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thefanficmonster · 3 years

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Bouquet

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: None

Genre: FLUFF, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Having come clean about being single for a very long time now and considering herself completely out of the dating scene, Y/N’s confession is taken and responded to with a ton of kindness, especially from a special someone...

Requested by Anon. Hi hun! Thank you so much for your lovely request, it was such a joy to write! I’m so sorry for the long wait you had to go through but the fic is finally here and I hope you enjoy reading it! Love, Vy ❤

I roll out of bed with little to no desire to start my day. We haven’t got a scheduled stream for today and the clouds glooming in the sky seem to be promising rain so really what do I have to get up for except that it’s a rule society installed?

Just kidding, I’m basically stalling and that’s all.

So what happened was the streamer gang and I were playing Among Us last night and our conversation during the pause between rounds somehow swerved into relationship territory. I stayed quiet the majority of if not all the time because I had no valid input to offer.

If you know me you know I’m not one of the performers on the dating scene. I have never really confirmed it with my fans - well, until last night, that is - but I bet they have picked up on that fact considering I’ve been on YouTube for around a decade and have never had a partner. That being said, I’d have to also mention that I have in fact dated but someone but it was before my YouTube era started. Me choosing this career path, which back then was just a hobby, had nothing to do with the relationship ending but it still motivated me to not to actively look for a relationship while I’m still focused on my career. It’s too much work, too much stress and requires a lot of balance I most certainly either don’t have or I don’t have the energy to put in balancing my romantic and professional lives. Luckily, no one’s ever pressured me into finding a significant other, not yet at least, so no societal pressure for me!

But I gotta admit I felt real awkward admitting all this last night.

“Hey Y/N what do you think? You’ve been awfully quiet?“ Rae asks, causing me to jolt in my seat from where I’ve been reading my chat for the past five minutes, my mic muted.

I quickly unmute to reply, blushing ever so slightly, “Um, sorry I was reading my chat. What do I think about what?”

“The gesture of giving flowers to your significant other, is it romantic or a waste of money and plant murder?“ Rae explains, still managing to catch me off-guard with her question.

I ponder what my response should be for a little bit before deciding to level it to a neutral level where I almost sound indifferent, “It is in fact plant murder basically and artificial flowers would definitely be a better gift - plus they’ll last longer.”

“Mhmm yeah that’s true.“ Poki agrees with me, “But there’s still the question of whether it’s a romantic gesture or not. I personally don’t think it’s overrated or cheesy, I actually quite like it. What about you, Y/N?“

And now she’s got me in a real trap that I can’t wiggle out of without speaking my truth. I don’t know where this sudden anxiety around the subject came from but it now resides within me rent free and makes me feel self-conscious and embarrassed of the confession I’m inevitably make.

“Um, I wouldn’t know for certain, I’ve never received flowers myself...“ I say sheepishly, cringing at the sound of my own voice, “It’s not like I’ve dated plenty of people and the one guy I did date wasn’t really romantic or anything, I mean - we were teenagers, after all. But when I think about it in theory I think I’d like the gesture: it’s thoughtful, plus you get a temporary but beautiful piece of décor out of it.“

I’m gonna hope I didn’t sound too pitiful or desperate. Of course I’m not gonna check afterward on the stream cause I’d rather live in the illusion of having sounded humorous rather than be given the confirmation that I didn’t.

“Wait, wait, wait, did you date your last boyfriend like a decade ago?“ Corpse is now the one talking and that makes me feel even more anxious. This is not the impression one would want to give to their crush, is it? Oh well, no turning back now.

“Correct.“ I reply with a laugh that I hope didn’t sound as nervous as it was.

“And you’ve never, like in your whole life, received flowers from someone?“ He sounds astonished which sort of makes me want to shrink up in my shell like a turtle. Too bad I don’t have a shell though. I’m genuinely thinking of the option to rip the router out of the outlet right now to save me the troubles but I’m not that immature. I’m surprised I’m even reacting this way - this topic doesn’t usually bother me at all but now for some reason I’m red as a tomato and shrinking in my chair.

I know what the obvious answer is but I’d rather die than admit to it.

“Yeah, yeah, I know it sounds bad but I really don’t care.“ I make an attempt at changing the subject, swerving it back to the main topic rather than my lack of a love life, “I do, in fact, find the gesture sweet - it adds vibrancy to the relationship just like the flowers would add vibrancy and color to the space they’re put in.“

“Oh my gosh, that’s such a cool analogy!“ Rae gushes, “You’re totally right, it might be an old trick, but it’s aged like fine wine.“

Phew, God bless you Rae.

“Exactly, exactly.“ Corpse agrees as well but I don’t think he’s fully heard what Rae said since he sounds to have fallen in deep thought.

At least I got away with it with only making a SLIGHT nervous wreck of myself.

Yikes, was that horrible, though I don’t people will remember it for long. Sure, my fans have sent me thousands of lovely messages and pictures of bouquets and will maybe continue sending them for another day or two - which I highly appreciate, don’t get me wrong. I’m severely touched by this gesture of theirs and it almost makes me glad I finally ‘came clean’ about my romance-less life - however, it’ll fade overtime. I mean, who the heck cares if I’m single or not?

As I pour the milk over my cheerios which I’ve been snacking on dry for the past half hour as I rifled through the many notifications clogging up my lock screen, I hear the doorbell ring. I’m understandably puzzled by this, seeing as how I never get visitors so that doorbell rings only when I’ve ordered something, be it takeout or a random item off Amazon. However, I can’t remember ordering anything, at least not anything that should be arriving at the moment or even anytime soon - that glow-in-the dark curtain isn’t supposed to arrive until next week. I make my way to the door, unbothered by the fact I’m still in my pajamas, and take a look through the peephole.

It’s a delivery guy...and he happens to be holding a huge-ass bouquet.

“What the...“ I mutter to myself as I unlock and swing open the door in the blink of an eye, “Hi?“

“Hi there, are you Y/N L/N?“ The delivery guy, who I’ve seen many times before and who I’m on pretty friendly terms with, asks me jokingly, sending a wink my way.

“I sure am.“ I reply, my gaze fixated on the breathtaking flowers he’s holding, “But those can’t be for me, that’s for sure.“

He fishes looks at his clipboard one more time, nodding before he looks back at me, “I double and triple checked, Y/N, they’re for you. Here, have a look if you don’t believe me.” He turns the clipboard for me to see and he is actually telling the truth. I mean, I doubt he’d have any reason to lie to me but mix-ups happen all the time.

“Um, ok thanks. Sorry for the halt, it’s just...I’d hate to be the recipient of the flowers meant for another girl.” I apologize as I take the bouquet for him, still in awe of the fact I’m the one it was made and meant for and sent to.

I say a quick ‘bye’ to the delivery guy before practically running inside to inspect this bouquet for a card from the sender. I have my guesses: it has to be someone who was present during the stream last night and someone who knows my address. Hopefully it’s someone from my friend group and not a fan who watched the stream and just happens to know my address. I’d still appreciate the gesture, but I’d also install security cameras if that was the case.

Something about the color scheme of the flowers - pink and black - gives me Rae vibes since she constantly teases me about my aesthetics contradicting each other. But then again, Poki does it too so it could be her as well....

Oh...OH GOD IT’S NEITHER OF THEM

~ ~ ~

I’ve been sitting here, keeping myself a safe distance from my phone so I’m not the first one to send her a text. So I don’t ask if she got what I sent her. So I don’t ask what she thought of it, how the bouquet looks in her living room, how it smells, how it makes her feel. I have so many questions so that phone is best off at a major distance from me. I’m the one who’s better off with such a huge distance between me and the device, to be perfectly honest.

Was it a bad idea? Should I have slept on it - or just thought about it longer cause sleep and I don’t get along? Should I have at least waited a day or two? Should I-

My phone vibrates with a notification and I practically fly to it from across the room, grabbing it and unlocking it asap. My heart sinks and takes off like a rocket simultaneously when I see I’ve been tagged in Y/N’s Instagram story. I nervously tap the notification that sends me to the picture of the bouquet I sent her with some text written over it.

“Thank you, Romeo ;)“

Somehow that one sentence answers all those aforementioned questions.

Is this what people refer to as butterflies in one’s stomach? Cause it feels significantly more like a crush...oh wait.

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kaizokuou-ni-naru · 3 years

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The Voyage So Far: Dressrosa (Part Two)

east blue (1 | 2) || alabasta (1 | 2) || skypiea || water 7 || enies lobby || thriller bark || paramount war (1 | 2) || fishman island || punk hazard || dressrosa (1 | 2) || || whole cake island || wano (1 | 2)

wild how this is upwards of 750 chapters in and yet i still get a big dumb smile whenever luffy declares he’s going to be king of the pirates. one piece is a series very much driven by its main characters and their goals and dreams- i don’t think it would be nearly as good if the main character was anyone but monkey d. luffy.

personally, i always just feel kind of proud whenever he says this, because- yeah!! he is!! that’s luffy, he’s going to be king of the pirates, and we’ve known that since day fucking one.

i really think there’s something to be said about usopp never taking credit for saving luffy and law from sugar. it’s arguably his greatest feat in the entire series thus far- an impossible, perfect shot across an entire country, with an angry mob inches from his back- and he never even tells anybody he did it. he’s come a long way from someone who tells tall tales about heroic acts he never did to someone who doesn’t even feel the need to take credit for ones he really did, so long as his friends are safe.

i really like how corazon’s introduction and characterization throughout the flashback is handled. at the start of law’s flashback, we know a few things about him already: that he’s someone law loved very much, and that he was killed by doflamingo. we know how this ends.

but then cora is introduced as a clumsy mute weirdo who nearly kills law as one of the very first things he does, and we as the audience aren’t really sure how to reconcile that- and then the rest of the flashback is us, along with law, slowly discovering what a complicated and contradictory but ultimately good person he is. something very similar happens with the asl flashback- we know the endpoint of luffy and ace’s relationship, but the flashback is all about how they got there, from attempted murder to willing self-sacrifice.

i think it’s really cool the way law and doflamingo’s backstories are layered together. they’re characters who exist with a lot of parallels and similarities between them already, which is something they’re both clearly aware of- i’ve mentioned before i think the only real difference between them is that law got corazon where doflamingo got the executives- and presenting their backstories simultaneously only makes that more obvious.

i’ve always found it so interesting that we get what’s pretty much our only substantial exposition about the will of d direct from a former celestial dragon. it makes sense- cora’s basically the only character we’ve met who both has this information and is willing to share it- but i don’t know, there’s something that feels very poetic to me about him having this information that’s clearly been suppressed and hidden by the dragons and willingly choosing to share it in order to help protect law, a D, who should technically be the very enemy he was once taught to hate and fear.

i really like corazon.

it fucks me up that we can tell the exact moment cora dies from the moment law starts making noise again.

this might be a controversial take? i’m not sure. but i like baby five. i think her and sai’s relationship is really sweet, and people might complain about her getting off easy or whatever but i’m honestly glad she gets a happy ending after being thoroughly emotionally abused and broken her entire life. and on a lighter note, she’s also just a fun character to watch through the whole arc- the running gag with her crying whenever law glares at her is still one of my favorites in the whole series.

the shot of robin’s bloody back is a favorite of mine, because it’s a reveal that doesn’t get lingered on at all, and yet at once it gives the entire proceeding scene a lot more weight when we understand just how much pain she must’ve been in the entire time. and yet she never even flinched or faltered while protecting rebecca. nico robin is very, very strong.

there’s something so deliciously fitting about diamante’s final fall ending with him cracking his head on scarlett’s grave, and something so lovely about kyros and rebecca finally getting their proper reunion there, when neither of them ever really got a chance to mourn.

law’s line about the strawhats trailing nothing but miracles in their wake is one of the first ones i always think of when i think about the strawhats in general and luffy in particular, mostly because it’s so true. from the very beginning, the strawhats have been doing the impossible, from sailing to the sky to breaking in and out of the world’s greatest prison, and law saw that and staked all his hopes on it and they did not let him down.

also i think it’s very cool of law to, when held at gunpoint and down an arm, grin, flip doflamingo off, and tell him to eat shit and that luffy is going to kick his ass. love that for him.

i think dressrosa does a very good job of making the victory against doflamingo equally law’s and luffy’s. they cooperate and trade off fighting him throughout the arc to great effect, and i think it’s pretty clear that neither of them could have tackled the massive challenge of dressrosa alone.

while the final fight is luffy’s, it’s made clear that that’s only after law’s done absolutely everything he could and spent the majority of the arc distracting doflamingo, keeping him occupied, and even fucking shredding his insides with pure radiation before finally needing to tap out. i think it’s a good balance, given that luffy is the protagonist but law’s grudge against doflamingo is the driving force behind the entire arc.

conqueror’s haki clashes are always very cool, pretty much regardless of who or where or why, but the one between luffy and doflamingo is a favorite.

one of the things that’s always impressed me about one piece in comparison to other shounen series is how it handles its powerscaling- in that it does it well with a gradual increase and villains who vary widely in strength instead of every arc necessarily needing to be bigger and better than the last- and i think the way it handles powering up the main characters is a big part of that.

through the entirety of one piece thus far, i’d say luffy has had three major power-ups- second and third gear in enies lobby, haki at the timeskip, and gear four here in dressrosa (an argument could also be made for ryuuou in wano, but i think that’s less major than these others). this helps prevent runaway powerscaling and also makes new power-ups feel like a genuine event, which i really like.

i once referred to luffy as ‘hopebringer’ in a conversation with friends, and it’s a descriptor for him i think sums up really well how he manages to save so many people while insistently not being a hero. luffy inspires people, inspires whole countries, starting all the way back with coby in romance dawn. it’s one of the reasons i think it’s fitting how thoroughly he’s associated with the dawn.

doflamingo is very, very scary. which is interesting, because he’s indisputably less powerful someone like kaidou, but at the same time i find him a much scarier villain, and i think it comes down to doflamingo’s gleeful, wanton cruelty. not that kaidou is in any way shape or form a nice person, but our first introduction to doflamingo is him forcing marines to attack each other just because he’s a little bored. he hurts people just because he can, and finds it funny.

relating to my earlier comment about hope, i really like how the whole country comes together at the end to cheer luffy on and count down to his return. it makes it feel all the more triumphant when it does, especially for the citizens of dressrosa who’ve been suffocating under doflamingo’s rule for years and can finally, finally see freedom.

other people have put a lot more thought of the symbolism of doflamingo’s eyes and glasses than i intend to, but i’ll settle for saying that it’s the breaking of the glasses, before anything else, before the birdcage even vanishes from the sky and everyone is safe, that shows us that, at long last, doflamingo is well and truly defeated. his glasses break, and so does his power.

i’ve written a longer post about it before (here) but it’s a recurring motif that one piece’s worst villains are those that steal people’s freedom, including, in the cruelest cases, the freedom to express their emotions openly. we see it with koala and the celestial dragons, with the failed smile fruits in wano, and here, too, with kyros. and, much like koala, triumph for him means finally being able to cry.

i mentioned it back in the first post, but i’m so, so happy rebecca and kyros get the happy ending they deserve. they’ve both been fighting a war that they never should have had to for years and years, and they both deserve to get to just live, now, peaceful and quiet and together and surrounded by flowers.

i really dig the note dressrosa ends on. it’s happy, of course, obviously, with the liberation of the country, kyros and rebecca’s happy ending, the creation of the grand fleet, even law getting some degree of closure through his talk with sengoku, but it also leaves this massive, gaping question- what now?

in a way, doflamingo’s speech here follows up on law’s new era speech from punk hazard. luffy and law have just thrown a major wrench into the delicate power equilibrium of the entire new world, and we have all these characters out there who might be affected, who might want to take advantage, who might try to seize the throne.

#the voyage so far #one piece #opmeta #arc: dressrosa #long post #not japanese

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moiraineswife · 3 years

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Mine - A Navani/Raboniel Fic

IT’S TIME FOR THE GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY.

Title: Mine

Rating: M Content warnings: Violence. Sexy violence. But still violence.

Summary: Set during Rhythm of War. THEORETICALLY it’s canon-compliant. Just gayer. After several failed attempts, The Pursuer sends men to bring him Navani, believing Kaladin will come to the Queen’s aid if she’s in danger. Raboniel takes issue with this, and refuses to allow them to take Navani.

Teaser: ‘“You will tell him that Navani is mine. If he may claim that Windrunner, then I claim her. He will not touch her. He will not send men to take her from me. He will not so much as think of her or utter her name without my knowledge and consent. She is mine, and I will send every one of his worthless soldiers back to Braize screaming if that is what it takes to make that known throughout this tower.”’

Link: AO3

It had been a long time since Navani had studied by candlelight.

Glowing gemstones had ruled her life for so long now. Woven into her hair as a symbol of status in Gavilar’s court.

Counting spheres as the cost of conquest had piled on her shoulders as her husband had drunk, and killed, and warred his way to glory, with no idea what she did in the background to prevent his fledgling kingdom suffering economic and social collapse in the wake of his passing.

Powering the fabrials that had brought her such joy and fulfilment, a constant support in her life.

Now the Stormlight that fueled the Radiants as most of her family was pulled into this war.

Raboniel preferred to work by candlelight. She said it soothed her, and reminded her of days when she’d been younger. Stormlight had not been plentiful for Fused in eras gone by. Odium had disapproved of it surrounding them, and Voidlight was a poor source of illumination.

Navani had to admit they brought a certain warmth to the small room she was ensconced in with Raboniel. They were alone together now, as Raboniel had just dismissed the guards, who had been visibly wilting, and told them to send a replacement team down to them instead.

There was no sound save the soft scratching of their pens on the notebook between them. Raboniel was studying her latest addition, making small, careful notations in the women’s script.

One could tell a lot about another’s script, Navani felt. Jasnah’s for example, was pristine, a perfect example of the women’s script, honed over much time. Dalinar’s was less practiced, with large, bold lines, each word somehow making its own statement upon the page.

Raboniel’s was sharper than Navani’s, more cramped. This was to be expected, given her unfamiliarity with it, but she wrote curiously, each spike and line written with a differing pressure or firmness, to a rhythm, she realised. Right now that rhythm was frantic, her eyes focused, entirely consumed by the work.

Navani understood that feeling. Like Raboniel, she had been many things to many people over her years. Mother, mentor, wife, queen. For herself, she was a scholar. Yes. A scholar. It was still sometimes difficult to ignore the words whispered in Gavilar’s voice at the back of her mind that told her she was nothing herself. Always defined by what she was to, and what she could get from, others.

Raboniel had helped her see things differently. This was who she was. Navani. Not Queen Navani. Not Brightness Kholin. Just Navani. Navani was a creator, an inventor, a scholar, a pursuer of secrets, and she thrived in this environment.

She felt the same way about Raboniel.

She was many things to many people as well. A mother, certainly, even now that Essu was dead, by her own hand, she would never stop being a mother. A soldier, and a war leader. A servant of Odium. An immortal Fused reborn. A Voidbringer, in the minds of many humans.

Raboniel, however, not the Lady of Pains, the Lady of Wishes, Ancient One, or General, just Raboniel was as Navani was: a scholar. She too thrived on this. She had ulterior motives, certainly, Navani had already seen several of them.

Yet even without them, she felt sure she would be driven, as Navani was herself, by the question, the seeking, the taste of new knowledge, the thrill of uncovering things that had been buried for millenia, of cracking puzzles buried in the very fabric of their world that no-one had ever cracked before.

In her heart, in the deepest, most fundamental fabric of her soul, Raboniel was a scholar. And in that way, mortal and immortal, Fused and human, their essence was the same. And it sang in harmony with one another in these moments, cloistered alone together, picking out the mysteries of ages gone by.

It was a strangely intimate process. Navani had always worked in groups before. She had flitted between ardents and engineers and storm wardens like an insect pollinating flowers, bringing little bits of insight or inspiration, but never lingering with any.

With this project, she had worked exclusively with Raboniel, for hours and hours at a time. They had only had one another to feed off of and consume with their theories, and thoughts, and ideas, and experiments.

She felt as though she knew this woman, felt as though she connected with her, in a way she had rarely done with another human so swiftly.

She adored the bones of Dalinar, she truly did. But it had taken a while to understand him. Part of the reason she had taken such time between Gavilar and Dalinar in their youth was that it took her a while to feel she knew a person, and was close enough to commit to them.

How wrong she had been, in mistaking Gavilar’s mask for the truth of him. While she had missed the good heart buried beneath the layers of scar tissue Dalinar had hidden it behind all those years ago.

Raboniel, though, she felt she knew her, knew her, beneath the blood and bones, straight to the soul, the moment they had first worked on Rhythm of War together, and she had looked into her eyes, and found that same bright, consuming, almost manic light gleaming in them that lived within her, too.

With a small nod, her rhythm shifting to one of satisfaction, Raboniel pushed the notebook back towards Navani, gesturing her to the new notes that had been made in the Fused’s hand.

As she bent to examine it, however, Raboniel sat up beside her, straight and intent, head turning towards the door. The way she sat when they were not alone, when she was a regal Fused, not a scholar.

Navani turned, too, and found six of the Pursuer’s Fused soldiers standing in the doorway.

Raboniel did not seem surprised. If anything she seemed...Resigned.

Navani was not overly aware of the situation in the tower, but she knew that tension between the Pursuer and Raboniel’s calmer, more reasonable rule were straining. Especially as his hunt for Kaladin continued to refuse to bear fruit.

Raboniel stood, and a power seemed to radiate from her, as if she were a perfect gemstone, containing an immortality’s worth of stormlight pulsing within.

She was rather impressed that the soldiers didn’t turn and flee at once, as Raboniel reached her height and stared them down without a flicker of fear, despite being outnumbered six to one.

“Our master has sent us,” the lead soldier said, red eyes gleaming as they flickered from Raboniel to Navani, still sat at the desk behind Raboniel, who suddenly felt like a shield against that hungry gaze.

“I thought that he might,” Raboniel replied, her rhythm becoming dark and tempestuous.

“Then you know why we are here, Lady of Wishes,” said another, taking a step forwards, “This can be resolved without any bloodshed.”

Bloodshed? Navani felt herself growing cold. On some instinct, she picked up the Rhythm of War notebook and began to try to surreptitiously move to the back of the room. Putting as much distance between herself and these men seemed the most sensible course of action now.

One of them noticed her, and began to hum in a loud, derisive rhythm, jeering, “See how it runs. The fear is obvious! She knows she is pursued.”

Pursued? They were here for her?

Raboniel glanced over her shoulder, long hair strands swishing around her like a cape as she did. She gave Navani a small nod, telling her she had done the right thing.

“Do not fear such as these, Navani,” she said, her rhythm soft but strong, pulsing against Navani, almost strengthening her, “They do not warrant any reaction from yourself.”

“It is true, then?” the lead soldier said, his rhythm scathing, his tone far bolder than any she had heard taken with Raboniel before, “You have grown fond of his human pet of yours, and it has made you weak, sucked the passion from you and put it into her instead.”

Raboniel actually growled at him, her rhythm becoming dark and dangerous, Voidlight collecting around her hand as she stared the soldier down, “Do not forget yourself, Devail,” she said, her rhythm an angry, swirling snarl of sound. “I am not some common Fused like Lezian, and if you speak to me in such a way again you will regret it for the rest of your pathetic immortal existence, I swear to you.”

Navani trembled and the words were not even directed at her. The soldier took a step backwards, humming softly in a rhythm of apology. As well he might.

Raboniel took a breath, and looked at each of the men in turn, giving them a long, piercing look, “Is this something you truly wish to do?” she asked them quietly.

“We’re under orders, Lady of Wishes,” the lead soldier said, “We’re not to use violence as a primary method of achieving those orders, but the Pursuer expects resistance. In that case, he says we are to achieve our goal at all costs.”

Raboniel hummed a sharp, destructive rhythm, “You would raise your weapons against me, truly?”

Oh Stormfather, Navani thought, trembling. This could turn ugly, well and truly. Raboniel was a competent warrior, she was sure, but she was primarily a scholar, thinker, and organiser, from what Navani had seen. The Pursuer’s men were among the most finely trained, as brutal and bloodthirsty as their master.

“We would take up arms against one who tried to defend a human, Lady of Wishes,” the soldier said again, his rhythm respectful, but firm.

Raboniel shook his head, “Lezian is a fool,” she hissed, “What does he possibly wish to accomplish with the queen that could be more than what I have accomplished with her?”

“He will use her to lure his prize,” the soldier Raboniel had named Devail said, an indecent hunger in his eyes as he once again looked past Raboniel to Navnai, cowering on the floor behind them, feeling like a hog in a pen at a slaughter market beneath that gaze.

“The Pursuer believes he can use the queen to draw forth Stormblessed,” the lead soldier said, “He would of course come to the defence of his queen were she threatened.”

“Or publicly executed,” Devail added, with a gleeful grin.

Navani quivered. She had rarely felt so helpless. She held the Rhythm of War against her chest, as though it could do anything to help her. She had no weapons, not even her customary painrial. She was tired, and weak, and fragile.

If Raboniel gave her over to these men there would be nothing she could do to stop it.

“He thinks to set an ambush for the Windrunner, using something the man will seek to defend to draw him to a place of contest, does he?” Raboniel asked, and her rhythm sounded strangely amused. Perhaps Navani could not read her correctly.

“You are wise as ever Lady of Wishes,” the lead Fused said, with a small bow of the head, “This is indeed his intention.”

“And why should it work this time when he has failed twice already, with far more fixed and defensible locations at the shield points?” Raboniel demanded scornfully.

Devial took an angry step forwards but, wisely, his commander restrained him.

“I will not relinquish an asset to him for the sake of his wounded, failing pride,” Raboniel continued derisively, “Navani is of far more use to me than Lezian could ever fathom to put her to in his wildest moment of clarity and intelligence.”

“We are under orders, Lady,” the lead soldier said, “Our master was quite...Insistent.”

“And you think I cannot be equally so?” Raboniel said, crossing her arms over her chest and frowning. “Return to your master and tell him that he has no authority to issue me with orders in this tower, or anywhere. Tell him he should count himself lucky I do not escalate this insult and return him to Braize, screaming. And tell him that if he wants to request something of me in future, then I expect him to pay me the respect I am due and come himself.”

With that, she turned her back on them, as though done with them. Navani had to clap her safehand to her mouth to stop herself uttering a warning. It seemed so foolhardy for Raboniel to put her back to these men.

The tension inside her was vibrating like a lost tone. She could barely breathe for the pressure of it welling inside her. Her eyes flicked up towards Raboniel’s face and found it wearing a soft, reassuring smile.

“This was not an option our master will allow us to pursue, lady,” the lead soldier said, quietly.

The Fused behind him drew their weapons, holding them in distinctly aggressive postures.

Raboniel sighed heavily and turned slowly back to face them.

“Perhaps I was not clear enough, captain,” she said, her voice quiet and dangerous, “I am giving you this chance to return to your master and have him confront me himself. Take it.”

“I cannot, lady,” he said, shaking his head, “We were prepared for this eventuality, our master-”

“If your master wishes so much for me to bleed him,” Raboniel growled, “Then perhaps he can cease being so cowardly and face me himself.”

Devial made a noise of outrage at that, and several of the others hummed to an angry rhythm. “He already has his prey!” one of them called, “It would break centuries of tradition were he to pursue another before he has claimed the life of the Windrunner.”

“What a convenient excuse,” Raboniel said scathingly.

“We have no quarrel with you, lady,” the lead soldier interrupted, “We only want the queen.”

“Then that is your quarrel with me, captain,” Raboniel snapped, “Navani is mine. As I have made clear to your master, and indeed to all who reside in this tower. If you wish to harm her, or indeed remove her from this room without my authority, then there will be a quarrel.”

Navani felt almost breathless, as Raboniel glowered down at these men, heavily armoured, ancient, powerful, returned over and over to kill. And she stood her ground and stared them down to protect her.

A part of her wanted to protest, wanted to stop this hopeless fight before it began. Raboniel being killed might have once been a desirable outcome, but her honour in this moment would not allow the woman to get herself killed protecting Navani, when the outcome would be the same.

Yet these men terrified her. She did not want to leave this safe, quiet, candlelit room, her books, her scholarship, her safety that she enjoyed with Raboniel.

She stayed quiet. Cowardly. And watched with wide eyes.

“Then a quarrel it shall be,” the captain said, sounding resigned, but not altogether surprised.

They had expected this? They had expected Raboniel to stubbornly face her death rather than simply handing Navani over?

“Then come, quarrel with me,” Raboniel said in a dangerous hiss, drawing twin blades from her hips as she spoke, “And do make it quick, captain, I have work I must yet attend to tonight.

There was a moment. A single, eternal moment that hung in silence for a cluster of frantic heartbeats. Like the breath of calm and quiet before the full force of the stormwall was brought to bear upon the world.

Raboniel and the Pursuer’s men faced one another, Raboniel crouched low in an offensive stance, the men standing in a furious formation, weapons drawn, carapace gleaming, the flickering candlelight casting deadly shadows across their inhuman faces.

Navani cowered in her corner and whispered a soft prayer to the Almighty, hands clutched over her chest, wishing, absurdly, that she had a glyphward to burn.

Then the stormwall hit, and Navani pressed herself back against the wall, as if she could push herself into it and escape the cacophony of death and violence that erupted around her like a highstorm. She felt vulnerable, exposed, tied out to bear it alone, with no shield against what was coming.

Except that she was not alone. Raboniel stood in front of her, protective, a shield against the horrors that had come for her.

The Pursuer’s men moved forwards in a tight formation and they seemed, absurdly, wary. Though they were six warriors against one scholar, they seemed to actually fear Raboniel.

A heartbeat later, Navani understood why.

The men came for her, but she did not wait for them. In a single bound, she crossed the distance between them, and landed in their midst, blades flashing, teeth bared, hair flying like a banner behind her.

Navani gasped as both of her blades - thinner, and shorter, than a common lighteyes side sword, pierced both eyes of a Fused in the centre of the group. He went down with her landing on his chest, like a mink atop a thrashing rat, his flailing limbs knocking into his companions and sowing chaos in their tight formation.

Raboniel grinned a feral, dangerous smile at the others around her, then leapt, yanking her blades from the corpse of the Fused beneath her, and scraping along the carapace of the men before her.

The noise it made was awful, and Navani clapped her hands to her ears. The scraping, shrieking sounded like a dirge of death, and the men around her flinched at the sound of it.

This was clearly the reaction Raboniel had anticipated, for she sprang backwards out of the chaotic fray, putting her back once more to Navani, keeping herself carefully between her and the Pursuer’s men.

She jerked her chin towards them, inviting them to come and take her if they could, and Navani felt a chill of understanding.

In essence, this woman was like her. They were both scholars, driven by their passion for learning, for teasing the secrets from Roshar that it tried so hard to hide from them. But she was more. Far more. And one aspect of herself was this.

The Lady of Pains. A Herald in her own right. A Herald of Death. Bearer of devastation and violence. A woman who held a sword as easily as she held a pen, and unravelled men with as much skill and precision as she unravelled secrets.

She spun, both blades whirling through the air, flashing in the candlelight, casting terrible, dancing shadows against the walls. She caught another Fused in the throat and he stumbled, but Voidlight glowed from the wound, healing it.

Before that could complete, she stepped in to him and rammed her blade, designed, Navani saw now, to pierce armour - or carapace - into his chest, and Navani heard the telltale crack as his gemheart shattered.

A sword clattered against her back and she turned, snarling, blood flying from her blades, and parried the next swing that should have taken her head from her shoulders. She caught the blade between both of her own, crossed like a chasmfiend’s mandibles, and twisted, shattering the wrist of its bearer.

He dropped the sword, screaming, and Raboniel moved in as though she might have kissed him, but breathed out, engulfing him in a cloud of blackness that began to devour his flesh while he howled in pain, clawing at it and writhing on the floor.

Navani had thought herself a connoisseur of death. She had watched countless duels in her life, attended many wars. Her first husband had begun a war of conquest which had often spilled blood upon those closest to him. Her current husband waged a war for the world itself. Navani had seen the aftermath of battles, had even seen a few battles themselves.

She had never seen anything like this.

Raboniel moved faster than she would have believed, blades a silver blur, Voidlight rising from her skin as she swayed.

Dalinar and Gavilar had been skilled. They had talent, practice, and shards to cause devastation. But this? This was an immortal who had been singing to a rhythm of war and death at Odium’s bidding from the moment she had drawn breath.

She was like a shard all her own. Created to kill. She was like a highstorm, these men a foolish cry for it to quiet its winds, utterly lost to its fury and tempest.

One of the men cracked the head of a spear against her shoulder and she turned, grasping at the staff. It crumbled to dust at her touch, but the blade remained intact. It fell, as if in slow motion, and she snatched and hurled it across the room, lodging it in the forehead of another who dropped instantly.

The now weaponless man stared at her with eyes wide, full of fear, then full of nothing but death as Raboniel took both blades and rammed them, one on either side, into his chest, piercing directly to his gemheart.

Pain flashed unexpectedly into Navani’s awareness.

She looked down to find a knife slashing against her arm. A second later, it was at her neck, and she screamed, unable to stop herself, as Devial grabbed her and pulled her against him, blade held tight against her throat, sharp blade scraping the skin.

Raboniel turned at once, locking on to the sound. She stumbled, as the captain struck her from behind. Without looking, her entire aspect focused on Navni, she whipped a knife from her belt and flung it behind her, narrowly missing the captain, who had to dance aside to avoid it.

“Enough, Raboniel,” Devial panted, his breath hot in Navani’s ear, “I have her. Set down your blades. I promise I won’t torture her too much before I cut her pretty head off if you do.”

Raboniel stalked towards him, her eyes blazing like the fires of Damnation, burning with hatred and disgust, each step that of a calculating predator.

“Release her, Devial,” she breathed softly, a trickle of blood streaming from the corner of her mouth as she bared her fangs at him, “Or I will send you back to Odium begging never to be Returned again lest you be forced to face me and the torments I will unleash upon your worthless form again.”

Devial laughed, and pressed the blade harder against Navani’s throat in answer.

“So be it,” Raboniel whispered.

She moved blindingly, far more quickly than Navnai had yet seen from her. In an instant, she had the blade at her neck in her hands, and it vanished to dust in a heartbeat, Navani dropping to the floor and scrambling away from the battling Fused, clutching at her throat in terror.

Devial swung for Raboniel’s neck as his captain prowled around them, forcing Raboniel to keep one blade guarding her exposed back.

Navani wanted to help but storms. She was just a scholar, and she would only get in the way. All she could do was whisper another frantic prayer to the Almighty. Something she never believed she’d utter for Raboniel’s sake.

“You committed a gross slight against me just now, Devial,” Raboniel called to him, her eyes narrowed, “I will have you correct it before I send you back to Braize.”

“Oh?” he said, “And what was that?”

“You forgot my title when you addressed me in your scorn,” she said quietly, “I would remind you of it.”

With that she lunged for him, throwing another dagger as she did, catching the captain in the hand so he could not intervene as she and Devial slammed to the floor.

She rammed him through the stomach with both of her strange, pointed blades, pinning him in place as he writhed. Then she pressed her hand to him, forcing Voidlight into him, and caused his carapace to ignite, first like smouldering coals, then a roaring bonfire.

Raboniel did not seem bothered by the heat as it engulfed him, writhing and screaming beneath her.

She leaned in close to him, ripping her blades free of his abdomen, sending blood gushing from the wound it left, “I am the Lady of Pains, Devial,” she whispered to him, close and soft as she might to a lover. Then she rammed her blade into his chest and twisted, “My will in this tower is law. My word is final and absolute. And you will pay me the respect I am due by that title. Lest I remind you once more of its origin.”

Navani had thought she would use her second blade to end Devial, puncturing either his gemheart or his spinal cord to finish him.

Instead she rose from him, stepping away, leaving him writhing, consumed by flames and agony. His Voidlight supply healed him. Not fast enough to escape the death that was coming, but enough to prolong it, to ensure his last breaths would be spent in pain.

Navani found she could not feel too sorry, but she did look away from him, watching to where Raboniel stalked towards the last of the men. Their leader, the captain, who cowered on his knees before her.

He tossed aside his blade as she approached him, “I yield, Lady of Pains,” he said, voice cracking with fear.

“Oh?” she said, sounding faintly amused, “And you would have allowed me to yield to you, or to Devial, had I been so pitiful as to demand that mercy, would you?” she demanded, rhythm pulsing with derision.

“I, I-” the man panted, floundering, red eyes wide and terrified as he stared up at her.

“Do not answer,” she snapped, “I do not need to hear you lie to me as a final insult for this day’s nonsense. I do not wish to hear you speak another word to me while you hold this body, lest I be reminded of this encounter, and your worthless part in it. Do I make myself clear?”

The captain nodded frantically, humming to a remorseful, subservient rhythm.

“Good,” she said, coldly. “You will return to Lezian, and you will tell him that my patience with him is growing thin, and if he thinks to test it again, he will be sorry. As sorry as Devial, there,” she said.

As she spoke, she jerked her head towards the Fused behind them, now spasming and whimpering his last.

The echoing silence left in the wake of his death was somehow worse than his screams.

“You will tell him that Navani is mine. If he may claim that Windrunner, then I claim her. He will not touch her. He will not send men to take her from me. He will not so much as think of her or utter her name without my knowledge and consent. She is mine, and I will send every one of his worthless soldiers back to Braize screaming if that is what it takes to make that known throughout this tower.”

She gave the captain a shove, sending him stumbling away from her. He scrambled to his feet, hovering, waiting to see if there was more she wished of him.

“Get out of my sight,” she spat, waving a dismissive hand.

He bolted at once.

Navani sat, stunned, in the corner of the room, staring with wide eyes at the aftermath of what had happened. She put her fingers to her neck, feeling the faint cut there. It was not bad. Barely a scratch, in truth. But the memory of that blade against her skin, the feeling of the Fused’s clammy hands holding her, pressing her against him, as he spoke so lovingly of torturing her, made her want to claw herself out of her own body just to escape the memories.

She was jolted back to her surroundings as Raboniel walked to her and crouched down beside her.

She looked tired. Not physically tired, though. Voidlight, like Stormlight, would support her and stave off fatigue. She looked soul tired. The kind of tiredness that Navani saw when she looked into her eyes as she spoke of the war that had gone on so long for her.

She had been created to kill, made to bring death to this world on Odium’s orders. She did it well. So very, very well. But she was tired of it. Ready to rest, to sleep, at long last. She was rusted through to her core, done, and finished. The only death she wanted now was her own, Navani was sure.

“Are you alright?” Raboniel asked quietly, and Navani’s eyes snapped back to her eyes, focusing herself on them.

“I-” Navani said, her voice shaking.

She wanted to say that she was fine, and she was, in comparison to everyone else in this room, Navani had absolutely nothing to complain about. But the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she kept repeating that single sound, in a progressively higher voice, shaking violently.

“It will pass,” Raboniel said, gently, “Come here,” she coaxed Navani to her feet and led her into the small side room that connected to their study, away from the death.

She settled her on the couch, poured her some strong sapphire wine and pushed the cup into her hands. Then she glanced to the next room, where Fused were calling in their own language, crying out.

“Stay there,” Raboniel said quietly, “I will return for you in a moment.”

Navani almost laughed at that command. It was the most unnecessary she had ever been given in her life. She couldn’t have moved if a highstorm had torn off the roof and come ripping through the room.

Flashes of the battle continued to play out, against her will. Above it all, the look in Raboniel’s eyes as she had defended Navani.

That had been more than a woman protecting an important asset from a political rival. More even than a necessary academic ally. That had been...Real. True, fierce protectiveness. And her declaration that Navani was hers? That she would murder her way through all of the Pursuer’s men if that was what it took to keep her safe? Storms. Storms. It was too much.

She sat on the couch, staring into the violet depths of her wine, unable to bring it to her lips. It was taking all of her concentration and will to keep herself in check enough to stop it slopping over the sides with how her hands were shaking.

Raboniel re-entered the room a moment later, crouching down in front of Navani with a bowl of some kind of clear, strong-smelling liquid and some other supplies she could not take in.

“The guards I sent for arrived,” she said, quietly, “The Pursuer’s men drugged our earlier group, so that they would become more tired, more quickly, hoping I would send for replacements. I have asked them to put our rooms in order for us. They will take care of the-”

“You saved my life,” Navani interrupted, hoarsely.

She had been listening to what Raboniel had said, and a part of her mind recognised that it was important. But that part of her was composed, and in command, and poised. And Navani had never felt less like that in her life. So that part of her mind was most certainly not in charge at the moment.

Raboniel paused, watching Navani with a strange expression.

Then she set down her things and said, simply, “Yes. I did. You think I would simply have handed you over to them?” she asked.

“I would have, if I had been in your position,” Navani replied.

The words were coming out clipped and jerky. She was still staring straight ahead, not thinking clearly. What was she saying? She shouldn’t be telling her that. Next time she might not stand between Navani and those monsters.

Curiously, Raboniel smiled, “I appreciate your honesty, Navani,” she said to a quiet rhythm, “But I do not think it is true. You would not have allowed someone to take a friend in your care.”

“That’s what I am to you?” Navani asked, managing to tear her eyes from the spot on the wall she’d been fixating on, “A friend?”

Raboniel hummed a soft rhythm she could not interpret.

She did not answer, but gestured to Navani’s arm and said, “You were wounded, I would clean and stitch that for you, to prevent infection. I shall have the surgeons attend you tomorrow, but I do not want anyone else coming in or out of here tonight. It will be secured by my guards, and I will remain with you, in case Lezian attempts to strike again, thinking me weakened.”

Navani nodded numbly, barely taking in what Raboniel was saying. Then. Wounded?

She looked down and saw that, indeed, her havah was torn, and there was a long gash in her shoulder where Devial had first grabbed her. Made by a dagger, she thought? Or had it been his claws? She wasn’t sure. It was all a blur. It was all- Oh storms.

Raboniel was achingly gentle as she began to unbutton her havah, saying quietly, “I need to move this out of my way, to work on you.”

Navani nodded vaguely again. She would have let Raboniel do almost anything to her in this state. Some part of her, deeper than conscious sense or reason, trusted this woman. It had identified her as safe, the only safe thing left in her world.

On a base, instinctual level, that part had seen this woman stand before her, fight to the death to defend her, then come to her afterwards to care for her. In her frantic, terrified state, an anxiety beyond panic or hysteria, she clung to whatever instinct guided her to, and right now, instinct guided her to Raboniel.

Raboniel prodded gently at the wound in Navani’s shoulder, “Not bad,” she assessed, the quiet scholar returned once more, the feral, violent intensity of the battle gone now they were alone together again. “It will hurt, I am sure, but should cause no lasting damage.”

“It doesn’t,” Navani replied mechanically, as Raboniel began to clean it, “Hurt,” she added, rather foolishly.

Raboniel nodded, “Be grateful for that reprieve,” she said, wryly, “It will, once your mind catches up with what your body has just experienced.”

“It was so much,” Navani whispered.

The part of her brain that still had a wit left, chided her for the foolish comments, pointing out that Raboniel would not want to hear such babbling from her.

Raboniel only nodded however, “Your first time is always a lot. The next will be easier.”

Navani trembled and violently shook her head, “I do not want there to be a next time,” she said, swallowing hard.

“None of us ever do, Navani,” Raboniel said quietly, “Each time I am forced to pick up my blades and kill again, I hope it will be the last. It never is. I told myself I should stop hoping it will be, as that is foolish, and repeated evidence has been put in front of me that there will always be more. Yet some time will be the last. So I hope for it. Still. I hope for it.”

“I’m sorry,” Navani said, stupidly, as though she had anything to apologise for, as though any of this had been by her design, “That you had to kill again today on my behalf.”

“Do not apologise, Navani,” Raboniel said softly, removing a curved needle and surgeon’s thread from the small pile beside her, “For all the times I have had to kill most recently, you have been the most worthy reason I have done so.”

Their eyes met, and a flicker of warmth flared in Navani, pushing through the cold fog that had descended upon her after the battle.

Clumsily, she reached out and cupped Raboniel’s cheek in her hand, stopping her from looking away, and taking that warmth with her, keeping her in place, looking at her, for just a little longer.

“Thank you,” she whispered, voice hoarse again, but sounding more like her.

Raboniel placed a gentle hand over Navani’s, then smiled and, sounding faintly amused as she hummed, said, “I appreciate the sentiment Navani, truly, but I need two hands to finish my stitching.”

Navani blushed as she realised she had clutched onto Raboniel’s hand without realising, seeking to anchor herself in this moment of chaos and terror. She released her, and focused instead, watching Raboniel’s movements as she stitched.

The pattern was not the one favoured by modern human surgeons, but the stitches were neat, precise, and well-judged. She was obviously practiced.

“I wouldn’t have thought this was a skill you would need to have,” Navani said, finding that she needed to say something, unwilling to let the moment lapse into silence, “Given that you can use Voidlight to heal yourself.”

Raboniel hummed quietly, nodding, “This is true. But it was a skill I had acquired before I became Fused.” She looked up to see Navani’s curious look, and explained, “My mother was a seamstress, many years ago, and she taught me.”

“You remember it?” Navani asked, amazed, “From so long ago?”

“I maintained the skill, over many years, and many returns,” she explained quietly, “It was not something that I wished to lose. I taught Essu, also, when she-” she faltered for a moment, and Navani squeezed her hand. Raboniel took a breath and continued, “I wanted her to have skills beyond what Odium wished her to know in order to kill. I thought, perhaps, it may help, to have an anchor, something familiar, not drenched in blood, to return to. It was not enough.”

She trailed off, and though it made her feel as though she were being repeatedly stabbed, Navani allowed the silence to swallow them, not wishing to interrupt Raboniel’s moment of grief.

A guard glanced into the room as Raboniel finished up, and Navani jumped so badly that Raboniel almost tore out the row of stitches she’d just finished.

Resting a hand gently on Navani’s knee, Raboniel turned and said, “Speak.”

“The area is secure, Ancient One,” the guard said, giving her a salute, “We will remain in the outer chamber, with you and the Queen protected here. If we see any of the Pursuer’s men, we shall call for you at once.”

“Thank you, Vardwi,” Raboniel said, nodding in thanks to the guard, who withdrew with a respectful nod.

“Will they come for me again?” Navani found herself asking.

The usual filter that existed between her brain and her mouth seemed to have broken, and she could not stop her tongue giving voice to her fears.

Raboniel looked at her, eyes steady, intense, “I will not lie, they may,” she said quietly, “But if they do the result shall be the same. They shall not have you. Though we Fused are of Odium, you will find that I can keep my oath as well as your Bondsmith, Navani.”

“You would do that?” she breathed, “You would cut down your own, possibly anger Odium...For me?”

“You have proven yourself, Voice of Lights,” Raboniel said simply, placing hands on her knees and starting to rise, “And you are mine. Under my protection and in my care. It would shame me, were I to allow Lezian to harm you. It-”

She broke off suddenly, swaying slightly in place, putting a hand to her head. Navani reached out to steady her, alarmed, guiding her back down onto the couch she was on.

“What is it?” she asked, sharply, alarmed.

Raboniel groaned, “It appears that I have a dagger in my back,” she said, conversationally. Her eyes twinkled as she glanced to Navani, “I might have suspected you as the source of it, if I did not know better Navani" she murmured with a smile. “I will need to ask you to remove it, however.”

“What?” Navani said, feeling suddenly a little faint.

“It appears I have shifted the blade while moving, it has nicked my lung, which is beginning to fill with blood. It’s a rather unpleasant sensation,” Raboniel informed her matter-of-factly, as if there was a problem in one of their experiments. “Voidlight has healed me as it can around the wound, but cannot repair my lung while there is a dagger in the way. I will need you to take it out.”

Navani swallowed as Raboniel turned in place, and she spotted the hilt of the dagger protruding from her back, just beneath her ribcage.

“Stormfather,” she whispered hoarsely. She reached out to grip the hilt and pull it free, but her hands were shaking so badly. “I, I can’t Raboniel,” she said, staring at the blade, at the blood leaking from the wound, remembering the terror that had only just passed. “My hands- My hands won’t stop shaking, I can’t, I-”

Raboniel turned, wincing as that shifted the blade again, and held Navani’s hands in her own, “You can,” she said, her rhythm comforting. “It is only shock, Navani, it shall pass. But I need you to do this for me now, do you understand?”

“Yes,” Navani whispered, taking a deep breath and trying to master herself, “Yes, I. Yes.”

Raboniel turned in place again, coughing and spitting up blood as she did so. Navani trembled, then wrapped her freehand around the hilt of the dagger, bracing the other against Raboniel’s back.

“Are you ready?” she asked, shakily.

“Make it quick,” Raboniel answered, “One, swift motion. And do resist the temptation to try to ram it into my gemheart, won’t you?” she added, glancing over her shoulder and smirking, “That would be rather poor repayment, don’t you think?”

“I wouldn’t,” Navani said, and knew that it was true.

Once she might have done. Once she would have taken a knife willingly presented to her in the back of this Fused, and thrown it all to the winds in an attempt to rid herself, and this tower, of her. But she couldn’t. She knew that. And not just because Raboniel had risked her life to save her tonight.

Navani took a deep breath, then yanked, swift and sure as she could manage. The knife resisted her, the skin having healed up around her, and Raboniel buried a scream in the cushions of the couch beside her as Navani tore the wound open again.

Then her body slumped, relaxing, and Voidlight began to heal the wound, leaving Navani quivering with a knife in her hands.

Raboniel turned and took it from her, gently, then used a handkerchief to wipe the blood from it before handing it back, hilt first.

“You should have some way to protect yourself,” she said, firmly. “Even if you have no training, it is not too difficult to ram the sharp end somewhere that seems painful.”

Navani nodded and accepted the blade with trembling hands. Then, with nowhere to currently sheathe it, and no desire to be in contact with it, and the memories it carried with it, she set it aside on the arm of the chair.

“What now?” she asked, slightly tremulously.

“We shall rest,” Raboniel said, firmly, “It is late, and you look as though you’re ready to faint with exhaustion and stress.”

She got to her feet, and Navani found herself grabbing for her hand again, saying urgently, “Where are you going?”

Raboniel crouched down and covered her hand with her own, squeezing, “To speak with my guards,” she said, humming to a soothing rhythm, “And to inspect the defences they have set up against Lezian’s men for tonight.”

“You will return?” Navani asked, feeling an absolute fool the moment the words were out of her mouth, yet somehow grateful to her fool self for asking it, so she might hear the answer.

Raboniel hummed in affirmation, “I will not leave you, Navani,” she promised quietly, “I shall remain here tonight with you. And none shall harm you. I swear it.”

Navani nodded, then released Raboniel and allowed her to step from the small side chamber back into the main study to converse with her guards.

Trembling, Navani managed to will enough control into her shaking legs to get them to carry her to the small writing desk in the corner.

There, she took a scrap of parchment, brushpen, and ink, and painted a glyphward of thanks, which she burned in one of Raboniel’s candles.

***

#navoniel #raboniel #navani kholin #rhythm of war #stormlight archive #rhythm of war spoilers #stormlight archive spoilers #my fic #navoniel fic #stormlight fic #mine #text post tag #long post #i havent posted enough GAY #im a BAD LESBIAN #VERY BAD LESBIAN

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rainingpouringetc · 3 years

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Hi! So, I’ve been wondering what the problem with Anna Lightwood is, because my brain saw that she was bending gender norms and hit love. But, now that I’m on tumblr, people are saying that she is problematic?

hi! i’ll try my best to explain, idk if i’ll hit everything but i hope this helps. and i’m sorry it took me a while, i wanted to do it justice so i tried to cover my bases and do my research.

basically, anna has said and done things that came across to many as ignorant, racist, and even misogynistic.

first, let’s look at “every exquisite thing” from ghosts of the shadowhunter market.

“If I were to tell my parents the truth about myself, if I were to reveal who I really am, they would despise me. I would be friendless, cast out, alone.”

Anna shook her head.

“They would not,” she said. “They would love you. You are their daughter.”

Ariadne drew her hand back from Anna’s. “I am adopted, Anna. My father is the Inquisitor. I do not have parents who are as understanding as yours must be.”

“But love is what matters,” said Anna.

this is from when ariadne was trying to explain why she would be getting engaged to charles. anna is very lucky: her family loves and accepts her and she’s able to live her life as she wishes, which we see her doing in chain of gold. ariadne, however, is not as lucky, and she has to take into consideration the conditions of her parents’ love. anna apparently struggles to understand this, ignoring ariadne’s valid concerns and telling her that it doesn’t matter because “love is what matters,” as if it makes everything perfect.

this is where anna’s ignorance begins to show through. ariadne is: (a) a woman in the late 1800s/early 1900s (i don’t remember for sure what year this story took place but i’d assume 1900s), (b) indian at a time when india is under british rule, (c) adopted, and (d) a lesbian shadowhunter. we know enough about how intolerant people have been about homosexuality, but shadowhunters are a whole other story. put all of this together and you have someone who is terrified of letting down her family and being shunned by society more than she already has been. in ariadne’s mind, she has no choice but to hide who she is.

anna ignores this. entirely. she doesn’t take the time to talk to ariadne about her concerns, but rather skirts around them and insists that what she wants is what’s more important. this is highly indicative of her privilege and how she puts herself before others and others’ feelings.

now let’s look at chain of gold. there are two scenes in particular that i want to look at, but there are more.

“I quite like your mother. She reminds me of a queen out of a fairy tale, or a peri from Lalla Rookh. You’re half-Persian, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Cordelia said, a little warily.

“Then why is your brother so blond?” Anna asked. “And you so redheaded--I thought Persians were darker-haired.”

Cordelia set her cup down. “There are all sorts of Persians, and we all look different,” she said. “You wouldn’t expect everyone in England to look alike, would you? Why should it be different for us? My father is British and very fair, and my mother’s hair was red when she was a little girl. Then it darkened, and as for Alastair--he dyes his hair.”

“He does?” Anna’s eyebrows, graceful swooping curves, went up. “Why?”

“Because he hates that his hair and skin and eyes are dark,” said Cordelia. “He always has. We have a country house in Devon, and people used to stare when we went into the village.”

Anna’s eyebrows had ceased swooping and taken on a decidedly menacing look. “People are--” She broke off with a sigh and a word Cordelia didn’t know. “Now I rather feel sympathy toward your brother, and that was the last thing I wanted. Quick, as me a question.”

this scene is from cordelia’s tea with anna. i won’t touch so much on the “peri from lalla rookh” comment so much as i’m afraid i don’t feel well enough qualified or researched to adequately represent people’s concerns about this statement, but i do know that there were several posts going around about people discussing how it rubbed them the wrong way, so i thought i would include it as well.

the rest, though, is a bit more obvious. one of the things about books is that it can be more difficult to interpret someone’s words and their meaning because we don’t have things like tone or facial expressions or any of that unless the author explicitly includes it. however, we can draw on the way other characters react to certain comments. cordelia goes on the defense, answering anna’s question “a little warily,” setting aside her tea and explaining rather bluntly that not all persians look the same. it’s pretty easy to infer from her reaction that she’s uncomfortable from anna’s words. now, is that to say anna was intentionally being racist toward cordelia and her family? absolutely not. this is where microaggressions come into play. we see them with anna and also with matthew and even jessamine (though we see hers in the infernal devices rather than the last hours). microaggressions, while often unintentional, are still a form of racism. given the times these characters have grown up in, it’s not necessarily a surprise, but that certainly doesn’t excuse her behavior.

there is, however, a more intentional party to this scene that really rubbed me the wrong way. it’s her discussion of alastair. cordelia has just explained that alastair dyes his hair to stop people from staring at him when he’s walking down the street, and anna replies that she feels sympathy for him and that is “the last thing” she wanted. i understand that she has her own feelings about alastair, likely from listening to the merry thieves’ depiction of him, but that doesn’t excuse her. she even starts to say something about it, likely drawing on her own experiences of wearing menswear at a time when fashion was much more strictly regulated in society than it is today. but she stops herself and instead goes on to reemphasize her dislike for cordelia’s brother and changes the subject.

She held up a small black-bound memorandum book... “This,” she announced, “will hold answers to all our questions.”

...

Matthew looked up, his eyes fever-bright. “Is this your list of conquests?”

“Of course not,” Anna declared. “It’s a memorandum book... about my conquests. That is an important but meaningful distinction.”

...

Anna flipped through the book. There were many pages, and many names written in a bold, sprawling hand.

“Hmm, let me see. Katherine, Alicia, Virginia--a very promising writer, you should look out for her work, James--Mariane, Virna, Eugenia--”

“Not my sister Eugenia?” Thomas nearly upended his cake.

“Oh, probably not,” Anna said. “Laura, Lily... ah, Hypatia. Well, it was a brief encounter, and I suppose you might say she seduced me...”

i hope i don’t have to explain this one too much. there’s just something... unsettling about the fact that anna is held up as this feminist icon and yet she keeps a book with the names of and her encounters with all the women she’s slept with... and then reads those names aloud to everyone. it’s a bit much, don’t you think? and all of this is even without touching the leak we got about her and ariadne, which i’d rather not speculate on too much but is also quite damning.

all in all, i’d like to believe anna is really a good person who’s just misguided and confused, much because i love the idea of a genderqueer character, especially one in an era before stonewall, but her actions and behaviors have led me to believe that she has a long road ahead of her. as i said earlier this week:

let me get something clear: i would die for fanon anna but canon anna needs to get her shit together before i’ll willingly breathe in her direction

i really hope this was helpful... i did my best lol. if anyone else has more to add, please feel free.

#ask answered #anon #anna lightwood #tlh #the last hours #chain of gold

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unavenged-robin · 4 years

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I’ve realized I’ve never written about Barbara and Damian before, so I corrected myself. Have some whump from the DickBat Era.

Barbara doesn’t panic. Ever. It’s not her style. She usually doesn’t get angry either, not right away at least, because anger is not her way of dealing with things. But this is Dick, here in front of her, strapped down to a gurney, unconscious and almost blue and still oh so cold at the touch. And the damn kid is just. not. speaking.

“How long?”, she asks.

Damian ignores her, his face unreadable behind the domino mask. He's staring at an undefined spot above Dick's head like he's trying to pierce the wall with the power of his mind.

“Robin, look at me!”, Barbara snaps in her best Oracle voice, and if Dick were awake he would start singsonging something like oooh someone’s angry in that annoying, teasing voice she’s hated for years, because it’s one of the few things that actually manages to get under her skin when she’s under pressure. But Dick is not awake, that’s the whole point. So she’s free to get as angry as she likes.

Not that her anger's having much of an impact, anyway, since Damian does turn towards her, but he does it slowly, like she’s an inconvenience to be endured.

“Two hours”, he answers with the same aplomb, and Barbara never thought that one day she'd want to slap a child so badly she’d have to actually restrain herself, but she clutches the wheels of her chair tightly enough for her knuckles to go white, and she counts three heartbeats before speaking again.

“And it took you two hours to call for reinforcement? Two hours to push a goddamn button and get in contact with me, or Tim, or Alfred-”

“I called Brown”, Damian interrupts her, flat as pancake.

“What?”

“Brown. The current Batgirl”, Damian explains, like he’d really need to. “She didn’t answer.”

“Of course not”, Barbara snaps again. “She’s in Chicago this week.”

And Damian didn’t have to know that, because knowing that it’s not the point. The point is that he should’ve called her, and he should’ve done so the very moment Dick had been hit. Barbara pushes her glasses back up her nose and looks at the boy with the same intensity that Damian’s using to stare at the wall.

“Dick could’ve died, Damian”, she spells out, loud and clear. “Freeze’s gun could’ve killed him as easily as a bullet to the head, do you really not understand it? Do you care so little for him?”

“I called Brown”, Damian insists, with a little more strain in his voice, and Barbara gets the message all too well: I trust her. I don’t trust you. That only makes her even more ruthless.

“Stephanie is not your contact, I am. Alfred is. This is the protocol, and you should know it by now”, she says, not yelling, but letting her voice vibrating all the same. “If you don’t, then you don’t deserve that costume you’re wearing, and Dick was a fool to give it to you.”

She expects her anger to be countered by Damian’s less than pacific temperament when it comes to take criticism, but the kid doesn’t react, doesn’t insult her, doesn’t even try to defend himself.

He just stands there, watching the wall above Dick’s head like it would help anything.

Deflated, Barbara goes back to the monitors, to the steady heartbeat line and the rhythmic beeping of the machinery, which is all is left to fill the silence around them.

“He said not to worry you.”

Damian’s voice is soft, almost too low to be heard, especially after something like two hours of complete silence. Barbara turns around, sees the kid still standing in the same spot, the mask still on his face, his gaze still on the wall. She’s vaguely surprised to discover Damian can be so quiet for so long.

“What?”

“Grayson said not to worry you”, Damian repeats. “That he was fine.”

And you believed him?, Barbara almost asks, but she stops herself in time. Of course Damian had believed him. Everybody believes Dick when he says that everything’s going to be fine: he’s so charming, so convincing, so very, very, believable. And it’s always so comforting to have someone that in a bad situation will always be able to smile at you and tell you that things will be okay. Barbara’s guilty of having committed that same mistake over and over again, and without having the excuse of being a child or the latest addition to the family.

So she sighs, grabs the chair by Dick's bed and drags it next to hers.

“Sit”, she says.

More than the silence, more than the lack of insults and temper tantrums, is the way Damian follows her order that gives her a measure of just how much the kid’s not in himself right now. Barbara had assumed that he hadn't really understood the situation, or at least that he had seriously underestimated the danger of it, but it’s now obvious that she was wrong: Damian understands all too well, and he’s scared just like her.

She waits for the kid to sit down, then she turns back to stare at Dick’s profile, almost in anger because he really ought to know better.

“Listen to me. I won’t repeat this ever again, and especially not in front of him, but you need to know this, you have to learn it by heart and believe it”, she pauses a second, allowing herself to remember a night of many years ago, when she had given the same speech to a much younger Dick, while being not that much older than him at the time. The problem with Robins is that they all have the same weak spot, apparently. “You’re Batman’s partner, and that means that sometimes you’ll have to decide what’s best for him the same way sometimes he will decide what’s best for you. Otherwise one of you will be killed either to follow an order, or by not following it at all. And both ways are stupid ways to die, is that clear?”

Damian lets her words settle down, then he shrugs without refusing nor agreeing with her, which is more of what Barbara was expecting.

“If at some point you called Stephanie, it means that you thought a backup was necessary. And if you think a backup is necessary you call everyone. It doesn’t matter what Batman says, what his orders are. If you are in doubt, you call me.”

Next to her, Damian stiffens.

“He said-”

“It doesn’t matter what he said”, Barbara interrupts him, not too harshly. “You’re Robin, you don’t need his permission to call me.”

“I know”, Damian answers weakly.

Barbara’s not so sure about that, but she doesn’t say it.

“I’m trusting you with his life every night”, she continues. Normally she would feel uncomfortable about putting such a heavy responsibility on a child's shoulders, but Damian’s not most children, he ticks in a different way. And, apparently, he tries to listen to them sometimes. So she goes out on a limb and actually reaches out to take the kid’s hand in hers, and if he’s surprised by her gesture he hides it well and, most importantly, he doesn’t reject it. Still, Barbara makes sure Damian’s looking at her when she says: “I need you to trust me too, kiddo.”

Damian scrunches up his nose, and it’s difficult to say if he does so in faked contempt or because he’s trying to hide a stronger emotion, but Barbara chooses to believe that Dick’s right about this kid, that there’s lots of good in him, and not just because he’s Bruce’s son, but because he’s here, with them, trying harder than ever to do the right thing.

“Okay?”, she asks, and she smiles for the first time tonight.

Damian doesn’t say okay, doesn’t even nod, but he squeezes her fingers a little, and doesn’t let go of her hand as they both turn to Dick once again.

#damian wayne #barbara gordon #dick grayson #listen the dickbat era is still the best thing ever #i just think about it and cry because it was too short and i want it back #no offense Bruce you know i love you #but i just happen to love you sons a little more #shari writes

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the-cookie-of-doom · 3 years

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Good morning! Whats your favorite show/movie? Who are your favorite characters? Why do you like them so much? Also!! Did you have a good sleep?

Okay so I was a film major for a while, and I have opinions.

Penny Dreadful

I love this show. Like, so much. I adore it. I can not get enough of that show. Just all of the imagery, and the fantastic writing and acting. The episode intro alone is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. Eva Green is a goddess and I love everything she’s been in. The take on classic horror stories is So Good, and it actually became the inspiration for my Gay Frankenstein story! (Started as a stitch AU, and then went completely OC after I had Ideas) but the show itself is so intimate? I think it’s largely that the period they’re in, everything was so repressed and restricted. So when the characters break out of those moments, it’s more meaningful. And the love-hate relationship between Ms. Ives and Malcolm in season one? Exquisite. I could literally write essay’s about this show, but I’ll restrain myself and just say: it’s the best ensemble show I’ve ever seen. The characters come together, but they also each have their own distinct lives that sometimes intersect, but in s2 especially, are quite separate. They are constant with one another like ensemble shows usually portray. Also gothic horror and romance? My absolute favorite.

Anything by Guillermo del Toro

This man Owns My Entire Soul. I’m not even joking, everything he writes and directs is perfection. Crimson Peak is probably my favorite (I have a stitch AU for this too ;) ) because again, Gothic horror and romance. I’m a slut for that shit. Also Tom Hiddleston and Jessica Chastain? Delightful casting. I think it’s obvious by now that I love tragic relationships, so their dynamic is *chef’s kiss* amazing. they’re so damaged. And this quote right here is one of the BEST things I’ve ever read:

“But the horror... The horror was for love. The things we do for love like this are ugly, mad, full of sweat and regret. This love burns you and maims you and twists you inside out. It is a monstrous love and it makes monsters of us all.”

Engrave that on my headstone, please?? I’ve got a sort-of Dorian Gray AU (it’s delightful) that’s basically built on this entire premise. Mitch makes the mistake of falling in love with Stiles, and does many terrible things because of it. Mostly to himself, at least.

I think my love of Crimson Peak is very closely tied with The Shape of Water. another beautiful movie, I could wax poetic about this forever. it was beautifully written, and such an artistic movie. I love the way it was filmed, and the set design, and all of the subtle imagery. Such as Elisa’s apartment being cast in cooler tones, it always felt very damp and had evidence of water damage, compared to Giles’, a mirror image of her own, in more warm tones. This is another one I could (and have) write essays about. There is so much packed into this movie, from the themes on toxic masculinity and entitlement, to the conversation on queerness and race and disability, and how all the various relationships are portrayed. Like. there is so much to pick apart in this movie.

Aside from that, ofc Hell Boy deserves an honorable mention because i grew up on those movies. I’m pretty sure the Golden Army especially is responsible for who I am today, given all the lore on the fae in that universe. Wow, that explains so much about me... Also one of my first WoW characters was an elf named Nuala xD I still have her, too, and it’s been like 12 years lol

Near-Future Sci-Fi

Sci-fi is one of my favorite genres, I am a huge nerd for theoretical and astrophysics. But my favorite kind of sci-fi is the stuff that still takes place on Earth, rather than epic battles in space. Ex Machina and Annihilation are at the top of that list. Alex Garland is another writer/director that I love. He has the same kind of approach as del Toro, where he puts a lot of fine details into his work. And I love that it’s very cerebral; there are so many layers to Ex Machina. My English 101 prof actually refused to analyze it in class when I suggested it to him, because he didn’t think my class could. Basically handle? Dissecting that movie? Because a lot of it comes across as very surface level, but in some cases when you look deeper, it’s actually suggesting the opposite of what you might think at first glance. (And he was right, my fellow students were awful. I miss that class though, it was one of my favorites T_T Mr. Ryder was an awesome dude and super chill.)

Morgan is another good example. As you can see, I fucking love androids lol. Which brings me to another of my all time favorite movies: Cloud Atlas. I could literally watch this movie endlessly, I love it so much. The acting, the writing, the filming, all of it is top notch. And one thing they did in the movie that didn’t come across in the book, was reusing the same actors through the different eras in the book. That was just so neat, because it really encapsulates how connected these souls are, as we follow the threads of their story throughout time. If you haven’t seen the movie, I can’t recommend it enough.

Another one I always think of alongside Cloud Atlas, even though they aren’t related at all, is Predestination. It’s a great movie that explores the idea of fate and free will in a really clever way, utilizes time travel in a very organized way that I think was neat (think Umbrella Academy. They even use briefcases! As you can see, I love sci-fi bureaucracy, it’s fun. In fact The Bureau is another movie I enjoyed) and the main character is actually, explicitly trans, which was cool. You basically get to see the entire story of their life, and I don’t want to spoil anything, but it’s just. So good. Mindfuckery galore.

Shoot, and I almost forgot! Arrival! That is one of the best movies, and another one I could watch nonstop. It focuses on mathematics and linguistics and I swear to god, I almost altered my entire college course because of this movie. Amy Addams is brilliant, Jeremy Renner is so soft and nerdy, and again, it has an amazing take on time travel. I am very particular about how time is handled in Sci-fi, and this portrayal was one of my favorite. (Most of my physics studies have been dedicated to the theory of time, so like. Strong Opinions.)

Fantasy

Stardust! It wasn’t until Good Omens can out that I realized Neil Gaiman is responsible for most of the stories I loved as a kid lol, and I had no idea he wrote stardust! But that is such a beautiful movie (I have a Stardust AU lol) and it’s definitely one of my comfort movies. Captain Shakespeare is one of the best characters ever, bless Robert de Niro. I would die for him. Fun fact, i had no idea Ipswitch was a real place until like. 2019. I 100% thought it was made up for the movie 😂

Alongside Stardust, I’ve always loved The Golden Compass. It’s fantasy, but also with that old-timey steampunk science feel, which is so fun and surprisingly difficult to find!

Mortal Engines also has the same kind of feel, and it was such an epic movie in every sense of the word. I’m a little sad that after all the work that went into it, it didn’t get a dedicated following or fan base, because I feel there’s so much potential in it. But at the same time, fandom tends to gather around media that has plenty of flaws for us to repair with gold, and there wasn’t much room for that in Mortal Engines.

I’m going to put Jupiter Ascending here even though it technically fits with the sci-fi, because that section is long as fuck and also this movie has such a fantastic feel. Mila Kunis? beautiful. The CGI? beautiful. Eddy Redmayne? One of the best villain portrayals i’ve ever seen. The whole oedipal vibe he had was immaculate, as was their portrayal of reincarnation, and just. The world building. GOD. I get so weak for through world building. Also the fkn intergalactic bureaucracy when they’re basically at the space DMV? One of my all time favorite scenes in movie history.

Horror

I have very little room in my life for horror. As I said, I have strong movie opinions, especially when it comes to horror movies. I don’t like how most of them rely on cheap jump scares and overused gore and gratuitous rape scenes, instead of, y'know, actual good writing.

Which is EXACTLY why I adore It: Chapter 1 & 2. It has none of those things, but still manages to be so terrifying. They are my favorite horror movies, and I’m saying this as someone who has genuine childhood trauma bc of the novel. Like. I couldn’t shower/take baths alone until I was almost 10 T_T When I was 6-7 and saw kids play by storm drains, I would run over screaming about how Pennywise was going to get them. Like, I had issues man. I was terrified to see the first one, and wouldn’t go until I could go with my best friend after she had already seen it, so she could warn me when something scary was about to happen 😂

And, one of my favorite aspects of the movie, and the thing that gave me Mad Respect for Any Muschietti? The way he filmed Bev and her father. They have a character who is literally being molested, but they never once have to show it. And yet their interactions are still so viscerally upsetting to watch. Sexploitation puts me off of most horror, and the fact that Muschietti doesn’t use it here, even when it would be actually somewhat justified? *chef’s kiss*. I love him.

I love horror as a concept, I’m just really picky about it because I expect the writing to be good. I don’t like short cuts. But in a lot of cases, even if I don’t enjoy the movie itself, I love to watch analysis videos on youtube! I love to see the philosophy and symbolism in different horror movies, even if i don’t like to watch the movies themselves. It’s a fun hobby.

Misc.

Then in general, some other stuff I love in no particular order:

The Internship (Bless Dylan, Stuart is such a bitch and I love him)

American Assassin (ofc. The writing itself is eh, but Mitch is my man)

Dylan’s episode of Weird City. (I actually have a lot of feelings about this one. Jordan Peele is another amazing writer/director, I really need to catch up on his works.)

Dorian Gray (*chef’s kiss*)

Rogue One (Makes me cry every time)

WARCRAFT (Obviously this is a fav. It made me so happy, words cannot express.)

Coraline and most other stop motion animation. I’ve always had a soft spot in my heart for that.

Literally anything associated with Tim Burton. Fun fact, when I was 12 and in middle school, I planned to decorate my future house inspired by tim burton. Like, i had Plans.

Most adaptations of Alice in Wonderland!

So! this got long as fuck! But you said you like that kind of thing lol 😂 I had kinda Eh sleep since I was up so late lmao, and I kept waking up (as usual, rip). And I’m so mad I go up for nothing! The dude I was supposed to show my listing to never showed, and is refusing to answer my calls >_> It’s been 2 hours now, and I still haven’t heard from him. But whatever, I already have a full price cash offer on the house so who cares. And that means I can play WoW all day, now!

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jadelotusflower · 3 years

Text

November Roundup

Some writing success this month - I finished and posted a new chapter for Against the Dying of the Light, and made progress on The Lady of the Lake and Turn Your Face to the Sun. I didn’t work much on my novel, but I did do some editing on the first third so that’s progress.

Words written this month: 6647

Total this year: 67,514

November books

Girl, Woman, Other by Bernadine Evaristo - joint winner of the 2019 Booker Prize (with The Testaments by Margaret Atwood) this was an engrossing and interesting read. Stylistically unusual formatting and scant use of punctuation that is a bit jarring at first, but you quickly adapt as you read. There’s no plot as such - instead the story is formed by vignettes of twelve black women and their disparate yet interconnected lives. We have mothers and daughters, close friends, teachers and students, although the connections aren’t always obvious at first - we can be exposed to a character briefly in the story of another with no idea that she will be a focus later on. It’s very skillfully done, to the point whereupon finishing I wanted immediately to re-read (but alas, it was already overdue back to the library). There is so much ground covered that we are really only given a glimpse into the characters lives, but there is a diversity of intergenerational perspectives of the African diaspora in the UK, and I highly recommend.

The Evening and the Morning by Ken Follett - after finishing The Pillars of the Earth I had intended to read the sequel, but this was available on the library shelf and I had to place a hold on World Without End, so the prequel came first. Set sixty years before the Conquest (150 before Pillars) it primarily addresses the growth of the hamlet of Dreng’s Ferry into the town of Kingsbridge, through the lives of a monk with a strong moral code, a clever and beautiful noblewoman, and a skilled builder, working against the machinations of an evil bishop. Sound familiar? This is Follet’s most recent work, and I do wonder if he’s running out of ideas as this covers very similar thematic ground.

Ragna is a compelling female character, but once again the romance-that-cannot-be with Edgar is tepid, Aldred is a very watered down version of Prior Philip, and there’s no grand framing device such as building the cathedral to really tie to all together (although things do Get Built, and it’s interesting but not on the level of Pillars). This is the tail end of the Dark Ages and it shows - Viking raids, slavery, infanticide - and while it seems Follett’s style is to put his characters through much tragedy and tribulation before their happy ending, I wish writers would stop going to the rape well so readily. But at least the sexual violence isn’t as...lasciviously written as in Pillars? Scant praise, I know. But Follett’s strength in drawing the reader into the world and time period is on display, made even more interesting in this era about which we know very little.

Women and Leadership by Julia Gillard and Ngozi Okonjo-Iweala - I have a great deal of respect for Julia Gillard, Australia’s first female Prime Minister who was treated utterly shamefully during her tenure and never got the credit she deserved, perhaps excepting the reaction to her iconic “misogny speech” whichyou can enjoy in full here:

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Ngozi Okonjo-Iweala was the first woman to be Minister of Finance and Foreign Affairs in Nigeria, was also the former Managing Director of the World Bank, and currently a candidate for Director-General of the WTO.

This is an interesting examination of women in leadership roles, comparing and contrasting the lives and experiences of a select few including (those I found the most interesting) Ellen Sirleaf, the first female President of Liberia, Joyce Banda, the first female President of Malawi, New Zealand’s current Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern, and of course, Gillard and Okonjo-Iweala themselves.

November shows/movies

The Vow and Seduced: Inside the NXIVM Cult - I’ve been following the NXIVM case for a while now, when the news broke in 2017 I was surprised and intrigued that it involved actresses from some of my fandom interests - Alison Mack (Smallville), Grace Park and Nikki Clyne (Battlestar Galactica), and Bonnie Piasse (Star Wars). Uncovered: Escaping NXIVM is an excellent podcast from that point in time that’s well worth a listen. There’s been a lot of discussion comparing these two documentaries and which one is better, but I feel they’re both worthwhile.

The Vow gives a primer of NXIVM as a predatory “self improvement” pyramid scheme/cult run by human garbage Keith Reniere, from the perspective of former members turned whistleblowers Bonnie Piasse, who first suspected things were wrong, her husband Mark Vicente who was high up in the organisation, and Sarah Edmondson who was a member of DOS, the secret group within NXIVM that involved branding and sex trafficking. Seduced gives more insight into the depravity and criminality of DOS from the pov of India Oxenburg, just 19 when she joined the group and who became Alison Mack’s “slave” in DOS - she was required to give monthly “collateral” in the form of explicit photographs or incriminating information about herself or her family, had to ask Mack’s permission before eating anything (only 500 calories allowed per day), was ordered to have sex with Reniere, and other horrific treatment - Mack herself was slave to Reniere (as was Nikki Clyne) and there were even more horrific crimes including rape and imprisonments of underage girls.

Of course each show has an interest in portraying its subjects as less culpable than perhaps they were (there were people above and below them all in the pyramid after all) - Vicente and Edmondson in The Vow and Oxenburg in Seduced, but what I did appreciate about Seduced was the multiple experts to explain how and why people were indoctrinated into this cult, and why it was so difficult to break free from it. This is a story of victims who were also victimisers and all the complications that come along with that, although I’m not sure any of these people are in the place yet to really reckon with what happened and all need a lot of therapy.

Focusing on individual journeys also narrows the scope - there are other NXIVM members interviewed I would have liked to have heard a lot more from. There is also a lot of jumping back and forth in time in both docos so the timeline is never quite clear unless you do further research. I would actually like to see another documentary one day a bit further removed from events dealing with the whole thing from start to finish from a neutral perspective. The good news is that Reniere was recently sentenced to 120 years in prison so he can rot.

I saw value in both, but you’re only going to watch one of these, I would say go for Seduced - if you’re interested in as much information as possible, watch The Vow first to get a primer on all the main players and then Seduced for the full(er) story.

The Crown (season 4) - While I love absolutely everything Olivia Coleman does, I thought it took a while for her to settle in as the Queen last season and it’s almost sad that she really nailed it this season, just in time for the next cast changeover (but I also love everything Imelda Staunton does so...) This may be an unpopular opinion, but I wasn’t completely sold on Gillian Anderson as Thatcher - yes I know she sounded somewhat Like That, but for me the performance was a little too...affected? (and someone get her a cough drop, please!)

It is also an almost sympathetic portrayal of Thatcher - even though it does demonstrate her classism and internalised misogyny, it doesn’t really explore the full impact of Thatcherism, why she was such a polarising figure to the extent that some would react like this to her death:

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But I suppose it’s called The Crown, not The PM.

Emma Corrin is wonderful as Diana, and boy do they take no prisoners with Charles (or the other male spawn). I was actually surprised at how terrible they made Charles seem rather than both sidesing it as I had expected (but perhaps that’s being saved for season 5). It does hammer home just how young Diana was when they were married (19 to Charles’ 32), how incompatible they were and the toxicity of their marriage (standard disclaimer yes it’s all fictionalised blah blah). The performances are exceptional across the board - Tobias Menzies and Josh O’Conner were also standouts and it’s a shame to see them go.

I was however disappointed to see that the episode covering Charles and Di’s tour of Australia was not only called “Terra Nullius” but the term was used as a very tone deaf metephor that modern Australia was no longer “nobody’s land/country”. For those who aren’t aware, terra nullius was the disgraceful legal justification for British invasion/colonisation of Australia despite the fact that the Indigenous people had inhabited the continent for 50,000 years or more. While the tour was pre-Mabo (the decision that overturned the doctrine of terra nullius and acknowledged native title), there was no need to use this to make the point, especially when there was no mention at all of the true meaning/implication of the term.

The Spanish Princess (season 2, episodes 4-8)- Sigh. I guess I’m more annoyed at the squandered potential of this show, since the purpose ostensibly was to focus on the time before The Great Matter and give Katherine “her due” - and instead they went and made her the most unsympathetic, unlikeable character in the whole damn show. (Spoilers) She literally rips Bessie Blount’s baby from her body and, heedless to a mother’s pleas to hold her child, runs off to Henry so she can present him with “a son”. I mean, what the actual fuck?

I’m not a stickler for historical accuracy so long as it’s accurate to the spirit of history (The Tudors had its flaws, but it threaded this needle most of the time), but this Katherine isn’t even a shadow of her historical figure - she’s not a troubled heroine, she’s cruel and vindictive, Margaret Pole is a sanctimonious prig, and Margaret Tudor does little but sneer and shout - the only one who comes out unscathed is Mary Tudor (the elder), and it’s only because she’s barely in it at all. It’s a shame because I like all of these actresses (especially Georgie Henley and Laura Carmichael) but they are just given dreck to work with.

This is not an issue with flawed characters, it’s the bizarre presentation of these characters that seems to want to be girl power rah rah, and yet at the same time feels utterly misogynistic by pitting the women against each other or making them spiteful, stupid, or crazy for The Drama. I realise this is based on Gregory so par for the course, but it feels particularly egregious here. (Spoilers) At one point Margaret Pole is banished from court by Henry, and because Katherine won’t help her (because she cant!) she decides to spill the beans about Katherine’s non-virginity. Yes, her revenge against the hated Tudors is...to give Henry exactly what he wants? Even though it will result in young Mary, who she loves and cares for, being disinherited? Girlboss!

This season also missed the opportunity to build on its predecessors The White Queen/Princess and show why it was so important to Henry to have a male heir - the Tudor reign wasn’t built on the firmest foundations and so needed uncontested transfer of power, at the time there was historic precedent that passing the throne to a daughter led to Anarchy, and wars of succession were very recent in everyone’s memory. At least no one was bleating about The Curse this time, which is actually kind of surprising, because the point of the stupid curse is the Tudor dynasty drama.

But it’s not all terrible. Lina and Oviedo are the best part of the show, and (spoilers) thankfully make it out alive. Both are a delight to watch and I wish the show had been just about them.

Oh well. One day maybe we’ll get the Katherine of Aragon show we deserve - at least I can say that the costumes were pretty, small consolation though it is.

#november roundup #long post

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supremeuppityone · 4 years

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Written for Klaroline Bingo @klaroline-events Prompt: “You’re safe.”

This is a sequel to Chapter 70: Summer of Salvatore, found in A Beautiful Symmetry. Thanks for all of your asks about this one and I appreciate your patience in how long it took me to come up with the idea for this!

Caroline just wanted to casually date the mysterious new guy from work. Something nice and normal. But the universe had other plans.

Chapter 115: Part 2 - Summer of Salvatore

"Crime is common. Logic is rare."

— Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, The Adventure of the Copper Beeches

“You didn’t hesitate when I gave you the address,” Caroline observed, taking a sip of her coffee. “I mean, I know you’re new to town, but everyone knows the south side of the city is a bit shady.”

Klaus let out a chuckle, amusement dripping from his voice as he asked, “Detective Forbes, are you concerned for my safety? I can assure you, given your act of valor at that crime scene, I can’t imagine a safer place than at your side.”

She could feel her cheeks grow hot, and she ducked her head shyly. She’d relied on instinct when Stefan had attacked them, and while she never went for the kill unless she had to, there was no denying the relief that washed over her once she saw he was dead. He’d been a monster. “I’m just glad I was there to stop him.” She fiddled with her nails, a nervous edge to her voice as she asked, “As much as I hate that you were there, I was wondering if you’d feel comfortable going back with me? I’ve been asked to provide a detailed report of my findings and I could really use your perspective since you may have observed something I missed.”

He looked surprised by her invitation and she hurriedly explained, “I mean, the methodology established to empirically score copycat crimes is measured in seven factors ranging from sociology, biology and psychology, not to mention influences of the media and even geography, and I just don’t want to overlook a single opportunity for a thorough report given the potential ramifications this case could have on future criminal justice procedures.”

Klaus flashed her a dimpled smirk, taking a drink of his coffee as though contemplating something. “Of course. You’re a widely respected expert in your field, sweetheart, and I’m flattered that you asked.”

She could feel her cheeks grow hot at his perusal. “Um, sorry...I didn’t mean to ramble on about forensics and crime scenes on a date.” Tucking a blonde curl behind her ear, she muttered, “Guess it’s been awhile for me,” and then immediately squeezed her eyes shut, mortified.

He reached across the table to hold her hand, winking as he said, “I don’t mind a bit of murder on a first date.”

She returned his smile, hardly believing her luck. It was really difficult to meet someone who wasn’t turned off by forensics, and this was the first date she’d had with a coworker who hadn’t been a misogynist who instantly discounted her research. “Can I ask how you got into this field? Have you always been a dispatch driver?”

“It’s a recent change for me, but I’ve always been interested in the more historic aspects of murder. For example, are you familiar with ling chi? It’s known as —”

“Slow slicing or death by a thousand cuts initially practiced in 10th century China,” Caroline interrupted excitedly.

Klaus smiled, his gray eyes lighting up at her enthusiasm. “I always found it fascinating to see the ingenuity involved in finding blades sharp enough in that era to gradually shave away the bits of skin and muscle tissue.”

“Exactly! Murder weapons are such an essential part of forensics,” she replied a bit breathlessly, her heart beating a bit faster when she saw the unmistakable lust in Klaus’ gaze. She was giddy at the thought of finding someone who shared her enthusiasm for criminal science forensics. She noticed Klaus suddenly stiffened as he studied something intently behind her. She glanced at the reflection in the window, frowning as she realized someone had walked in wearing a Halloween mask and the black tip of a small caliber gun was peeking out of his sleeve.

Seriously? Of course this would happen on her date. Taking a calming breath, she slowly slid her phone over to Klaus, murmuring quietly, “Call 911.” Using carefully controlled movements, she quietly removed her concealed sidearm, promising, “You’re safe. It’s going to be ok, I promise.”

The would-be robber had just raised his gun to the cashier when Caroline yelled, “Police! Put down your weapon and turn around slowly!” She could read in those tense muscles that the suspect would run, but before she could make a move, he hopped over the counter, putting the cashier between them as he made his escape. Registering the clatter of his weapon being dropped in the commotion, she raced after him, briefly pausing in the brick alleyway to determine which way he went.

Running in the most likely direction, she stopped short when she saw Klaus casually holding the suspect against the rough brick. Arm wrenched up his back in what appeared to be a painful wrist hold, his face was scrunched as he howled. Stepping over the mask that must have fallen off in the struggle, Caroline wryly observed, “Did you run track or something? How’d you manage to beat me here?”

Klaus shrugged, a small smile on his face as he replied, “Perhaps I’m faster than I look.”

_______________________________

Something weird was going on. Caroline brushed some of the ashy residue into a sterile envelope, sighing as she mentally went over everything she knew about desiccation and growing more and more frustrated as she couldn’t find a rational explanation. Stefan sustained a gunshot to his tibia. Which should’ve crippled him. Instead, it seemed to enrage him further and when he leapt at her, she issued a fatal headshot.

She felt little remorse at having brought down a serial killer; especially one that had posed an imminent danger to both Klaus and herself. What she found disturbing was the accelerated decomposition of Stefan’s remains. What the hell happened? By the time dispatch had arrived, Stefan’s corpse appeared as though he’d been dead for more than a century. Frowning, she studied the chalk outline notating where the remains had been prior to her team’s removal, and Klaus’ amused voice interrupting her thoughts. “It’s almost as though you expect the evidence to talk back, sweetheart.”

Carefully pressing an evidence seal to the envelope, she replied, “All evidence speaks; it’s just a matter of understanding what’s being said.” She settled more comfortably on the plastic sheet, blue eyes straying back to the powdered residue that clung to the grooves in the wooden floor. “Accelerated desiccation is almost unheard of in forensics. I can’t account for what happened to Stefan’s body. The remains appeared to have been subjected to an even source of airflow or aerated soil to damage the soft tissues in that manner.”

He leaned back on his palms, stretching his legs out next to hers, and the almost-touch of his body made her shiver. Crime scene, Caroline — get it together. “There’s emerging studies regarding destructive micro-organisms contributing to desiccation. I actually read an interesting take on this in Drs. Parker and Sommers’ joint work in the latest Forensics Quarterly,” he ventured, a small smile gracing his lips as though pleased with himself.

It was a statistical improbability that someone with those cheekbones would read Forensics Quarterly. When they wrapped up the scene for the night, she planned to drag him back to her place to ride his test tube until it broke. “Seriously?! You’re trusting Parker and Sommers’s research? You might as well say a Kardashian is a respected forensics authority.”

He let out an amused chuckle, pulling her in for a quick kiss. “You are a delight, love. It’s rare to find someone so enthusiastic about this type of work.”

Her lips burned from the kiss, and her pulse raced when she thought of where the night would take them. She’d never met someone who seemed to genuinely appreciate the science behind the macabre. “It’s hard for people who aren’t in the field to understand. There’s a certain beauty to it; the way the research can lead to a hypothesis and eventually a satisfying resolution.”

“There was a...case I worked on in which a body had been drained while hanging right-side-up. Utter poppycock as everyone knows the most efficient draining method is —”

“Upside-down,” Caroline cheerfully interrupted, “because the subclavian and carotid arteries’ location is ideal. No self-respecting killer would attempt draining without having a basic understanding of anatomy.” A slight tingle went down her spine as she realized that Klaus seemed to appreciate her dark humor. It was nearly impossible to succeed in this industry without developing at least a hint of gallows humor.

He shook his head in bemusement, and she barely resisted the urge to poke at those innocent-looking dimples. But they still had work to do. Clearing her throat, she leaned over to access her files, zooming in on the dental images from the remains. “I’ll admit I’ve seen some unusual remains during my career, but nothing like this.” She pointed at the obvious deformity, adding, “It’s a clear case of megadontia, but I can’t imagine someone willingly allowing their condition to grow out of control like this to the point that they have large, curved canines. Given the depth of the unnatural growth, he must’ve been in incredible pain.”

Stefan had smiled at her. With those teeth that had been so sharp. Too sharp. Caroline had been proud of how she’d handled the situation, but something primal had overtaken her when she saw those canines. Fangs. She shook her head slightly, ignoring the cold pit in her stomach that inexplicably had formed. Klaus looked decidedly uncomfortable, and she cursed herself for being so oblivious. Clearly, Klaus was traumatized by what had happened and it was selfish of her to expect him to bounce back right away after seeing such violence.

However, before she could apologize, Klaus abruptly stood up, helping her to his feet even as he seemed weirdly fixated on the front door. Suddenly, a forceful blow had the wood splintering, and two musclebound, intimidating men with dark eyes walked in. Their vacant, mindless stares were somehow more disquieting than their size.

“Caroline, there you are,” drawled a familiar voice, and she didn’t miss the way Klaus stiffened as he moved in front of her.

Peering around Klaus, her eyes widened in surprise as she exclaimed, “Dr. Maxfield? What are you doing here?” What was her biology professor from Whitmore doing at her crime scene?

He still wore the same smug grin she’d done her best to forget all those years ago. There always had been something vaguely threatening about him, but Caroline inevitably dismissed it as the typical sleazy college professor creeping on naive students and made sure to steer clear whenever he tried to get her alone multiple times. But now there was something more. Something dangerous. As he took a cocky step toward her, Klaus growled in warning. Wait — Klaus growled?

“Forgive my intrusion, but I’ve been following your fascinating work for some time now, and your research of the Ripper of Monterey’s murders over the past century caught my attention,” he explained, eyeing his two companions in a manner that was both reverent and dispassionate — he might as well have been examining a piece of art. “I’m certain your research will aid me in locating other ripper vampires capable of successfully hosting the Ripper Virus my lab has created.”

Ripper vampires? Ripper Virus? Not to mention his ridiculous assertion that murders spanning more than a century could’ve been the work of a single individual. What the hell was going on? Caroline kept her hand next to her sidearm, studying Professor Maxfield and his companions to determine the threat.

Suddenly, black veins appeared underneath the dark eyes of the two men who bracketed Professor Maxfield, their sharp canines inexplicably long. What the hell? Those were fangs. She was staring at fangs. Fear gripped her heart, but she was proud of how steady her grip was as she raised her gun.

She flicked her gaze to Klaus, who seemed strangely at ease. He rocked back on his feet, hands casually clasped behind his back as he sneered, “Words cannot express the trouble you find yourselves in, gentleman.” With his signature smirk, he added, “I’m Klaus Mikaelson.”

It was when Klaus shockingly revealed a double set of curved fangs along with feral gold flashing in his gaze that Caroline began to understand. She was safe. Professor Maxfield and his companions were not. The intruders stepped back uncertainly, no longer flanking Professor Maxfield like vicious guard dogs. “Ah, you’ve heard of me. Fantastic,” Klaus said, his chest swelling with pride.

While Caroline felt her heart beat a rapid tattoo in her chest, she somehow wasn’t afraid with Klaus beside her. He’d positioned himself between her and the intruders, clearly comfortable in this dangerous situation, but also not willing to risk her safety. He leaned into her, and her body instinctively curled into his.

Klaus’ voice carried a solemn promise that despite the insanity around them, Caroline couldn’t help but believe as he told her, “You’re safe. It’s going to be ok, I promise.”

#kcbingo2020 #klaroline fanfic #uppity bitch fanfic #klaroline #klaroline aesthetic #aesthetic #thx for requesting a sequel!#klaroline does crime scene investigation #plus awkward murder flirting

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thattimdrakeguy · 4 years

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Toxicity, gaslighting, hypocrisy, an overall just bad fandom folks on twitter.

I’m glad I’m not involved with twitter comic fandom cuz the amount of people trying to make Tim look bad like throwing a fit cuz he’s under too much pressure or like-- not being a saint. While calling characters that constantly murder people or violate human rights “baby” is way too high.

Even just the minor lies are nutty, acting like the 90s edgy art style at the time shows Tim is twisted cuz he looks scary in it-- when it’s just dated art

But then-- complain when people say things out of context for other characters-- when the context doesn't make it better. I really can’t process those people. they confuse me.

Also one of them apparently said Tim being a rich white kid makes him a power fantasy? Which is superficial at best when applied to Tim given when you read 90s Robin-- (Which I assume they’re complaining about, cuz he still lives away from Bruce then-- cuz otherwise Jason would technically count as a rich kid) Tim is just this dorky kid, who’s scared on the inside, putting on a brave face and fighting crime and his insecurity problem. He’s not some masculine power fantasy, he’s a relateable kid, his wealth besides being able to spend money in his first mini was even portrayed negatively if any thing sometimes with his dad as having been away for a lot of his childhood and leaving Tim without proper social development and being pretty socially clueless to the point it‘s a problem he has no street smarts.

So pretty much just gaslighting and strawman arguments.

You’re racist if you don’t like Damian.

You hate poor people if you don’t like Jason.

You’re sexist if you don’t like Stephanie.

But I’m someone who still likes Jason a lot even if I don’t like any thing in the Red Hood era not done by Winnick (and even then there’s a scene in Lost Days that creeps me out), and used to like Damian and Steph, I just stopped liking them because I just found myself realizing I don’t particularly like a lot of their writing.

At the same time as well, isn’t it just more reasonable that people don’t like them cuz of simple taste or their character actions?

Damian does kidnap people and violates people’s human rights currently, and did chemically paralyze and trigger Jon in their first meeting, as well as smacks him for freaking out later on that miniseries.

If you made Steph a dude, more people would be very likely to call Steph a sexual harasser for flirting with Tim past what he’s comfortable with, even with the knowledge he has a girlfriend. Plus she has shown dangerous cynicism in nearly letting criminals die, and even tendencies found in emotional abusers given her gaslighting, ill-trust, and attempts to go behind Tim's back, and even throwing crap at him while refusing to talk as he’s trying to apologize for some thing he didn’t actually do.

Not even to say Tim is a saint, he’s shown to be insensitive, and condescending, but if you start with his origin and not Red Robin, in my experience it ‘s more likely you’ll read him as a socially oblivious boy scout-esque kid rather than an angsty jerk. Doesn’t make what he did not bad, but just more interesting, because if a character is a saint it‘s boring, and Tim's actual original character makes what he does less offending to people. He has gotten incredibly pissed off at his friends, but ... he’s a literal kid that has to lead other kids with super powers. It‘s bad that he threw fits, but it ‘s never done in a way that makes it feel like “Oh i must hate this character”. Damian is also a kid, but what he does is way more notably offending to some people. He has a bad backstory but it is fiction, people have different standards with specific actions depending on how they feel about it. It‘s not illogical to be fine with a socially oblivious kid being insensitive but not be fine with a character that consistently does bad things even after they’re aware it‘s bad.

(Heck, Tim even cheated on his girlfriend, but given how that whole storyline chunk was written, it‘s more out of character and an example of bad writing than anything else, given how Tim feels on the topic of cheating before and after, as well as how much he cared about Ari. It was inconsistent and even the writing breezes past reality with how Ari suddenly agrees to mutually break up. I don’t believe the story actually treats it fully as cheating either, making it feel like they knew. So it feels more like bad writing than a thing to judge Tim on, because that‘s just something people use to criticize bad writing, quite commonly even with many shows or movies. I can still get why people don’t care. It‘s more of a writing complaint. Like Jason being a serial killer is. It‘s inconsistent, doesn't add up, and isn’t a good reflection of the character.)

If you are fine with it is some thing else, cuz that‘s a matter of tastes.

I actually started calling Tim “baby” cuz Damian fans called Damian baby-- which I find a bit more odd (sometimes honestly just worried given the crap he does in the images they say that to some of the time), cuz while I’m aware Damian is younger obviously, he’s only cute in pandering moments that‘d I’d actually deem ooc, using basic standards that it isn’t consistent with anything before and after, as well as not fitting who the character is or even built up properly if they even try. (Also cuz Aunt May called Peter and friends babies and thought it was charming). My blog as well is about 90s Tim Drake as well, where’d he’d be a year off of the same age as Damian mainly, I may call him baby past that age, but that‘s just cuz it‘s s tuck in my head now. I really can’t picture calling RR Tim baby in fandom usage of the word (which is the only way I use it) if that was the only way he’s ever been.

Like with characters I start from the beginning (besides Dick and Bruce cuz gosh that’d take forever) and judge what ‘s in-character from there and read, while noticing development as well as things they’ve done. i didn’t read Red Robin first, I read Robin first. I didn’t read Batgirl first I read her Robin appearances first. When I studied Jason I wen t with his post-crisis Robin run (I deem pre-crisis Jason a different character given so much is different the same way i do with the New 52 teen titans core four generally speaking besides comparing to pre-New 52 versions). When I went to study Damian for stuff I read his first appearances forward much the same. And at one point in time I liked all these characters, I judged them based off of reading them.

So I’m not someone with just a bias-- I’m aware some of my friends do, but I’m not my friends if that wasn’t obvious. I’m friends with some people that like vastly different things than me even.

All I can say in the end is that it bugs me that toxic people have convinced themselves they are some victim while spreading harassment, lies, and gaslighting, because other people just enjoy different things or read things differently.

A lot of these people bother me especially because they frame themselves or the character they like as some victim they have to defend, and even target specific people over, when they themselves are the ones showing basic toxic behavior. they are the toxic ones yet believe they’re the victim-- cuz someone read a comic differently or didn’t like the same character as them.

That is nuts to me

I’ve even had to deal with similar people since I gotten called a racist for not liking Damian-- when I’ve even mentioned that I’ve liked Damian previously, and explained I simply didn’t like his comic or his writing enough to reasonably like him. Meaning I guess the action of not liking Damian-- in of itself-- is racist, which is gaslighting at best. I’m sure someone out there even hates Damian because they’re racist, but why treat everyone (or at least some notable chunk to be worth talking about) that doesn't like him as if they’re that person?

They’d rather believe that people that don’t like what they do must be terrible people of some kind rather than treat them as normal people.

They’ve even showed hypocritical behavior, by complaining of others not giving context-- while doing the same thing to other characters.

As I said, I’m not on comic book twitter, I have not even interacted with these people. I’ve just seen it, and it‘s just so toxic to me. It‘s a bad thing to see over fiction.

#tim drake #Robin #DC Comics #fandom toxicity #discourse

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orionsangel86 · 5 years

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Season 14 – Desire and Happiness – Ongoing themes and Endgame flirtations

Right at the start of Season 14 we were presented with a question. “What do you want?” It was repeated, over and over again by Michael, as well as Sam in Andrew Dabb’s premier episode:

The themes of this season have been quite clear. They are about identity, desire, choice, and finding ones place in the world. What is it that these characters want out of their lives? How do they view themselves? What desires do they have and what makes them happy?

Over the course of the season so far, the question “what do you want” has developed into an exploration of happiness and what it means. Specifically, the impression of happiness vs actual happiness.

This started predominantly in 14x08, with Castiel agreeing to a deal with the Empty Entity that he would be taken right when he “finally gives himself permission to be happy”. This textualised something that has been present in subtext for several seasons for Castiel; that he never allows himself pleasure. Specifically it has been a recurring theme of Dabb era that Castiel is holding back. Remember Lucifer’s words in 12x07:

“I was inside you. I know what a weak, duty-bound, pleasureless dullard you are”.

It was also subtly hinted at in 14x01 in this conversation between the demon Kipling and Castiel:

KIPLING: Castiel, you sure I can’t get your anything hot and black?

CASTIEL: Coffee has no affect on me.

KIPLING: Hm. Me either. You know, not anymore, but it’s like saltwater taffy or infants -- you know, I just like the taste.

Kipling, like Castiel, isn’t affected by coffee. Unlike Castiel, Kipling drinks it anyway because he enjoys it. he derives pleasure from it. Wouldn’t Castiel also derive pleasure from coffee? Perhaps, but he won’t even allow himself the chance to try it.

The subtextual theme has been mainly shown through his refusal to ever accept offers of food or drink (it is worth noting that food and drink have been symbols of pleasure taking in the show since day 1, specifically the metaphor can be applied to Dean who uses pleasure as a distraction technique and Sam who also limits the pleasure he allows himself and only partakes in very controlled circumstances – see any Sam x food meta as it is fascinating).

For Castiel, happiness is something he can’t allow himself to have, so a HUGE question that the season has now given us is just what WOULD it take for Castiel to allow himself happiness?

This question goes hand in hand with the opening question of the season “What do you want?” What does Castiel want? Well, it does seem like there is at least one creature out there who knows the answer to that:

The happiness theme continued in 14x10, by presenting us with a Dean, trapped inside his own head, distracted by a vision of contentment by Michael in order to prevent him from fighting against possession. Dean reiterates over and over that Rocky’s Bar is all he’s ever wanted. That it’s his dream. But the truth is that this is an unhappy, lonely life. As an audience we are meant to contemplate just how miserable this empty bar in a storm must be, especially when it is made very clear that Dean has no one to share it with.

The conversation with Pamela touches on the theme of want again when she asks the following:

“How come you only want what you can’t have? Besides you don’t want me, you just like to flirt. I’m psychic so I kinda know.”

It’s in the negative space, but it’s still pretty clear. If Dean doesn’t want Pamela, what does he want instead?

This dream bar of his doesn’t even come close to Dean’s true happiness. If it did, then that question “What do you want?” would have been answered.

(Though on a deeper level it might be worth taking a listen to that song that kept playing on repeat)

Instead, we get closer to knowing Dean’s true feelings in 14x13, though also indirectly. Dean makes a wish on the pearl which was supposed to free him from Micheal, instead it brought back John Winchester and started changing the world around them.

Dean desired to see his father again, but upon realising what it meant he would give up (Cas and Jack and his current family) he knew he had to reverse the spell. Dean reiterates his true feelings twice in the episode:

(x)

This makes it clear that at least the path to happiness lies in the present, and the potential future Dean can have with his current family. His happiness doesn’t lie in his past, nor in some hypothetical “apple pie life” his father dreamed up for him.

The theme of want and happiness for Dean is an interesting one, because his actual wants and desires are never addressed directly. Like with how Amara thought Mary was what he needed when what he really needed was to remove the weight he has carried since her death - that he was forced to grow up too quickly.

Like with Mary’s resurrection, what Dean desired from the pearl wasn’t John Winchesters return, but a chance to put to rest the shadow of his past, as he so aptly discussed earlier in 14x05 with Sasha (in another episode written by Meredith Glynn so you know it is meant to connect):

“Let it go. The past is... There's nothing you can do about it now, so it's just baggage. Let it go. You'll feel a lot lighter.”

Dean’s desire was to let go of his own baggage, and by confronting John Winchester in 14x13 he was finally able to do that, as well as put his fathers ghost to rest.

Whether or not the show will now continue to explore Dean’s true pursuit of happiness remains to be seen, but it does appear to be moving in that direction.

14x15 once again explores this theme of the impression of happiness vs actual happiness. This time though its all for Sam.

Sam comes to the pleasantville-esq town of Charming Acres and is practically immediately taken in by the picturesque apple pie life presented to him. He is manipulated by the Mayor of Charming Acres into forgetting who he is and instead plays a role of a happy husband to an idealistic 1950s style wife. He was forced into a fake happiness. In fact, fake happiness was exactly what this episode was all about:

MAYOR CHIP: The world kept getting worse, and they called it modernisation and no matter what I did, people would turn to drink or drugs, they’d move away. They just weren’t happy.

...

MAYOR CHIP: I remade this town. I gave everybody new names, new lives. I made everybody happy.

Chip inflicted his own very limited view of happiness onto everyone around him, including Sam, who clings on to the fake happiness just as Dean initially clung onto to his “dream” bar:

But Cas was able to snap Sam out of it by invoking his family, the people who love him and need him. Just as Cas pleaded with Dean and made those all important cracks in the fantasy in 14x10 before Sam finally pulled out the trigger word. Just like how in 14x13 the Winchester family reunion was nice for an evening, but it wasn’t truly real. Because Cas wasn’t there, Jack wasn’t there. Dean didn’t have his TRUE family with him, and because of that John had to go.

In 14x15 Dean asks Sam about his happiness:

DEAN: Really happy huh?

SAM: I mean I guess I was happy, but, it wasn’t real. You know.

DEAN: Well, not a lot of happy going on around here.

SAM: I hate this place right now. I hate it. Everywhere I look I see them. I see Maggie. I guess its why I am so desperate to get out of here. why i kept running as ragged. But I gotta stop that, i can’t keep running. This is my home. This is our home. Dean I just think I need some time.

Sam clung to that fake happiness because he couldn’t see any real happiness in his real life, but he admits at the end that the bunker, and the people in it, are his home and he just needs time. Which is far healthier than running.

The message presented in this particular theme appears to be that Sam and Dean are on a similar pursuit of happiness, where they have both now had a taste of a fake empty happiness that didn’t actually give them what either of them truly want. Neither of their “fake happy” experiences answered that all important first question.

Just what do they want?

Castiel however, instead of being on a pursuit of happiness, is running in the opposite direction. Continuously denying himself any semblance of pleasure that could lead to his untimely demise.

What does Castiel want? I think even Cas himself is afraid of the answer to that question.

Instead of answering these questions, the show continues to show us what the characters do not want. Which is why its important to pay attention. Sam appeared happy leading the AU!Hunters, and he is clearly devastated to have lost them, so perhaps Sam is the easiest to answer for. He already began the season in a pretty good place. After all, Mary textually states that leading is something Sam was born to do. (Is anyone else getting boy!king Sam flashbacks?) We know that Sam certainly doesn’t want that apple pie life because that was exactly what his fake happy place was. Sam seemed completely happy in the bunker playing Chief before everything went wrong. Sam’s issue going forward may be his struggle to rebuild that level of confidence among hunting parties beyond the AU!hunters that Sam came to view as his people. But this is just speculation.

The one thing that is extremely obvious when it comes to Dean’s happiness, is that his family is around him. Dean needs his family close by. His lonely bar in the middle of a storm with his family far away is certainly not his real dream life. After 14x13 ended so symbolically with Castiel returning home to an emotional Winchester family, it is clear that Castiel’s presence is a huge factor in Dean’s happiness. But then we only need to watch the first 6 episodes of season 13 to see just how true that is.

In my episode review for 14x10 I wrote this about Dean’s wants:

“ Why doesn’t Dean want the beautiful Pamela? Why has he conjured her up as unavailable in the first place? What is it he wants instead? These are all questions now being posed to the audience and kept unanswered. Though perhaps a good place to start searching for an answer is in the song that plays on repeat over the entire dream sequence. “Searching for a Rainbow” by the Marshall Tucker Band is a song specifically about a weary traveller who keeps moving in the hopes of finding a mystery lover at the end of the rainbow. Not exactly subtle, though surprising seeing as Supernatural continues to pump out the company line that romance isn’t welcome here. I guess that doesn’t stop Dean from subconsciously dreaming about finding love – though not with a beautiful woman apparently. No he just likes to flirt with them.”

Dean’s endgame arc has been subtly hinted at throughout the show since Carver era began. It involves romantic love. Perhaps it hasn’t been textually stated yet, but the subtext is still very much pushing it this direction. I expect that eventually when posed with the question “what do you want?” Dean may simply answer the same way that Jamil did in 14x01: “peace and love.” But Dean certainly won’t be lying.

This is why Castiel’s deal is also so significant. The only thing we know for certain about Castiel is that he has consistently shown that his dedication to the Winchesters and Jack come first no matter the cost. Like Dean, he is extremely loyal to his family and their well being. But is it enough? The evidence so far suggests not. Castiel just being with his family is not a big enough trigger for the entity to come and take him away, so whatever true happiness Castiel is denying himself, it is something greater than family. The Entity does appear to know the answer though. As in the gif example right at the start of this meta. The Entity brought up “love” showing that it was an important factor for Castiel. Could it be that love is what triggers the deal?

Are both Dean and Castiel really in pursuit of love?

My money is on yes. Obviously.

Though since these are endgame themes, they are unlikely to come to any conclusion within the next 5 episodes. I suspect that the exploration of want and happiness may come into play specifically in Jack’s upcoming arc, and his terrible choices which appear to reflect those of the Rit Zien class of angels. But as far as getting any of Dean, Sam or Cas to answer that all important question?

Well I’m pretty sure that’ll stay in the subtext for now. Though I would love to be wrong about that.

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impracticaldemon · 5 years

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Part II [Original Six--Archetypes?]

Part I here

Still hoping to make it shorter this time! [A/N: It didn’t work. Again.] Many thanks for the encouraging and interesting comments and notes. Again, thank you Anon for the question!

Saitou Hajime: basic archetype is kuudere; some say tsun, but Saito lacks the edginess (or snarkiness) of the tsundere--his criticisms (when he deems them worth voicing) are honest/blunt, rarely teasing/mean; he’s cool and quiet, but the words he does speak, and his actions, betray his snowbunny-appreciating nature; he generally aims for non-engagement, not rejection.

[Note for purists: the kuudere is normally very cynical as part of their cold façade; Saito isn’t portrayed as particularly cynical (about life, or romantic partners*), especially in comparison to Nagakura, Okita, and Hijikata. Saito’s coldness is of the reserved-but-practical kind, and his weakness is that he avoids emotion and then fails to fully understand it. He’s observant, but may not fully grasp what he’s seeing (compare to Okita, who is both observant and likely to draw cynical--and mostly accurate--conclusions).]

* We don’t know that he thinks about romantic partners at all; we can infer from his actions that he finds Chizuru interesting, and worthy of some admiration; in later musings (see his letter) he indicates as much. There are no signs of cynicism.

[Read more below; plus, Heisuke]

What expands on the kuudere archetype? Saito is given more prominence as an “action character” in Hakuouki than most kuudere types. The kuudere is often a bookworm (and elitist), a scientist, or some (other) form of intellectual. Saito is none of those; instead, he’s a top swordsman, and--most unusually--a killer. This makes a difference to the feel of the character, because his coolness can be tinged with menace, and even when looking past his extreme reserve, his gentleness retains a layer of tension that speaks of a mind trained to an art of war, not peace. He admires skill and courage, but ultimately believes that the true measure of a warrior is his ability to kill his opponent. And yet... he has no desire to kill except as required. He seems prosaic about the whole thing: the function of a warrior--of a sword--is to kill; however, there is a time and a place for it. Ultimately, the story is rich enough to encompass all of these things, which makes the kuudere label too general.

Hakuouki promotes Saito as one of its most impressive swordsmen, and puts him on an equal footing with more dramatic characters (e.g., Okita, Hijikata). While kuudere characters are often too static, and end up stuck forever in the “icy-calm-and-cynical-voice-of-reason” role, Hakuouki allows Saito to be both a foil (e.g., for Okita’s aggressive brilliance, or Hijikata’s intense-and-angry strength), and stand out as a badass in his own right. Saito isn’t just “cold”, he’s legitimately scary; he has killed and will kill; and he doesn’t make a show of moral qualms. Most kuudere types aren’t designed to be capable of that level of violence/intimidation; alternately, they are designed to spend a lot of time (in private!) agonizing over the past.

Saito eventually becomes more and more anxious about his place--and worth--in a world that favours numbers and armament over personal loyalty and skill, but he shows little inclination to worry about past actions, or the lives he has taken. This is part of his “cold” outward self, but unlike the true kuudere trope, it’s not exactly a façade, nor is it directed at Chizuru. It takes Chizuru a while to realize that while Saito appears coldly unemotional about violence and death, his actions toward her are consistently caring--he treats her with a fair bit of consideration, but you have to focus on what he does, as opposed to the impression he leaves. In some ways, he’s not cold enough to be a true kuudere. Saito’s version of the kuudere may be more about the era and the culture than anything.

[A number of people find Saito’s route a bit boring, because he doesn’t change/ mature/ evolve as vividly as others. I’ve come to understand this perspective better, and I think it goes to show that we all enjoy different things in our 2D fiction. Personally, I enjoy the lack of outward drama, which lets me watch Chizuru whittle away at Saito’s lack of love for himself, his over-seriousness, and his perfectionism. She forces him into different ways of thinking, and into slowly acknowledging emotion, by dint of what she does and how she behaves. It’s my kind of feel-good relationship building. I still wish they could have kissed sooner, but that’s most of Hakuouki for you (deep sigh).]

Heisuke:

Heisuke is the classic deredere: he’s sunny, he’s loving, and he doesn’t hide how he feels (or maybe he tries to, but fails). He’s overtly (notice the “t”) friendly to Chizuru almost from the beginning. I’ve already written about how Heisuke is more complicated than it appears here. In the same vein, Heisuke is not a simple deredere--which is good, because the trope can get wildly over-simplified, to the point where it’s hard to take either character in the potential relationship seriously.

[below, just me choosing some unusual HeiChi CGs]

There’s a lot of real grief in Hakuouki, and Heisuke has a lot going on in his head right from the beginning--this means that the full, adoring nature of the deredere is muted. He doesn’t dare be too obvious about how he feels--for one thing, he’s trying to emulate a cynical warrior; for another, he’s not supposed to give away Chizuru’s cover as a page/boy; for a third, too many people around him will make fun of him Also, Heisuke is serious about being good at what he does. It’s questionable whether he’s cut out by nature to be a member of the Shinsengumi, as demonstrated in Hakuouki Reimeiroku, but he’s trying his hardest to do what’s right, and he’s undeniably gifted as a fighter. The mess with the rasetsu is truly disturbing to him, but unfortunately, he lacks the experience to see that Itou’s faction has its own agenda that may not be much better.

Ultimately, Hakuouki expands on the archetype of the deredere by allowing Heisuke to be a tragic figure. He suffers a lot, both from inner uncertainty and physical trauma, and Chizuru’s constancy becomes very important. As the story goes on, Heisuke’s feelings for Chizuru become more grounded in who she is, as opposed to what Heisuke expects from a sweet girl of about his own age (and there’s lots of overlap, so it’s mostly a comfortable transition). His original feelings are shown to be real, even if they’ve deepened from (arguably) a crush to something more permanent. Overall, the story allows for a lot more human behaviour from Heisuke--with big highs and tough lows--than one gets from the often over-the-top deredere trope.

As always, I hope this is interesting, and these are just my thoughts!

~ Imp

#hakuouki #saitou hajime #toudou heisuke #character tropes #little demon chats #asked and answered #anon asks

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50shadesofmittens · 5 years

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As a self-indulgent extension of my very, very long ramble on Kitten’s True Name...

I wanted to put a little bit of context for what this means in the context of my fanfic, Three Times They Don’t, where I assume my theory about Kitten’s true identity to be true (please read that first). So far this only includes what’s been published, ‘cause everything unpublished is up in the air until it’s published.

That said, in the fanfic, you can assume Kitten has read Prospero Burns at some point. That won't be relevant until the first chapter and has very little to do with what I’ve written so far.

What I’ve written so far incorporates the theory in a few ways. For one, the prologue takes place the night after the Triumph of Ullanor- something Magnus lampshades. When he mentions having met Kitten before, he’s talking about the scene that got a comic here, although in the fanfic I personally don’t interpret that scene as flirting on Magnus’ part.

Haedo’s name was taken from the book A Thousand Sons as well, and his one personality trait was given based on his brief appearance in that book and in the Blood Games short story. Namely, the fact that the man was willing to throw down with Dorn.

I made the decision to use a balcony for their meeting spot for three to five reasons- One, we know from official artwork that the Citadel built for the Triumph had balconies big enough to put a Primarch on them, and that those balconies had overhangs. Two, the entrance to a balcony can, and in this case I’m going to say is placed inside of another room, giving me an excuse for Magnus to be alone. The balcony leads to a room in the citadel, and Magnus’ honor guard are waiting just outside of that room’s entrance. Three, as explained in the fic a balcony is a good spot for hyper-paranoid guards to keep a lookout while staying hidden (as any talented assassins or threats would search for and avoid any obvious lookout posts, you need to have hidden lookouts scattered throughout the citadel to be effective.)

Fourth, it’s a dumb romance cliche for lovers to have a balcony scene, and fuck it, I love playing with dumb romance cliches, just for the hell of it. As the 1/2 of a ‘time they didn’t,’ it’s doubly fun since A) I like the irony of these two having their personal relationship begin platonically with a balcony scene, and B) any AU where they do initiate a relationship beginning from divergence during this scene gets a little bit of cheesy romantic fun added to it. Fifth and finally, I can set up jokes for later by having Amon be totally chill about swinging on and off huge-ass structures like this with relative ease. ‘Cause those overhangs are not designed for the kind of movement I describe in my fic, and I like the idea that it took a lot of skill and agility to perch on the overhang the way I have the Custodians do, and a lot more skill for Amon to climb down to the balcony as quickly and as fluidly as my writing implies. Especially in armor. Amon’s narrative is very simplistic about the activity because he himself is completely nonchalant about his gymnastics, which lets me set up future jokes about Amon being completely unimpressed by his own strength and not understanding why people are amazed when he does things which are mundane to him. Also, if I don’t have to spend three paragraphs describing how the architecture makes this kind of maneuvering difficult and how Amon pulls it off anyways, I don’t run the risk of boring my readers to tears with too much detail.

The final thing to note is that with this scene added to the cannon context of Amon believing that Magnus mind-controlled and possessed him, he comes to have even more personal issues with Magnus once the entire thing with Amon-daemon goes down. For one, Kitten-Amon comes to the conclusion that Magnus was definitely trying to recruit him for some nefarious plot during the balcony thing. That he was foolish for talking to him at all, and that it was dumb to ever think for even a moment there was anything but politics and power grabs behind their interactions. That he failed to stay true to his loyalty and his purpose as a Custodian, and that in talking to Magnus he did betray the Emperor, and practically invited his own possession (which is 100% bs btw, but characters can't always have healthy or accurate self-reflection). All of which pales in comparison to the kind of things that would occur during the ten-thousand years of imperial silence, but I fully plan to bring this entire scenario up later (much later) in Three Times They Don’t.

Now for stuff that I intended, but didn’t get written down and thus can be used or ignored at the reader’s will:

Something I didn’t have time or space to include was direct context for Magnus being out on the roof. I had this whole idea where Magnus and Mortarion came to heads during the festivities, and though they didn’t start anything in semi-public (ie their father’s presence), Magnus at least left the scene feeling frustrated and annoyed. Rather than going back to his pyramid, which would’ve been made public, he tried to find somewhere private to brood- hence the balcony. He actually did notice the Custodians, but he was feeling so self-absorbed in his internal pity party he forgot they were there until they moved to make a report.

As for why he initiated a conversation with Kitten, well, Heresy-era Magnus is often characterized as trying to be humble and open-minded by practicing the theory of those traits without comprehending the greater picture of the concepts. He understands- or thinks he understands- on an intellectual level how a truly wise man would feel about the situation he’s in, but when his emotions flare up they reveal that he’s unable to practice what he preaches.

So after spending some time brooding about Mortarion, he’s exactly the kind of person who’d realize only after an interruption that he’s being unfair and exaggerating Mortarion’s bad traits. The kind of person who’d know he should stop thinking about how much his brother sucks, but who lacks the emotional control to stop, and with enough self-awareness to know that he should find something to do to get his mind away from his brooding. And the kind of person too proud to go back to the festivities while he’s still licking his wounds, and also too proud to acknowledge that he’s ignoring that possibility.

So to Magnus, the best thing to do is find something that can distract him from his thoughts, without requiring him to return to where his sons are undoubtedly hovering just a few hallways away, anxiously waiting for him to return. He might’ve brought a book with him, but look- people completely unrelated to the issues on his mind. People he can start up a conversation with, and possibly use to distract himself. And hey, he’s already got a conversation-starter with one of them that might not be awkward as fuck to use.

There’s one “third part” to my trilogy of posts, which is coming soon- a list of pre-heresy romance AU’s that are not going to be used for Three Times They Don’t, and the various ways this scene can be modified and played out to match the AU.

#three times they don't #my fanfic #Slightly off the Rails #tts

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lethesomething · 6 years

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The definitely not definitive otome guide

I sincerely doubt the world needs this, but that sort of thing has never stopped me before. Have an extremely biased guide of several dating sim games, organised by some arbitrary metrics.

Word of warning: this will be long (4k words), because I've played an embarrassingly large amount of otomes.

As a disclaimer: obviously this is a personal opinion. If you (as a lot of people do) enjoy the more forceful bad boy type in your dating sim, I’m not going to judge you. I, however, don’t, so this list is very specifically going to call out games for how they treat the protag.

Featured here: Amnesia: Memories, Blood in Roses, Cutie Demon Crashers, Destined to Love, Dream Daddy, Hatoful Boyfriend, Hustle Cat, Ikemen Revolution, Ikemen Sengoku, Lost Alice, Midnight Cinderella, Monster Prom, Mystic Messenger

A note on play styles.

These games come in a few flavours, which is important to know if you're gonna try them.

The vast majority of the mobile games here follow a basic visual novel structure. You pick a guy and read through the different chapters, and depending on your answers you'll be leaning toward one of two or three endngs. Since these are free to play mobiles, there's a bunch of challenges you will need to log in daily to pass.

Mystic Messenger is the main outlier, since it's a chat simulator that plays in real time.

The pc games tend to be more complex, with interlocking routes and more endings, generally. You'll need a number of skill points to meet character A for instance, or you'll need to do a series of actions to reach ending B.

Great games

Ikemen Sengoku

Hands down one of the best mobile otomes out there right now. I found this when searching for pics of Masamune Date (from a different game) and I've sort of been obsessed with otomes since.

Platform: Android (free to play, pay for premiums) Story: MC gets sucked into a wormhole and finds herself 500 years back in time, in Sengoku era Japan. She drops in on the exact moment where Nobunaga Oda, the Demon King, would be assassinated at Honno-ji. She stops the murder, disrupts the timeline and now there's a bunch of hot warlords vying for her attention. Protagonist’s spine: Reinforced steel. This is one of my favourite protags, because she is Super Sassy and doesn't take shit, unless she's literally being threatened with a sword. The protags where I feel like I understand their actions are few and far between, but this is one of them. Except when she goes far beyond mere bravery to get her man, and decides to forgo tampons and, like, wifi, to live 500 years in the god damn past. Squick factor: Low. This game is made by Cybird, a company that appears very big on consent. The guys generally treat MC with respect, probably more than could be reasonably asked of a Sengoku warlord. The only worrying stuff happens in the Obvious Yandere route, but you kinda know what you're getting yourself into with that one.

The Good: I friggin love the writing for this game. The guys feel like real characters, there's a ton of interaction between them and I need to give this game extra points for the story events, which are almost invariably gold. This is where the makers stop giving a shit about realism and just go for what they want to write. There's ones where all the guys are suddenly idols, there's a Christmas episode, there's one where they battle through cooking and cleaning. It doesn't take itself serious, is what i mean, and it's Hilarious. The Bad: This is one where the in-game art (aside from the CG's) is actually not that great. Hideyoshi's smile is kinda weird looking and the models feel a little outdated at this point. Best Warlord: This is very difficult, because a lot of them are dreamy, but let's just say that I need a Mitsuhide route so very badly.

Ikemen Revolution

The newest Cybird game and my current fave.

Story: MC falls down the rabbit hole when she tries to give a rushed White Rabbit man something he dropped. She ends up in Cradle/Wonderland, where war is about to break out between the Red and Black army, the Hearts and the Spades. Everyone is hot dudes and MC is considered Alice the Second (after the one from Through the Looking Glass). Squick factor: Low. Again: Cybird game. This means there is steamy situations and sex scenes, but they're blatantly consensual. The routes I've played so far keep well within the bounds of what I would consider romantic. Protagonist’s spine: Varnished wood. In general MC is self-propelling with occasional bouts of bravery. You can tell why she's doing the things she's doing and how she reacts to situations feels sort of logical. She's hard-working and caring and a little naïve, but the fact that she's canonically a woman from early 19th Century London does put a lot of her actions in perspective (like the amount of bullshit she puts up with).

The Good: The writing is fun. There's a good mix of angst and just… general comedy. The characters interact with each other a lot, and it feels like they're a big loud family, especially in the Black Army, which is more like a frat than anything else. The art is also decent. The backgrounds are utterly gorgeous and most of the guys are very good looking. When I first started the game I was weirded out by the blinking animation, but I have since gotten used to that. The Bad: I found some of the plot rushed. Like you spend so long slow burn growing toward each other, and then suddenly stuff has to happen action movie style because we're running out of chapters. The final chapters of Fenrir's route were just plain dumb. Like could that BE more of an obvious trap. Come on MC, I expected better of you. Also, since this is a very new game, not that many routes are out (four at the time of writing). Best boy: Hooo man. Of the routes that are out, Ray is very… oooof. But my fave chars are probably 'so done' Sirius (the fact that he's voiced by Suwabe has nothing to do with this, surely) and 'also quite done' Kyle, who is both a doctor and an alcoholic wreck of a human being.

Mystic Messenger

You know Mystic Messenger, it's like one of the biggest otome's of the past few years.

Platform: Android, iOS (free to play, pay for extra saves and stuff) The Story: MC follows a text message to a weirdly high tech apartment and this somehow puts her in the position of party planner for a secretive group of weird people. It only gets more complicated from there. The game plays out in real time, via chat conversations and the occasional story segment. Squick factor: Um. I personally wasn't weirded out, but I also decided very specifically not to play Jumin's route. This girl did her research. The routes in Another Story are also very over the top and would probably bug me. While I love the Saeran character, I don't think I'd be able to handle that route. So: highly dependent on chosen route. Protagonist’s spine: Adderall. It takes a specific kind of person to download a chat app and follow the instructions given by a random stranger therein. It takes a much stranger person to sit in an apartment with a bomb and just keep inviting people to a party. MC is on a different level from us mortals.

The Good: I loved the game mechanic, because it felt very real. The player is following a chatroom, just like the character is. Besides that, the story is completely bonkers and I appreciate that. The Bad: Did I mention it plays in real time? Because it plays in real time, meaning you get chat conversations at two in the morning. I was very sleep deprived when I played this. Best boy: 707. Dude is funny and deep and hot and relatable and smart and I want to give him all the hugs.

Dream Daddy

One of the few decidedly mlm games I've played so far. You've probably heard of it since it was the subject of much hype and much controversy. Markiplier played it. Friggin Buzzfeed has video's on it.

Platform: PC and Mac (it's on Steam) The Story: MC is a Dad who moves into a neighbourhood with a lot of other single(-ish) dads. Time to work it. Squick factor: Low. This is primarily a humour game: there's a ton of dad jokes and silly mini games, and a distinct lack of kabe don's. The canon routes are all very thoughtful. Protagonist’s spine: Barbecued sausage. Player Dad just goes for it. He’s flexible and caring enough to handle the more sensitive subjects, and self aware enough to deal with random crime and weird drunks.

The Good: I remember opening this game and, in the character creation screen, telling a trans friend of mine 'omg you can wear binders', and the sheer Glee of his reaction. That's the kinda stuff this game was, partly, made for and it is appreciated. I really liked the tongue-in-cheek writing, most of the jokes landed and the whole thing is just a lot of fun. The Bad: Some of the minigames are annoying. Why the hell are you making me play Bejeweled with fish? I also had a hard time sympathizing with some of the kids. I mean… Lucien straight up tries to murder someone? Ernest is 'rebellious' but he's also an ass. Best dad: Damien has the best route, but have you Seen Mat? Holy moly.

Not worth it games

Amnesia: Memories

This game should come with a friggin warning, so I'm giving it here. Its popularity and star rating is a terrible indicator for how much you may enjoy this game. It presents itself as a cute dating sim with gorgeous art, but it devolves into straight up horror, and not in the good way. This feels like a guidebook written in the 1800's to tell young women their place. Not even mortified intrigue could make me finish this.

Platform: PC (Steam or Google Play) and PlayStation Vita Story: MC wakes up with amnesia. Someone hurt her and she doesn't know who to trust. You'll need to figure out what happened. Squick factor: Super high. Like… so high. Everyone treats MC like shit and she just lets it happen, even developing all kinds of Stockholm Syndrome as she falls in love with these asshats. MC's childhood friend supposedly loves her but is such a tsun and just… doesn't communicate while also treating her like a small child. One of the other characters is so popular he has a fucking harem but MC is just supposed to wait for him to actually fall in love with her. And don't even get me started on that friggin yandere. *shudders* Even the secret route 'true love' character is a million types of wrong. Protagonist’s spine: Undercooked custard. MC has the self preservation skills of a wet sponge and whoever is playing this is supposed to get turned on by high concept ideas of S&M that are just written out so badly everything feels like an abusive relationship.

The Good: *sigh* The art. The art is very pretty (I'm upset at the art since it sucked me into the horror). Also, as a visual novel, this one is complex as all hell. There's a ton of endings (most of them deadly) depending your actions as a player. It's vast, is what I'm saying. Also, I hear the clover route isn't as bad as some of the others, but I was too weirded out to try. The Bad: See rant. This is one of those games that really seems to glorify the whole possessive, abusive boyfriend shtick, but it's ok because he loves you, really. Ugh. Just… ugh. Best boy: Kent? I guess? He doesn't appear to be actively abusing MC at least.

Shall we date: Lost Alice

I wondered if I should include this because I literally played like ten chapters and then deleted it, but that in itself should give some indication.

Platform: Android (free to play, in-app premium purchases) Story: MC wakes up in the forest with amnesia (I see a trend). Turns out she's in Wonderland and everyone thinks she's Alice. Most of Wonderland's characters are, predictably, hot men. Squick factor: Unavailable. I didn't play far enough to see but some of the men are quite pushy and also it's a Shall we date app, so… tread carefully. Protagonist’s spine: Cement. This is an MC that puts up a fight, which I respect. Sadly she does so in that 'needlessly aggressive' way that anime characters sometimes have. I didn't find her particularly sympathetic.

The Good: The art. It's always the art that gets me. The Bad: The UI annoyed the shit out of me. This is a free to play, pay for premiums game, so some level of mindless clicking is expected if you try to play for free. This one had just too much. There was friend greeting and picture rating and princess lessons and got knows what else, all taking a ton of time. Trying to get to the home page popped up at least four different 'now on sale' screens every single time. The writing wasn't good enough for me to deal with that. Best boy: Well there’s a cat. So.

Decent games

Hustle cat

This game is set in a cat café, that was all the encouragement I needed to buy it.

Platform: PC (Steam) Story: MC is invited to take a job at a cat café. Turns out everyone in the café is cursed, and also they're into you. Squick factor: Almost non-existant. This is a very tumblr friendly game in the sense that your love interests are both male and female, and none of them are particularly pushy. The relationships feel pretty natural and mostly consist of MC helping their love interest with some subquest. Protagonist’s spine: Cucumber. MC is actually pretty cool. The game does that 'modern western game' thing where you get to pick a gender and a skin colour for your protag and the general atmosphere is 'tongue in cheek'. MC doesn't let people walk over them, but they're generally helpful.

The Good: CATS. The premise of this game is pretty neat. The Bad: According to Steam I played this five months ago, and I pretty much forgot about it. Fun game but not particularly memorable. Best cat: Landry. Tall, gentle giants are a particular weakness.

Shall we date: Blood in Roses

This is me giving Shall we Date another shot, because the amount of hot mildly medieval boys was intriguing.

Platform: Android (free to play, in-app premiums) Story: There's two, because this app has been around for a while and now has two 'seasons'. The Witch stumbles upon a supposedly abandoned castle and gets imprisoned there by a bunch of vampires. The Hunter, meanwhile, seeks out the castle because she wants to stop an attack on her village. Both come to realize that the castle is now a hotel for monsters, and that its denizens are both not what they imagined, and also hot. Squick factor: Highly dependent on route. The Witch literally starts in a jail cell, so you can imagine the Stockholm Syndrome shit that goes down. Also, this is a personal preference, but I'm really weirded out by a lot of blood play stuff so most of the vampire routes are gonna be… problematic. Shall we Date games don't shy away from sex scenes and I like that, but coupling them with drinking blood 'to get in the mood' is a rather specific niche. The game does offer a number of other options for you to court, from werewolves to wizards and… grim reapers? It's a mixed batch. If you're not into pushed boundaries I can offer one tip: stay away from the vampires. Protagonist’s spine: Sand cookie. She has one, but it's brittle. I've mostly played Hunter routes and it's like… she tries, and she can take care of herself but she also tolerates more bullshit than necessary, ya know.

The Good: The art is good, and some of the storylines are intriguing despite my reservations. I'm still playing it (mostly in a quest to find a good ending where MC doesn't die to become a weird immortal creature). The UI, while annoying, isn't as bad as Lost Alice's, or so it seems. The Bad: The writing is very hit or miss. There's routes where the guy just sort of lowkey stalks MC, until she suddenly decides she's incredibly in love with him. There's others that make even less sense, and then there's ones that feel more natural. In general, MC's actions don't seem to have a lot of thought put into them. Best boy: So far: Gordon. He's cute and sensible and tortured and not incredibly antagonistic.

Midnight Cinderella

You'll notice a friggin ton of Cybird games on here.

Platform: Android (free to play, premium purchases) Story: MC gets, mostly by accident, chosen to be the Princess of Wysteria. As such she must prepare to govern the country when the king dies, and choose a consort from a number of suitors. Squick factor: Low. Not only are these men respectful of her, they're rather literally treating her like royalty. Having said that, there is a lot of the typical hurtful tsun stuff going in several routes. Protagonist’s spine: Lightly done steak. There's something weird going on with the protag in this game. When it comes to governing, she's tough as nails. She's thrown into a situation she wasn't ready for, and while this stresses her out 24/7, she performs admirably. On the other hand, her main reaction to literally anything when it comes to love is 'Oh'. She cries a lot, at times she feels like a wet rag. There's a bunch of situations she could have just solved by going 'Yeah I'm into you'. She's complex, I guess.

The Good: The writing, while melodramatic, is nice. The art is good as well. The Bad: This is an old game and it doesn't perform that well on my current-gen smartphone. Expect to push certain buttons several times before the game realizes what you're trying to do. Also the loading takes ages. Best boy: For me, Sid, because he reminds me of Aomine Daiki and I'm weak for that type of personality. As far as routes go, Leo's probably had the most impact on me.

Destined to Love

I'll be honest, I started this because of an event in Ikemen Sengoku that would give me cross game storage. Don't judge me.

The Story: MC gets flung back in time (this is also a trend, it seems) to the 1800's, a few weeks before the Ikedaya incident will make the Shinsen-gumi a historic Legend. She meets, and chrams, a whole bunch of historical figures. Protagonist’s spine: Cured leather. As a modern woman sent back in time, MC is probably fairly sassy by the standards of the time, but she remains mostly polite. She's tough, considering the circumstances, but quite pliable in that 'we'll see where this goes and make the best of it' way. Squick factor: Low. There's one character that just screams 'red flag' but I have yet to try his route. Since this is a Cybird game, most of the guys are pretty respectful.

The Good: I really like the premise? As the title suggests, MC's love is part of a higher destiny, one that transcends time, and it's one of the reasons she has to go to friggin 1800's Japan. She has a hand in making history. This amuses me. Also, the guys are pretty good looking. The Bad: This is a fairly old mobile game and you can kinda tell. On a technical level it's not as bad as Midnight Cinderella, but again the touch buttons aren't always responsive. Besides that, some of the writing is rather clunkily translated and a bunch of the art is low res. Best Boy: I haven't played all the routes here, but Katsura is a god damn sweetheart, and Kyo and Yamazaki seem adorable AF.

The weird: the special ones

Hatoful Boyfriend

The reason I know otome's exist. This one shot to meme status a few years back.

Platform: PC (it's on Steam) Story: MC is one of the last remaining humans after sentient birds took over the world. She gets enrolled into an elite school for pigeons. Squick factor: Medium to high. The major thing to understand about Hatoful is that on the surface it looks like a particularly silly dating sim with pigeons, but dig deeper and it is Also a full blown apocalyptic horror story. And it follows the genre where a wrong move gets MC horrifically killed. Having said that, several of the routes, including the god damn serial killer one, didn't bother me as much as something like Amnesia, because they were not sold as romantic. Maybe it's the whole pigeon thing, maybe it's the general weirdness of the plot, or maybe it is because said serial killer actually goes 'Surely you knew this would happen', before he guts you. Protagonist’s spine: Gummy bear. MC is highly forgettable, but therefore also like… not annoying. The main focus here is on uncovering the many layered plot and the player character doesn't really have a scripted personality, she just embodies the player's actions.

The Good: This whole game is so out there. There's a reason it became so popular. It's an Experience. The plot is over the top and intricate and Weird, and that makes it intriguing. There's a ton of routes and endings, some more secret than others. The 'human' version of some of these birds is kinda hot (sadly that includes the serial killer). The Bad: the plot is so weird and meandering that it's kinda hard to follow at times. I'm fairly certain it takes several guides to unlock all the endings. Best Birb: It's been a while, but I remember liking Yuuya's route quite a lot.

Monster Prom

The new hype.

Platform: PC (Steam!) Story: MC is a student at Monster High, and is trying to get a date for Monster Prom with one of the hot people. Squick factor: None. I mean, nothing that happens here is in accordance to health and safety norms, but that's kinda the point. It's a parody game, making fun of all the hoops teenagers are willing to jump through to become popular. Protagonist's spine: Coagulated blood. MC is willing to make deals with demons, wear corpses as a hat, anything really. The question is very openly: what could I do to make them like me.

The Good: It's a funny game. I like the characters, who embody everything from the Mean Girl to the Hipster Nerd and the Needlessly Aggressive Jock. The art is simple, cartoon style, but pretty neat. The Bad: Everything is very tongue in cheek, which leaves it a little… light for my tastes. I don't feel like any of the routes matter in the grand scheme of things, MC hasn't truly touched anyone's heart. The whole thing is a joke game, so it's funny, but a bit shallow. Best monster: Polly, the permanently stoned party girl.

Cute Demon Crashers

Technically a sex game? But a really very special one.

Platform: PC (free! Here!) Story: A portal opens in MC's house and four Incubi/Succubi drop through. To apologize for the inconvenience, while they wait for a portal back, they offer to teach MC about sex. Squick factor: I've written about this game before and the best thing, the very best thing about it is how incredibly consent-minded it is. Like, even if you're already in bed, getting it on, there's always an option to turn back and leave it at that. The demons are really just there to help MC find out what gives her pleasure. Protagonist’s spine: Rock. Obviously, MC is mildly upset about four random demons showing up. As mentioned before, what happens next is mostly up to the player.

The Good: It's free and the art is pretty and I love the premise. The Bad: Kinda short, but again: free. Cutest Demon Crasher: *cough* Orias *cough*

#otome game #mystic messenger #ikemen revolution #ikemen sengoku #amnesia memories #and a bunch more #shall we date #lethey writes #long post

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especially-heinous-ada · 6 years

Text

A Police Gala pt. 1

Hey, guys! This is the first fanfic I’ve ever written, and I am super excited to share it. It is a Barba x reader. I’m sure it could use some work, since I’m new to this, but darn it, I am proud. Please be gentle with my feelings. Lol. I plan on doing a part two, as well. Please enjoy!

picture cred: http://beloves.storenvy.com/products/17819987-gold-v-neck-sequin-backless-mermaid-prom-dress-formal-gown

Some soundtrack, if you’re interested in the vibe I was going for.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZJpGHR6ofus -- Luck Be a Lady

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i-ZUXQuFcnw -- New York, New York

The October air was crisp and refreshing as a gentle breeze billowed down the street. The sun had gone down for the night, but New York City was brightly lit by storefronts and streetlights. Everything glimmered and glistened off the damp ground. Wet, splashing footsteps reverberated through the street. Men and women young and old scurried about, trying to reach their destination at the city’s signature, ever-hurried pace. Nearly drowning in the noise of the hustle and bustle were the clacking steps of ADA Rafael Barba’s dress shoes.

He wove in and out of the crowd, attempting to avoid puddles. The last thing he needed was to get his expensive, three-piece suit sopping wet before reaching his destination. The rain had let up but he still carried his umbrella, just in case. He took a deep breath as he approached the entrance.

“Mr. Barba,” one officer nodded, motioning him to go inside. Rafael nodded in acknowledgement and entered the building. Once he was inside, he could hear music playing in the background, stifled by the chatter of many police officers, city officials and fellow prosecutors. After checking in his jacket and umbrella at the coat check, he scanned the room, looking for the bar. It had been a long day. In fact, it had been a long week, and now that it was finally Friday, he needed some Scotch, now. Especially if he was going to be forced to mingle. He finally spotted the bar and crossed the room like a man on a mission.

He sat down before calling for the attention of the bartender.

“Scotch, please.” He said, a female voice mirroring his. He looked to his left in surprise, and she to her right. Rafael gave a half smile and extended a hand.

“Rafael Barba, A.D.A., Manhattan,” he introduced himself.

“Y/N.” You replied, putting your hand in his. “Mucho gusto, abogado.” A gorgeous smile spread across your face and Rafael’s heart nearly skipped a beat.

“Dónde está tu acompaῆante?” He asked.

“No tengo nadie.” Was your simple reply.

“Really?” He exclaimed, his surprise making him slip back into English.

“Really.” You gave an amused smile in response.

“So what are you doing here? You don’t have a date and no offense, but you don’t exactly seem like the type to enjoy these political events.” He remarked with a glance up and down your slender figure.

Your intention for this night was to not go home alone. That being the case, you wore a glimmering gold dress that clung to your every curve just perfectly—your favorite man magnet. In Rafael’s eyes, it was as if the gods themselves had dipped your figure in liquid gold. He tore his eyes away and took a sip of Scotch to calm himself.

“I, uh…I’m a donor. When precincts need remodeling or new patrol cars and can’t afford it, they call me.” You responded, peering to the bottom of your glass and giving it a swirl before finishing it off. “Can I have another please?” You requested of the bartender. The bartender poured you another immediately, Rafael noticed. It was eye-rollingly obvious he was infatuated with you—not that Rafael could blame him. You took the drink in hand and adjusted your position on the bar stool.

As you crossed your legs, Rafael noticed your color-coordinating sky-high stilettos. You tossed your wavy tresses and he was entranced by the image—you reminded him of the sexy female lead in a Hollywood movie. Between your outfit, hair, and flawless makeup, you looked like candy-coated danger, and he suddenly felt himself craving something sweet.

“A donor, hm? I always assumed our generous donors were all old men with political agendas.” Rafael retorted with his signature dry wit and a matching sideways grin.

“Not all of us. Some are young-ish women who also have political agendas.” You responded with another amused smile.

“Young-ish?” Now it was Rafael’s turn to be amused. “You don’t look a day over 30.” You laughed.

“And yet, I am. I appreciate the flattery, but I’m already donating to the DA’s office; you don’t have to butter me up.” Rafael shook his head.

“I mean it.” He insisted, as a change of songs caused a momentary quieting of the room. Chatter continued for a few moments before the DJ began to play the next song.

“Ah, Sinatra.” As the sounds of the big band era spread throughout the room, you began to tap a beat on the bar counter, until you couldn’t hold it back anymore and had to sing. A few lines later, you looked over and found Rafael raising an eyebrow in surprise. You blushed, embarrassed. “Sorry, I’m a sucker for Ol’ Blue Eyes.”

“No apologies needed; you have a beautiful voice.” Rafael said. You chuckled in response.

“My grandfather taught me to appreciate the classics,” you said wistfully as a faraway gaze crossed your face. Did she just ignore my compliment? He wondered.

“Would you like to dance?” Rafael blurted out without thinking, extending a hand automatically. You couldn’t help but smile impishly.

“I most certainly would.” You replied, taking Rafael’s hand. He led you out to the dance floor, attempting to give off an impression of regality and confidence, though he wasn’t entirely sure he succeeded. How does one dance to Sinatra? Swing? He suddenly wished he dusted off his dancing skills more frequently than once or twice every couple years.

The two of you reached a location on the dance floor with a satisfactory amount of room and Rafael stopped in place. He took your hands in his and gave his best attempt at leading the dance as another Sinatra song started. Whoever this DJ was, they were certainly a fan of his. As the two of you moved, Rafael recognized the song and began to sing along.

“I wanna wake up. In a city that doesn’t sleep. And find I’m king of the hill, top of the heap—” Pleasantly surprised, you smiled and joined in.

“These little town blues are melting away. I’ll make a brand new start of it, in old New York.” Both of you smiled and laughed as you twirled around singing.

“If I can, make it there. I’ll make it—anywhere! It’s up to you, New York, New York.” As your singing became more enthusiastic, Rafael noticed some of the other guests watching, but he found himself not caring. Let them stare, he thought. After all, here he was, singing and dancing with easily the most beautiful woman at the whole gala. He hoped they were envious, he thought with a wicked smile and devilish little gleam in his eye.

You hadn’t had this much fun in a long time, you thought as you twirled around the dance floor, led by Rafael’s strong arms. He had a very pleasant singing voice—a fact which you hadn’t been expecting. You locked eyes with him as the song’s climax drew closer. They were a striking shade of green and they glittered in the light as he sang. His smile seemed lighthearted and carefree, unlike his serious and guarded expressions from when the two of you were seated at the bar. As Sinatra belted the final notes, he gave you one last twirl and dipped you low, with an arm behind your back for support.

One hand had instinctively gone to his bicep to brace yourself, and you were impressed with the surprisingly hard muscle beneath the expensive fabric of his suit. As you remained in the dip, you watched his gaze dart between your eyes and lips a few times, and you thought he might kiss you. It would have been easy, given the proximity of your faces. Your bodies were so close, you could smell his cologne—an intoxicating, and surely expensive, aroma. After what felt like forever-in-a-moment, Rafael straightened and pulled you up with him. You found herself rather disappointed that he hadn’t kissed you, as a new song began.

“That was fun. I’ve been an ADA so long, I almost forgot what fun was.” He joked, flashing a charming smile. You felt her heart pitter patter. “If it’s not any trouble, can I have another dance?” Out of habit, you checked your watch and realized you had someplace to be in the next ten minutes.

“Oh, sh-- Is that the time? I’ve got to split, actually.” A flash of disappointment crossed his face, though he tried to hide it.

“Ah. Well, thank you, anyway, for the dance.” He said with an understanding nod. He turned to walk away, and without thinking, you grabbed him by the forearm.

“Wait!” You said. Rafael turned to face you, his face confused. “Just a second.” You said, grabbing a piece of receipt paper and a pen from your clutch. You scribbled your first name and number on it and slipped it into the breast pocket of his suit, giving it a reassuring pat. “That’s my personal number. Feel free to call me the next time you need a dance partner. And absolutely no discussing work.” You smiled with a wink, allowing your hand to linger on his chest for a few extra moments. Rafael grinned and gave a single chuckle.

“You’ll be my first call.”

You couldn’t help but grin back at him. How was he so damn suave? You gave him a little wave before turning and walking away, making sure to put a bit of extra hip movement into your walk, in case he was watching as you left. And with the way you looked in this dress? He definitely was.

#rafael barba #fanfic #gold dress #sinatra #svu

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margridarnauds · 6 years

Note

2, 8, 9, 20, 30, 31, 32, 40, 51 (for the abominaton)

Thanks!

2. Favorite part of writing.

I love the feeling that comes with putting the thoughts that I’ve been visualizing in my mind on the page, I love getting to work with characters that I love dearly and putting them where normal circumstances wouldn’t, I love dealing with a wide cast of characters that help me learn more about myself.

8. Favorite trope to write.

In general, I like to write emotionally constipated characters dealing with their gay emotions for the first time. Also, I tend to work with straight-up fix-its or dealing with post-canon events (and, when I say “post canon” I mean “post my very, very specific version of canon).

9. Least favorite trope to write.

This is probably surprising, but I tend to not be fond of actually writing depressing endings. Like, even in the universes where I kill characters off, I like to at least give them some closure, even if it’s an afterlife AU. (Which…the Afterlife AU for Pour la Peine is going to be fun if I ever get around to it).

Also, I don’t like Modern AUs all that much, even though I have numerous ones for 1789. It’s probably mostly a matter of translating 18th century politics to the modern age. That and I hate writing anything set in the modern age on principle.

20. Post a snippet of a WIP you’re working on.

Tw: References to animal abuse, bullying, and Lazare being a 13 year old with slightly homicidal tendencies (BUT HE’S STILL VALID)

Lazare didn’t know how he got involved. One moment he was gritting his teeth in anger at them, his rage reaching a boiling point after one of the punches caused Ronan to cry out, the next one of the bullies was on the ground crying, Ronan was putting another one on the ground nearby him, and he had his hand wrapped around Denis’ throat, feeling his fingernails tighten around skin that had never been bruised before. All those military exercises his grandfather had made him run had their uses, he thought, as a strange thrill ran through him. Thibault Denis couldn’t do anything now, couldn’t hurt anyone; he was completely under his control. No matter how much he tried, flailed, choked, the little pretend tyrant was weak. So this was what authority meant. All that time when his grandfather had tried to explain it to him, and he’d never fully understood it.

“Lazare!” He was vaguely aware of Ronan shouting, and that was enough for him to release his grip. The boy fell to the ground, looking at him like he was Death incarnate, all widened eyes and quick breathing before he ran as fast as he could, his legs barely supporting him. The others followed suit, and it was just him, Ronan, and the cat. He flexed his hands, remembering the touch, looking at Ronan, wondering how he would look at him now that Lazare had hurt one of his own, but if he’d seen anything unusual, he hadn’t noticed, lavishing attention to the cat instead.

“Why would someone do something like that, huh? It’s just a cat, it wasn’t harming anybody.” Ronan held the wretched thing in his arms, petting it, with its torn ear and matted, faded fur and bony spine. “It probably just wanted to make friends.”

“The world can be cruel.” It had been the first thing he’d been told, when he was left on the steps of the Chateau de Peyrol and greeted by a stern, sharp man who introduced himself as his grandfather, and it had been something that he’d made sure he’d remember. The world had been cruel since time began, it would remain cruel. All that was important was ensuring that he himself did the best he could in the role he was given and to support the Crown in its efforts to keep order amidst the destructive forces that would bathe the world in fire otherwise.

Ronan shook his head. “It doesn’t have to be.” He held the cat a little closer, letting it burrow its face into his chest weakly, its pink tongue flicking over his fingers slowly. “It doesn’t have to be.”

30. Favorite line you’ve ever written.

There was a sadness in du Puget’s eyes, and Peyrol felt like he was a schoolboy again, missing some obvious point that he had just explained to him in vivid detail. Only instead of the immediate reprisals, he got this. A beating he could deal with, scorn he could deal with, pity he could not. “We are all human beings, Monsieur de Peyrol. We are all human beings with a child’s longing for the companionship and love of our fellow man. If you cannot do that basic amount for him, then you will never deserve his trust or his love, no matter how many livres you pour into it.”

31. Hardest character to write.

In general, any of the kid characters. I HATE writing children in general, and in the first part of the Abomination in particular SO MUCH rests on selling the kid versions of Ronan and Lazare and their relationship because literally the rest of this universe depends on them. I consider having to type “How do children make friends” and “What do children do with friends” to be on par with me trying to think about how long it’d take me to bang the man who (hypothetically) killed my father as far as Signature Abomination Moments.

For the non-historical characters of 1789, I’ve talked repeatedly how hard Solene is to write because of how little we get on her and how downright contradictory a lot of it is (see: her talking about how ambition and bloodlust have blinded Ronan…while she and the girls lynch a baker and march to Versailles. You go girl?) And you want to do a solid job with her, especially since her storyline touches on subjects that are STILL pretty damn sensitive, but you also don’t want to accidentally put her into any of the contemporary stereotypes of The Fallen Woman, The Victim, The Fury, etc, or any of our modern stereotypes when it comes to what a sex worker should look like and behave. That and trying to develop her relationship with Olympe is going to be slightly harder than usual, given that I still…need to figure out how they’re going to meet. With Pour la Peine, it was easier, since they had an easy way to meet up (Ronan’s funeral, RIP bro), but here, this is taking place in the canon era.

On a larger level, writing ANY of the historical figures that we have a decent amount of documentation for is hard, since these are people who are still highly controversial to this day and who can kind of….shift between different sources. Not necessarily the ones they wrote themselves, but, like, if you ask ten different people about Robespierre, you’ll get ten different responses. You’ll think you’ve caught onto him, and then he slips away. Likewise for Antoinette or Fersen or De Launay. Even Papa du Puget is rather hard for me to grasp, not the least because I know that the sources I need are locked behind an archive in France, untranslated and mostly obscure. (Funnily enough, the easiest for me to grasp is the Marquis de Sade, because the man’s just a dick. I will proudly proclaim the man’s a dick. He deserved to spend the rest of his life rotting away and I consider it an eternal tragedy that far better men than him in every way died during the course of the Frev while he managed, despite himself, to survive.) With some characters, like Danton and Desmoulins, I sense that my interpretation of them is going to be much different than the normal interpretation of them.

Basically, there’s a lot of pressure with them that isn’t necessarily there with the canon OCs, I don’t have as much freedom, and it can be damn hard to put them into a given situation to see how they’d react. (Incidentally, I’m going to put a tentative guess that they won’t react well to L/R. Just a guess. Though I’m sure Lazare can win them over with his A+ social skills, charm, and tact.)

32. Easiest character to write.

Laz and I get along very well at this point, even as I torture him.

40. Original Fiction or Fanfiction, and why?

Fanfiction, actually.

With original fiction, there’s a lot of pressure when it comes to constructing the world you’re working with and the characters and how they interact with it. And, believe me, it’s a lot of fun, but it’s also damned hard to visualize it. Like, I fucking specialize in Early Irish Lit, and yet my retelling of CMT is hard to write 90% of the time because I have a hard time working with this world and how it works (which…given that the rules themselves weren’t concrete in the original lit, I don’t feel all that bad, but still). To tell you the truth, even after looking at tons of pictures of longhouses and hillforts and costumes from the Book of Kells, I still can’t get a decent idea for this stuff. It’s even harder for the main WIP, where I have to do a lot more construction, working with inspirations from multiple time periods, and it’s a real mess because I’ve never entirely gotten those inspirations under control and the characters keep shifting out from under me.

With fanfic, on the other hand, you have characters, you have a setting, and you have a decent idea with how the world works. Now, you can always do what I do and completely throw canon out anyway, BUT you still have some basics. No matter what, I have some baseline for the characters and some baseline for how the world works and I can build my research off of that.

51. Describe the aesthetic of your story _______ in 5 sentences or words.

Doing this for the first part because it’d be literally impossible to do it otherwise.

A gloved hand on a black walking stick, a slightly bent, silver wolf’s head gleaming from the top.

A sea of golden wheat over flat land as far as the eye can see, a sharp blue sky hanging over it.

An old, faded book with a decrepit spine.

A blue parrot locked in a gilded cage.

Two boys against a tree on a slightly chilly summer night, looking at the stars, unaware of what they hold for them.

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