shorted-out mind. It’s all inconsequential right now—the only thing that matters is the pulsing heat driving into him, the coil tightening in his belly—and Rin. He knows his body’s tensing up, can feel how hard he’s clenching down in the pitch and depth of Rin’s moans, like he can feel every single throb of him inside himself. Last spurt, headlong race towards the finish, Rin moves his hand once, twice more, swipes his thumb over the head and that’s it. “—Rin!”

He’s coming for what feels like an eternity, vision going white for a split second, intensifying when he feels scorching heat spilling into him. He’ll be forever glad it was too much—that he didn’t hear the sounds he made, the sounds that had Rin yanking him close as he could get and sinking his teeth into his shoulder. It’s harder than he’s ever come before, more than he ever thought he could feel. It’s drawn out, agonizingly almost, with each aborted jerk of Rin’s hips until the euphoria ebbs. He opens his eyes slowly, shudders at the aftershock when Rin pulls out, spent cock dragging against his abused inner walls. There’s come inside him, there’s come on his stomach, and it should make him want to run for a washcloth—but when Rin collapses next to him, face up, eyes radiating a warmth that’s so Rinand yet somehow different now, he wants nothing more than to stay. It’s not going to be a relationship of I love yousand grand romantic gestures—from Haruka’s side, at least of that he’s certain, and he can’t promise Rin—well, anything. Not stability or a dream or even a home to come back to. But this—this, as he retrieves the blanket, not bothering with their clothes, and curls up into Rin’s side—this, he can promise. Staying—being by Rin’s side no matter what he does and where he goes, he can swear to.

He can do that.

#free!#free! iwatobi swim club #haru #nanase haruka #matsuoka rin #rin #haruka #rinharu #harurin #rinharu fanfiction #smut #harurin fanfiction #honeymoon #free! eternal summer #fanfiction #friends to lovers

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popwasabi · 4 years

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“Do the Right Thing” and “the language of the unheard”

Two things tend to happen following the death of unarmed African American at the hands of law enforcement in this country.

The first are protests that often lead to heightened demonstrations of anger, which lead to police decked out in riot gear to come in and put a stop to it while property and storefronts often burn around them. The second is a condemnation of all that but less so of the brutality that led to the riots but of the riots themselves.

In America, there is a modern philosophy of “civility” at any costs, that even when angry, even when rightfully enraged by the injustices that befall a group of people, you are STILL expected to “behave” and it is YOUR responsibility to stay calm and do the right thing.

“I’m sorry, I agree with you, but I just can’t support you because of the way you demonstrated that belief” are often the words that follow.

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I’m not saying you should ignore all toxic behavior or that you can’t take issue with a movement’s methods, I’ll leave that up to you to decide, but I used to stringently believe this myself. In the wake of the Ferguson riots in 2014 where a Missouri police officer shot and killed unarmed African American Michael Brown for the crime of allegedly *check notes* stealing a box of swishers, I found myself participating in the same tone policing as much of the wider country.

“Yeah, the police were wrong to kill Michael Brown like that but also the protesters have no right to destroy their own city. That’s wrong, they should do it peacefully!” I proudly proclaimed at the time.

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Six years later my feelings on this have taken a complete 180, partially because the circumstances of our times have become exponentially more volatile but it really began with finally understanding an ending to a movie I got around to seeing in 2009; Spike Lee’s “Do the Right Thing.”

Back in the “halcyon” days of 2009 I used to be a part of a small Myspace (yea, I know…) movie club group where we all shared various movie reviews amongst each other upon individual recommendations. One day one of these members recommended watching 1989’s “Do the Right Thing.” Up until that day I really didn’t know much about Spike Lee beyond him being a rabid Knicks fan and opinionated Clint Eastwood agitator but I gave it a watch and I liked it quite a bit.

(Shade you can hear.)

“Do the Right Thing” details a day in the life of Mookie, played by Spike himself, as he navigates his rough Brooklyn neighborhood. Throughout his day, he and his mostly black neighbors, friends, and acquaintances encounter various micro aggressions in the form of gentrifiers, white and Asian store owners who disrespect them despite being their primary customers, widespread income inequality, and of course the police who monitor their every step. The movie examines the intersection of race and how it all comes colliding together when circumstances are less than perfect specifically to those that exist in African American neighborhoods.

I enjoyed this aspect of the film, it felt real and authentic to me, even humorous at times, critiquing the very real issues black Americans face every day while also examining how other groups of people interact with them.

Where I took issue with the film, at the time, was its aforementioned climax.

At the film’s end, tensions have boiled over as Radio Raheem, one of Mookie’s friends, is called the n-word by Sal, Mookie’s white pizza store owner boss, leading to a scuffle between the two of them. Police are then called, pulling Radio Raheem away, nevermind that it was Sal’s words that ignited the fight, and put him in a chokehold and well, you know this story already…

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Finally, the anger that has been rising throughout the film ignites with a growing mob agitated at Sal and his sons who they see as the main instigators. Mookie stands rubbing his face for a few moments before picking up a trashcan and tossing it at the window of the pizzeria, simply yelling “Hate!” as it crashes through.

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A riot of course ensues, as the largely African American neighborhood tear the store apart, looting it of all its material goods before it burns to the ground. The next day Mookie returns to the scene of the unrest to ask Sal directly for his paycheck who angrily tells him his stunt destroyed his business to which Mookie simply retorts “Radio Raheem is dead.” The two argue for a bit but somehow ends with the two quietly understanding each other before they go their separate ways.

For the longest time I couldn’t square exactly with the ending despite my enjoyment of the movie. I never outright condemned the entire film’s message, (some people within that group I spoke of did though…), but I did find myself saying I couldn’t condone how it ended. Afterall, what did Sal do to deserve that kind of backlash, why did his storefront deserve to be destroyed? It had “nothing” to do with Radio Raheem’s death, right?

Fast forward to today and well, my attitude has definitely changed.

At this point I’m not going to spend an entire paragraph describing our current events as you all should be smart enough to know by now what’s going on but an African American friend of mine summed up these past two weeks in the most concise way possible I feel; “the results of oppression, poverty, hopelessness, and frustration is destruction and violence.”

Throughout “Do the Right Thing” Spike Lee shows us a microcosm of the effects of societal neglect and institutionalized racism has on his community. He tells us exactly why Mookie did what he did and yet still largely white viewers, which included myself at one point, were confused by this. At a certain point a person, a group of people, an entire community can only take so much before they take actions into their own hands.

When our white dominated society tells African Americans it’s “inappropriate” to protest during the national anthem, that it’s inappropriate to “make everything about race,”, ask “What about black on black crime,” respond back “#BlueLivesMatter” or “#AlllivesMatter,” when largely white Americans, especially those in power, ignore and refuse to believe all evidence that says otherwise this is what happens. These are the results of the neglected, ignored, and unheard.

(Btw, Roger Goodell can fuck all the way off with his crocodile tears until he gives a formal apology to Colin Kaepernick on behalf of the league, AT MINIMUM.)

There is a rush to judgment when the looting and rioting starts following these tragedies around the country. Nevermind the fact that police are largely the aggressors in all these interactions and attack peaceful protesters who are “doing it the right way” anyways but the blame for the destruction is almost only squared on the rioters themselves.

Cries of “Martin Luther King would have never supported this” and “He would call for peace and #unity right now!” are typical when this happens. King was a far more nuanced and complicated man than the liberal hippie that both Republicans and Democrats liken him to be and when you invoke his name to condemn protesters before the cops who actually started this you, and I cannot emphasize this enough, ARE NOT HELPING.

(If you won’t listen to me, listen to his daughter, you assholes.)

People generally want to empathize with victims but for some reason only want the perfect victim in this country. A victim that is a Saint in real life, lays down, does all the right things, and still gets hurt for it because they are “doing it the right way.” Sometimes victims are imperfect, including people who have been murdered by cops and people who loot and riot, but they STILL deserve to be heard and most importantly they deserve JUSTICE.

Nevertheless, these people are villainized to their most extreme as people are disproportionately being harassed by the cops while it all happens. Again, I cannot emphasize this enough, when you spend more time talking about “good” vs “bad” protesters you are helping those who benefit from maintaining the status quo. They WANT you to make this about those “criminals” and “thugs” who would “destroy our communities.” Nevermind, that upping the militarization of our police force only INCREASES the chances of a protest turning violent anyways.

(Tell me who is this protecting? Who is this serving?)

By making this about the “bad protesters” they drive a wedge between you and the cause so that police brutality can be maintained, so that power structures are not changed, so that you can be “protected” from people who are actually fighting for your rights right now. When the media and politicians use this kind of language, they are giving cops free reign to justify all forms of heinous means of pacifying these demonstrations, including ones that are banned in war. They want you to miss the point, they want you to forget why this started, hell they want you to forget they looted your asses long before the “rioters” looted a multibillion dollar company’s store who has more than enough insurance to recoup their losses anyways.

Spike Lee is often asked about the ending to “Do the Right Thing,” a question I would’ve asked him myself even just a few years ago, and he’s quoted as saying “only white people ever ask me that question.”

MLK’s name is often invoked when shit hits the fan in these demonstrations and while I’ll admit that I don’t like seeing neighborhoods destroyed and certainly don’t like seeing small businesses torn down and looted it’s important that King wanted us to understand why they happen and to keep our eyes on the ball:

“A riot is the language of the unheard” is important in understanding “Do the Right Thing” and this current moment we are having in history. While I have been pleasantly surprised by the near unanimous support Black Lives Matter has had across the board by people I would never thought to become radicalized there are still pockets of people who make this about the “right way” to protest.

To quote Spike Lee even he says he is unsure if Mookie did the “right thing” or not in that situation but he also says, “I know who did the wrong thing.”

Some of you might be saying still that MLK would not have supported these riots and hell, that may be true but need I remind you, there’s a reason he's not here today to tell you himself.

I’ll leave you with the same two quotes Spike left his audience in 1989 from MLK and Malcom X. I want you to read them both thoroughly and see if you have done the right thing yourselves over these past two weeks.

I truly hope you have...

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Love and respect, y’all.

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tragedybunny · 5 years

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The Blade’s Edge - A League of Legends Fanfiction - Chapter 10

They had a simple arrangement. She was the weapon to be used on his enemies. Things get more complicated when emotions bleed into what should simple. Now the two of them find themselves on the precipice of something that was entirely unexpected.

Lady Montrose has an old family name, an old family Manor, and an even older idea of how society should function. She also has a vast fortune to put behind her ideas, which is why most of them have flocked here. Of course these days the once great lady is a mere puppet for her grandson, Augustus. It is he who greets the guests and acts as host, a child playing dress-up, pretending to greatness.

“Ah, Grand General, Sir, Grandmother will be most honored.” He’s worse than a mere useless nobility fop, he’s spent so many years in scholarly pursuits, he now believes himself truly intelligent.

His eyes genuinely light up when he greets Kat. “Katarina, it’s been forever, you look lovely.” He takes her hand, kisses it, and lingers entirely too long. There were rumors once about the two of them. I should ask her about it, it could prove useful. “We should talk later, it will be good to catch up.”

We move along, further into the cavernous, ancient hall. “Be careful what you say to him. I don’t trust him or this situation.”

She just shrugs. “You don’t trust anyone.”

“That’s beside the point. And not entirely true. I trust you don’t I?”

She stops, she can’t hide the faint smile on her lips. “Fine, one exception.”

“I mean there’s one or two more, probably.”

“You’re not really making your case any better.” We’ve moved out of earshot of the boy, and she stops to whisper viciously at me. “Do you really think I’m an idiot though? Just look at him, he’d stab his own mother in back. In fact, that may have literally happened. You really think I’d trust him for a second?”

She has a point. “No, that was reactionary.” I kiss her forehead, she leans into it. “Do stop trying to pick a fight though, you’ve been doing it since…” Right, her mother. I take her arm. “Earlier. I don’t want to spend all night arguing with you.” I keep my voice level, trying to prove my point. We continue moving.

We cut through the overdressed crowd, wealth for them displayed as a show of strength, thronging between the overly plush parlors and the lavish ballroom. The lamps reflect off jewels at every turn, laughter flowing with the wine, and again they gossip and whisper as we pass. I pay it no mind, I’m here to achieve something, a step forward for Noxus.

Kat’s voice cuts through the din. “Sorry for being difficult, I wasn’t expecting what happened earlier.”

I’m slightly taken aback at her honesty. “Would you feel better if I found you someone to stab?”

“Maybe.” It was supposed to make her smile again, but her response is a soft monotone.

We pause again, stepping out of the flow of the crowd around us. I lean down to kiss her, pulling her against me, feeling every one of her curves pressed against me through her dress. “Or maybe we should wander off and find some place secluded.”

She’s wrapped herself around me. “Wouldn’t that be too undignified for your position? Imagine the Grand General fucking some harlot in an abandoned hallway.” Her lips graze my ear and she has no idea how close I am to recreating that moment. There are more pressing matters however. She sighs softly, not pulling out of my arms. “I don’t really want to fight with you.” Her words are uncharacteristically tinged with sadness.

Frequently she’s angry or annoyed or irritable, she’s never sad. It strikes me as wrong somehow. I reach up to cup her cheek and brush my thumb along it. “Then let’s not.” She nods and lets me continue leading us toward our goal, stopping to grab a glass of wine from a passing servant.

I spy Argos, engrossed in some conversation and looking as uncomfortable as ever. When he looks up and his eyes meet mine, I signal for him to follow. We come at last to a back parlor, buried in the depths of the house. The horde of guests has thinned out, leaving the area much quieter. Inside, Darius is already waiting with Augustus’s younger sister, Coraline.

Argos looks around quickly, clearly trying to ascertain if the situation bids him ill. Coraline senses the tension and gestures around her. “Do take a seat.”

The plush couches arranged in a semicircle are faded with age and fraying, the gilding is wearing off in some spots it would seem. The lamps are set low to attract less attention. “Is she here?” I look to Coraline.

“Of course. Thankfully my dear brother let me handle some of the arrangements for this evening.” She rises to speak in hushed tones to a servant just outside the door.

I take a seat directly across from Argos, Darius to my left. Kat remains standing behind me, draining another glass of wine she acquired from somewhere. In moments a short woman with sun-kissed skin is shown in by the servant.

Coraline introduces her to our small group. “This is Amara Whitney. For those of you unfamiliar with our purpose here tonight, she has a most intriguing proposal for a strategy to quickly and reliably produce black powder weapons.” Argos and Darius lean forward, suitably invested in the revelation.

“Correct.” The strength of her voice is disproportionate to her sleight frame. “By combining parts made to exact specifications and the rifled barrel, we can make unlimited, accurate, black powder weapons. With the steam engine providing power to machine those parts we can do it quickly and efficiently.” It’s a beautiful image, the forces of Noxus, armed with endless black powder weapons. It’s needed as well. The vision in the North gave me the first hint, but there have been others since, some conspiracy is establishing itself. I have an intimation who is agitating it, but it’s been frustratingly mostly chasing shadows. I know the Generals I have put in place will keep the army loyal though, and I may need it to be as deadly as possible. Just one of many security measures I’m working into place.

“If funds were provided to set up the operation in small scale, you would guarantee your results?” I stare her down, searching for any sign of hesitation.

She holds fast. “Of course, all that’s needed is funding.”

“Your input?” I look to Darius and Argos.

“That would be quite the advantage. Hextexch is near impossible to acquire in large numbers and we already control most of the black powder production on the continent.” Argos is eager.

“It needs to be funded. High Command will be skeptical of taking that on.” Darius has a point.

“I know, that’s why we need private investors.” Of course, I’ll be involved, but as promising as it is, I will not be bankrolling it solo. If it all works out though, selling the arms to the Empire should net a nice profit. There’s a reason I turned the family fortune from lands and estates to finance and investments.

“So we need to decide who to go to. This may be too forward thinking for some of my more traditional peers.” Coraline looks pointedly at me and Kat, still standing behind me. “I will be happy to contribute, provided Augustus is not an obstacle.” That is the conundrum, as stuck as they are in their ways, the Nobility still has plenty of resources. There is an alternative.

“Why involve them at all?” All eyes turn to Kat. “They are rotting in their ways and traditions while the bankers and merchants thrive. Why not go to those who have been making their own fortune, at least they can see the future.”

I turn my gaze toward her, stunned she involved herself, and more than a little impressed that she cut to the heart of the matter. “That’s exactly the solution. We don’t need them.” I haven’t been trying to convince her she has more abilities than just being an assassin for my own amusement. I reach up and put my hand over hers. “Very astute observation.”

All eyes are still on her. “Right, I’m bored now. I’m going to find another drink.” She turns her back on those eyes and exits briskly.

“She’s been spending way too much time with you.” Darius grins like he knows some hidden secret. “If she’s not careful you’re going to make her completely boring.”

“Moving on. Coraline, secure an exit for our new friend. I’ll count on you to get meetings with the right investors. I’ll see to it that your brother isn’t much trouble at all”

She nods, looking perfectly satisfied at my last words. “I will be in touch.”

Finally, this night is nearing a conclusion. Although it has been enjoyable parading Kat around at my side. “We should all go out and fulfill our social obligations before leaving.” I look pointedly at Argos. “Let’s not make things too obvious for now. Darius, try not to drink our host dry.”

“Kat’s probably already beat me to it.” I should find her before that gets close to being true.

We exit one by one, slipping back into the sea of guests. I make the rounds, exchanging empty pleasantries, listening to numbing prattle, and keep an eye out for Kat. I know how she can get when the wine starts flowing, and she already hates crowds.

There is no sign of her after I’ve passed through nearly every room that’s occupied. Honestly, if she’s left on her own, we’ll have words later. Finally, hemmed in by some weasel faced little bureaucrat on the edge of the lavish ballroom I spot her, dancing with Augustus Montrose. I feel my jaw tighten, I explicitly warned her about him.

I keep her in my sight, determined to see them separated without this turning into a scene between the two of us. I’ve never had the opportunity to see her dance before. Every step is elegant and perfectly measured, reflective of her other skills. The idiot leans in and says something and she laughs, looking absolutely carefree. Why is that almost anyone else can do that so easily?

A huge shadow looms over me and the poor, sniveling fellow trying to engage me vanishes. Darius gets uncomfortably close, a wine glass in each hand. “You know, instead of glaring at Montrose like you're going to murder him later, you could just ask her to dance?”

He’s entirely too fixated on this. “Are you implying I’m jealous?”

“I’m not even implying, I saying it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. She’s free to do as she pleases. I just don’t want this having any consequences later.” I don’t need everyone here connecting the two of them.

He rolls his eyes and continues drinking as a response. The music ends and Montrose walks her off the dance floor, finding another drink to pass to her. When she looks in my direction we lock eyes and she immediately looks down and away. Neither walk away and he continues to hover around her. That’s it, the pampered little fop has had enough of her time.

I start towards them. “Nope, not jealous at all,” Darius mutters behind me.

The music begins again. “One more dance?” His voice exudes artifice and practiced charm.

I clear my throat behind them. “Apologies Augustus.” At least her apology wasn’t sincere and now we can finally be done with this. “I owe one to someone else.” She smiles and grabs my hand, pulling me toward the dance floor with surprising strength. This wasn’t what I had intended in the least.

“By all means.” He bows graciously but stares daggers at me. Idiot.

We find ourselves in the midst of a waltz, at the edge of the dance floor, perfectly visible to everyone. “Now everyone’s staring again.” Her cheeks are flushed, though if it’s the wine, the warmth of the room, or the attention, I can’t tell.

“That’s because I don’t typically dance.” And I don’t know why I am now.

“I can tell.” She laughs in that same carefree manner she had with Darius earlier. And like her smile at home, it’s been far too long since she laughed like that around me.

“I’m not that bad, you’re very mean.”

“Don’t worry, I’m good enough for both of us.” She’s right, I am terrible at this, but I struggle through. My timing is completely off and I step on her at least twice, but her hand in mine leads me on. The scent of violet perfume that surrounds her is almost intoxicating. It combines with the heat of the room and makes it difficult to draw breath. It’s a little bit of delirium, and dangerously I let the room and the crowd fade away in my mind until there’s just the two of us, just for a second. Then reality pushes back in and the foolishness of it seizes me. The waltz concludes and she lets out a little sigh. At least this has served as distraction enough that no one will remember her and Augustus. “I imagine you’re ready to leave.”

A strand of her hair has come loose, I reach out and brush it behind her ear. “We could stay if you want.” She seemed so content.

She closes her eyes. “No, let’s go, I’m done with all this.”

She leans her head on my shoulder the whole ride home, eyes half closed. I can tell she overdid it when I wasn’t watching. “So, when do you want me to kill him?” She finally breaks the silence.

I hesitate, that was the last topic I expected. “Later.” I don’t want to worry about plots and plans and grand schemes for the rest of the night. “It can wait.”

“Pretending to be somewhat pleasant tire you out?” Her lips brush my cheek softly, in direct opposition to her little jab.

I pull her tighter against me. “You always insist on pushing your luck with me, don't you Kitten?”

We finally come to a stop and I help her step down from the carriage. The snow has begun falling again, wet and heavy, blanketing the walk. She missteps and wobbles a bit, my arms wrap around her, keeping her on her feet. “Most dangerous assassin in Noxus, can’t walk in the snow.”

She starts to dissolve into that soft giggling that only comes out when she’s like this. “Shut it! It’s this stupid outfit I’m stuffed into.”

“And you’re tipsy. Do you need me to carry you?” She continues to laugh while playfully swatting my hand away. She looks breathtaking with the snow falling around her and her eyes lit up with genuine mirth. I wonder for a moment if we could always be like this. Could she be all happiness and smiles if I tried? Would she want that? Just to make life easier for both of us.

The servants are all asleep and I keep her from waking Gwen when we get upstairs. I’m tired of being around other people. “Who’s going to get me out of this damn thing?”

“Be patient for a few seconds.” I take her shoulders and turn her away from me. I get to work on the tiny little buttons, followed by the lacing, their precious nature preventing me from using my left hand. She waits patiently, letting me take my time undressing her, finally sighing softly when my fingers trace her bare skin. I help her with the little pins in her hair, admiring the way it cascades down her back when freed.

She turns and her arms entwine me as she leans in to give me a teasing kiss, lips parted ever so slightly, her intention obvious. “Not tonight my tipsy little Kitten. Straight to bed with you.” She pouts, as per usual when she’s been denied something, but makes her way to bed.

When I join her under the covers she's already mostly asleep, curled up in the middle of the bed. “Move over.” I try to gently push her toward her side.

She mumbles something sleepily but gives way, turning her back toward me. I take my place beside her and make sure the covers are pulled up around her, I know she hates it when she gets cold. My arm wraps around her waist and I lay a light kiss on her shoulder as she relaxes against me. “Night Jericho.” She whispers softly, eyes closed.

"Goodnight Kat." Sleep eludes me though as I lay here, holding this moment in my mind. It means more than it should, her curled up next to me, content in my arms. I can’t puzzle it out, I tell myself to let it go. I kiss the top of her head and finally begin to drift off.

#swain #jericho swain #swain league of legends #katarina #katarina du couteau #katarina leau #lol katarina #lol swain #swain/katarina #swain x katarina #League of Legends #league of legends fanfiction #the blade's edge #my fanfiction #my writing

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believerindaydreams · 5 years

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...it was quite possibly a mistake, to revisit Syb’s “dead dove do not eat” Blonco fic before writing a 70s au. partner on partner violence

still, it seems necessary also. this is still all the same first night of roadtrip.

“...so last time we were here, I punched Blondie like this- wham! Right in the kisser. You know what that smirk’s like, right? Well that little mouth didn’t look so good when I was done, I’ll tell you that.”

Tuco waves his folk in the air for punctuation, nearly bedecking both of us in an overly sweetened honey braise. He’s been chattering a great deal between voracious bites of pulled pork, talking fast and too loudly. We’ve been in the restaurant less than a quarter of an hour and already more than one head’s turned, to look at the relentless monologuer and his silent audience.

Yet a further argument then, in favour of the ultimatum I’d left Blondie pondering.

We’re too noticeable like this. One alone is hardly safe in this line of work, two is pushing it, and as for three...if you won’t, I’ll have no qualms about telling him myself. Then at least we’ll know where we stand.

Promise or threat, I might have meant it either way; though Blondie’s ashen-faced shock had left me in no doubt how my listener interpreted it. He’d never thought I’d call him on that, evidently, though nothing about Tuco’s careless joviality tonight suggests why.

What’s even being protected here? A man capable of such ostentatious bravado...“Did you hit Blondie often?”

Now if this is why my inamorata left me- fearing more the devil he knew than the one he didn’t- we’re not so far from home for me to be unable to find a convenient ditch, some dark hole ready to take anonymous bones this very night-

(”Be calm, little rabbit.” My mentor preferred not to kill in haste, when avoidable; and until today, I never would have thought twice of that stricture.)

“Cristo, not all that much,” Tuco says, the confusion on his face far more bemused than angry. “This was back in the fifties, we didn’t beat each other up more than most kids. You know how it is.”

I might tell him that I know of no such thing, that in my circles violence would always be taken for the threat it represented; but how close would that comment come to a transgression? How Blondie could lie to this man- years on end to his constant partner, and my sympathies are shifting like water tonight-

“...oh, I forgot. One of those expensive schools, huh?”

I nod. It seems simplest.

“Well, maybe you wouldn’t know then- but yeah, and anyway I had a good reason. This was back in the old days when you’d walk in a place, and maybe they’d point at the sign saying no coloured and point at you too. So then you leave again.”

“Would you keep the noise down?” a woman demands. A tired one whose efforts at beauty suggest more determination than success, eating a frugal salad with dainty fuss. She is, nevertheless, a person who somebody might miss.

That her response to my glare is rather fonder than frightened, is a matter of some small irritation; but Tuco’s back is turned to her and he carries on without further interruption.

“But Blondie knew what I wanted, and we had the money- that was lucky, we’d helped an old man push his car out of the mud that morning. The hustle, we hadn’t really gotten it right yet. Still trying to play it honest,” Tuco grins, splatters more sauce on beef already swimming in the stuff. “We’ve got a little smarter since than at least. Or at least I’ve got better about not believing everything we say, whatever...okay, but you wanted to hear about me punching Blondie.”

Not especially, I don’t say; not least because even with the words rising to my lips, it isn’t true.

Mine is a world of secrecy above all else; if there’s crassness in this man owing to his faults so publicly, it’s attractive all the same. As is the tender joy in his eyes, the particular gusto that comes only when he tells me absurdities;

“So I wait outside by the highway, that’s a good fifty yards away and getting cold- you know, I’d never been to the desert before, I didn’t know how cold it could be. Flicking my lighter every couple of minutes just to keep my hands warm, and it was getting dark, I didn’t like so much being out by myself. You start thinking about how big the world is, when you’re on your own- hey. Hey, if you’re not eating that I will.” He waves a fork at my half-consumed sandwich, teasingly.

“Do you want this?” It is hardly as if this restaurant is liable to run short of its main dish; though the bafflement on Tuco’s features suggests that rhetoric was uppermost in his mind.

“...I guess you could get another one if you wanted to, huh. Huh. No, I don’t want it- where was I? Oh, so. Dark. And windy...I was glad to see Blondie, I’ll tell you that. Almost ran up for a hug, and then I said to myself, maybe don’t do that Tuco Ramirez, it’s not so safe around here.”

My mentor would have disciplined me with all the severity in her nature, were I to calmly name myself in public like this. The entire restaurant is staring at us now and the man sitting across from me is enjoying every bit of the attention, damn his eyes. “And then?”

“Oh, well, Blondie comes out empty-handed, and says ‘sorry, sorry, I just couldn’t do it’. Morality, you never heard so many excuses! Not wanting to give money to bad people who wouldn’t let me in the door. Racist, whatever, I listened to ten minutes of nonsense like that, with my guts rumbling like crazy and then it was just, okay, if you don’t close that mouth of yours right now I’ll shut it for you.”

“So what happened?”

“Blondie says, as if, and then I just had to,” Tuco says. Lifts the bottle of hot sauce to his lips; thought I’d swear in the moment before, that I’d seen a precisely calculated gaze travel downwards from myself to what he held-

(for that matter, how had I not realised that he’d been staring at me all this time)

- he takes a long swig and coughs, tearing up with pain evidently no less real for being theatrical. The tension of the room dissolves into laughter, while he gulps water and swears imprecations at himself and the hot sauce and the entirety of the continent north of the Rio Grande.

He seems, praise be, willing enough to make a ready exit after that; and the walk from restaurant to motel is as refreshing to me, as it evidently isn’t for him.

“...christo, you’re not used to being in public, are you?”

“No.” And perhaps Blondie will see fit to explain that part of it as well, though I could hardly hold out hope for that with any degree of fairness.

“Just, I’ve never seen anybody be so miserable over a good meal before- well, someone who could be happy, I mean. You’re not like my brother being all ascetic, I’ve seen you grinning at Blondie and that’s not long suffering at all.”

“...grinning?”

“Sure. You’re pretty cute that way, you know?”

“Cute?”

Both of us turn in surprise; it’s the woman from earlier, with the tired hair.

“I just wanted you to know,” she says, panting. “That I have never, ever heard anything so uncivilised as- as a man in public boasting about beating a woman up-”

He’s trying to rein it in, evidently; but Tuco’s self-control can’t stop his smile. “You thought Blondie was a woman? Why, does it make it any better if I said he’s a guy? Yeah, Blondie’s a guy, he’s white, he takes it up the ass when I tell him to bend over. There, you feel better now?“

It proves just as well, that Tuco’s powers of self-defence prove a satisfactory match for a small infuriated whirlwind wanting to bash his skull in with a second-hand umbrella.

My own abilities being so entirely disproportionate, to the ludicrousness of the situation...

#70s au #the good the bad and the ugly #orange #what the heck is my tag for r*a*c*e #can't remember now but trigger warnings whatever

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