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a-god-in-ruins-rises · 9 months

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4 and 14 for the polytheist asks. I had another separate question too. I wanted to ask if you could expand on your beliefs about demons. You said you think demons can be harmful but not evil. How so? Do you believe in Satan and other Christian demons?

sorry for taking so long to get to this. it's another long one. lmao.

4. How do you picture the universe? What is your idea of its cosmology?

there are a few ways i can answer this. first, there is the physical cosmology. i basically believe whatever the scientific consensus is.

metaphysically, i see the universe as basically a dream or thought of some ultimate source/god. i believe the universe is monistic and eternal and cyclical but its original state is formless chaos/void/abyss. the universe as we know it (with all of its material and order and limits and differentiation and so on) began as a cosmic egg/womb which contained a universe of heat, fire, tension, energy, forces, powers, etc. think of it as the singularity before the big bang. then, spontaneously this egg/singularity "hatched." now it didn't create matter. matter always existed in the void. before this "hatching" the universe was uniform and indistinguishable. the hatching merely began the process of expansion, tension, differentiation of the substance of this primitive chaos and into something resembling an ordered universe. from one into a multitude. an "emanation" of the world from the ultimate source god. and from here emerges all of the gods and powers and laws that govern the unfolding development of our universe according to some higher logos. i believe the fundamental substance/principle of the universe is a sort of spiritual creative fire. the light, energy, living, breathing, dancing, tension of it. creative and destructive. life giving. as heraclitus said, the cosmos is an ever-living fire.

14. How would you define your Gods? (have fun with that one)

yeah so i always see pagans debating this. some say the gods are actually real, some say they're just personifications of natural forces, some say they're mere psychological archetypes, etc. well i believe the gods are all of the above and more. i think the gods are expansive and dynamic and mysterious and multitudinous. i believe the gods are real and symbolic, metaphysical and allegorical, physical and archeytpal, immanent and transcendent, etc. i think believing the gods can only be one thing is limiting and bordering on impiety. for example; i believe the gods are actually real metaphysical intelligences/powers that exist in the "immaterial", intelligible realms of reality. but i also acknowledge the material world is essentially a physical representation of the gods and their wills -- the physical sea is an extension/expression of poseidon/neptune himself. and i also recognize that our depictions of the gods are probably not representations of their true forms and so our popular conceptions of them can be considered idealized personifications of what are otherwise basically incomprehensible, intangible beings/forces. this also gets into how i feel about our relationship to the gods/divine because i don't think it's a one-way street. i think they affect us and we can affect them. ideas can affect the intelligible realm. which sorta leads us to the next point.

on demons: yeah so this is complicated. but i believe there are myriad gods and spirits. i believe there is a whole spectrum of them in terms of their "power." obviously you have your big guys like zeus and then you have lesser gods and then you have all sorts of intermediary spirits and then you have humans. but at all levels there is some divine spark, including in humans. humans are spiritual beings. we have divine essence in us (our souls). and so we can influence the spiritual world in subtle ways. and one of those ways is with our ideas and our beliefs.

i think there are countless gods and spirits. a lot of them (probably most of them) are unnamed. so i think it's possible for us to discover "new" gods/spirits. i also think that it's possible for us to /create/ new gods/spirits. history is filled with these new gods that are either syncretized or seem to suddenly emerge from the aether fully formed. this is complicated though. because it's also possible that people just shit up. we can't just take every person at their word when they claim to have met some new entity or something. it's also possible that an entity can lie and tell someone that they're someone they're not. so i think we need to develop certain standards and tests to sus that out.

anyway, i'm getting off track. my views on "satan" and christian demons are complicated and dynamic.

i will reiterate though: i don't think demons are evil. they can't be. but as you said, i believe that they can be harmful. why they're harmful can vary. one example is that you're intruding on their space. sometimes spirits can be attached to objects or locations for one reason or another. and if you come in and start desecrated the places, even unintentionally, it's not unreasonable for the spirit to lash out and defend itself. so someone who unknowingly desecrates a spirit's home might come to mistakenly view the vengeful spirit as "evil" when it's really just justifiably angry. or maybe you broke a vow. or disrespected the spirit another way. or maybe the spirit is itself bound by a vow (maybe someone placed a curse on you, for example, and they made a deal with a spirit to harass you). or maybe it just thinks it's funny! the possibilities are endless.

i just wanted to get that out of the way. even though a spirit might be harmful i don't believe that necessarily makes it evil.

now do i believe in satan/demons? in one sense, yes. in another, no. i don't believe there is some horned man named satan lording over the fiery pits of hell. however, i do believe that satan is a representation of all the pagans gods and the christians' fears and anxieties regarding them. i believe satan and christian demons in general can probably be understood as "corporate" demons in the sense that they are often amalgamations/syncretisms/collective representations of many daemons/spirits/gods with satan/the devil himself seeming to representing them all collectively. so these demons/devils are "real" in the sense that a corporation might be real as a representation of the collectively wills of all the people who are members of it.

so i think it's theoretically possible to "interact" with these demons in the way it's possible to interact with any corporate body. i've known some pagans who do. when i was a christopagan i did. but i think that it's unnecessary and probably counter-productive for pagans most of the time. because it just lends christian theology legitimacy. but also i can appreciate that it might be a stepping stone for christians who are slowly moving toward paganism (like younger me). i can also appreciate the power of the symbolism in the context of a christian society. sometimes christians will call me a satanist and i'll just go along with it.

overall, i think demons/devils and demonization in general is an impressive psyop. it's propaganda. take the gods of your enemies and convince your enemies that they're evil. they'll turn on their own gods and you won't have to lift a finger! it reminds me of my aunt who calls literally everyone who isn't a libertarian a communists; republicans, liberals, progressives, fascists, anarchists, socialists, etc. they're all communists according to her. everything good that happens in the world is because of capitalism. everything bad in the world is because of communism. this simplistic black/white thinking is very appealing to idiots. but it's reductive. the reality is a lot more nuanced than what they want you to think.

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distracteddegenerate · 3 years

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Carnation

Yuta x Fem!reader

Warnings: period sex, lots of blood mentions, yandere undertones for Yuuta, TW.Dubcon if you squint I just want to be safe lol, unprotected sex, smut

Got super carried away with this one which is why it’s so long lol. I decided to combine the asks since I have got a lot for Yuta. Second anon if you’re uncomfortable with this fic which is understandable lol just shoot me another ask and I can do something else for you.

You lay curled in your bed, the sheets and pillows a mess around you, a fluffy hot water bottle cradled tightly to your front. The side of your body you laid on was beginning to ache from pressure, and you felt flush from heat, but you dared not move. You dreaded the intensifying of the stabbing pains your own body was wretchedly subjecting you to. Of course today would be the heaviest of your period, the day you had scheduled for a study session with Yuta. He was due to come over in about half an hour, and your pains were yet to ease up at all, despite the painkillers you had recently downed. You could cancel, yet, this was the first ever study session you had set up with your handsome friend, and you were loath to cancel it over something that would clear itself up eventually.

You closed your eyes, and pulled the hot water bottle you gripped like a lifeline closer to the source of your suffering.

~~~

*knock knock*

Fuuuuck. Was it that time already? You groggily sat up, releasing your water bottle and in replacement lightly pressing your hand against the throbbing pain that was starting to surge more strongly in the pit of your belly. You gently placed your feet on the ground off the side of your bed, and rose onto the balls of them just as delicately. You began your gloomy shuffle towards the entrance of your room, fixing your ruffled hair into place.

You pulled the door open on yourself slowly, croaking as Yuta’s tired but docile face materialised into view.

“Good evening, (Name)-chan.” Yuta had his hands in his pockets and wore a kindly smile, the only thing betraying his pleasant demeanour being those familiar dark circles dusking the underside of his eyes. Dreary though they appeared, you could swear you saw a specular shimmer dance across his irises when he registered your form.

“Ah good evening to you too, Yuta! Come in and make yourself at home, I have some stuff set up on the coffee table.” You tried your best to look as perfectly in humour as you could, to not draw any attention to your current pain stricken condition. Must have been good enough, as Yuta had nodded in response and was now making his way over to nestle himself onto one of the pillows you had placed next to your make-shift study station.

You yourself was headed to the kitchenette, about to ask what Yuta wanted to drink when a sharp stab erupted from your core. You threw your hand onto a countertop and visibly winced, when you noticed Yuta’s widened eyes had been following you.

“(Name)! Are you okay?!” Yuta’s expression was alarmed, prepared to pounce up from his seating.

“Uh- I er uh- tripped over! Nothing to worry about!” You were blushing slightly, but righted yourself regardless and tried to stand as straight as you could. Yuta seemed slightly confused, and whilst he opened his mouth to speak you interrupted him with a casual “So what would you like to drink?”

“Er.. I’m fine actually, I had something before I left home... actually I think you should come sit down, er, carefully.” He still looked a little concerned. You nodded your head and made your way over to his side. Settling yourself down, you could feel more pain pulsating within you, a low rumble threatening another great stab like you had experienced just. You drew your legs to your chest in an attempt to alleviate it slightly, and picked up your copy of “a comprehensive guide to the relation of curses and the law”; holding it open in front of you.

You could feel Yuta’s gaze still trained on you.

~~~

“So, although the police would have to intervene if someone was hurt or killed in the incident, sorcerers still have the right to- er - (Name)?”

Crap. You were too focused on the waves of torture oscillating in your guts to keep your attention on Yuta explaining the info that went over your head in class to you again. And he noticed. You looked up at him softly, and offered a subdued “sorry.” You didn’t really have energy to maintain your act of being fine anymore. His eyes looked concerned. You turned your head to the floor and fiddled with your hands.

“Hey, (Name).” You heard him shift and alter the positioning of his legs. “Is it that time of the month?”

What?! Who asks that like this?!

You threw your head back up to look at him, your face red and mouth agape. He threw his hands up defensively.

“Sorry, sorry!” He hurriedly turned his gaze into the distance and rubbed the back of his neck. “I just.. I have a little sister, so I’m used to this sort of thing, or at least I know a bit more about it than other guys.” He looked back to you. “It seems like the pains at least are distracting you from your studies, if you need painkillers or something.. I can go get them for you.”

“I er...I already tried that… doesn’t work out that well for me.” Was your meek, barely audible reply. You played with the tassel of the pillow you were sat on. Yuta looked pained on your behalf.

“Y’know… I read online somewhere that there’s always something you can try out failing all else.” He caught your gaze, and held it intently.

It must be too good to be true, how would Yuta know some hidden method that you (as someone who experienced periods) didn’t know about for dealing with the pains?! Your eager look betrayed itself when a switch flicked in your head and your expression turned into one of astonishment. There’s no way he’s gonna suggest…

“Org*sms.”

You’d known Yuta for awhile now, but you had no idea just how… artless he was. Where was his tact?! Your cheeks burned from embarrassment. You felt like your face was about to explode.

Looking at him though, he was practically unfazed! As if you were going about some matter-of-a-fact order of business. What was this situation!

“I-is.. that a joke Yuta?” Your hands were curling into tight balls.

“Of course not, (Name). You look like you’re in so much pain. I just want to help alleviate it.”

What the hell did he mean by that? Like you will just hop up right now and go jerk yourself in the bathroom as casually as using the toilet.. Or.. could he have meant..

You felt Yuta’s hand settle on your thigh, as he leant down further towards you. “I can help you out (Name)-chan.”

You couldn’t deny, you’d always found Yuta handsome, but for things to move along this quickly… and of all times! Surely his level of straight-forwardness defied all social conventions, and yet, it was working. The feel of his hand resting on you, his hungry stare, the way he loomed over you, chest rising and falling intently. You could feel a different kind of ache emanating from your lower parts.

His hand drifted further up your body, coming to stop just below your belly button. “I want to help you… (Name)-chan.” You looked into his dark eyes. They were intense, hungry. You could swear he was salivating.

“B-but Yuta.. I-I’m.. You know! Isn’t that.. Gross? For you?” He shot you a sheepish grin, hiding his eyes in an evasive fashion. His hand travelled downwards once more, snaking up the inside of your loose-fitting shorts and looping his fingers over the sides of your panties. He toyed with them, rolling the cloth over your skin and lightly pulling at them. “I don’t think any part of you is gross, (Name)-chan.” His eyes flicked open again, drawing you back into his intensity. “I think every part of you is beautiful, even.” You could sense his earnestness, and it made your cheeks burn. You went to throw your hands up to them, but he quickly caught them in his. “So, what’s your answer?” He planted a kiss in your palm. “Do you want my help? (Name)-chan.”

Fuck.. the way he looked at you. Those ferocious, hooded eyes. Those calloused hands, usually wrapped around a katana, wrapped around yours right now. The burning you felt between your legs. God yes. God, you wanted it.

The alleviation of pain (and studying) was an afterthought.

~~~

Yuta had returned back to your living space with a towel from the bathroom. What? you didn’t want to get the floor messy. You could see an erection straining tightly against his black pants.

Fuck, you were really gonna do this. He set it down flat on the floor, and invited you to come situate yourself on it.

~~~

After removing his shirt (It was white, after all), Yuta knelt himself down in front of you. He had a certain glint in his eyes, almost conflicting the harmless smile that he also wore, as if he wasn’t about to blissfully pound your bloody c*nt into oblivion. He undid the front buckle of his pants, a bulge emerging, the explicitness of his bare dick concealed by gray underwear. He began palming at the protuberance. You eyed the display curiously, when you had a sudden realisation.

“Y-Yuta, w-what about… protection?” you asked, uneasily.

“Hm? (Name)-chan, you’re on your period, remember? You won’t get pregnant.”

“B-but..”

He cut you off. “I don’t have anything. Trust me.”

You nodded and grunted in acknowledgement. Yuta was always a trustworthy figure for you. Your strong, reliable friend who you could always depend on. He always took care of you, even during skirmishes with curses, arriving at your side before things even had the chance to get particularly hairy.

You watch Yuta as he tilts his keeling body forward, his hands landing on your ankles before travelling upwards, spreading your legs open in the process. You feel yourself blushing once again, tossing your head to the side. You can feel the front of your damp p*nties being touched, jumping in slight surprise at the abrupt action before Yuta starts rubbing at your cl*t through the fabric. He notices your breathing falter.

“Do you like it, (Name)-chan? Do you like how it feels when I rub you there?”

You mumble a small “yes.”

He’s applying more pressure to his administrations now. “Do you want me to take your p*nties off? So I can touch you properly?”

You answer yes again, this time more hastily.

With that, he curls his fingers over the sides of your p*nties, dragging your legs into the air as he twists his body appropriately in order to shimmy the restrictive fabric off of you. He casts them to the side, before pulling your trembling limbs back into their previous position. Once he settled them back down, he kept his hands on your thighs as he drank in the glory of your exposed c*nt quivering before him, the string of your tampon peaking out in a taunting manner.

You heard him cooing at you quietly. “Beautiful.”

You cringed, wondering if he’d still be thinking that when he’s stained with blood. Even so, you couldn’t help but melt under the feeling of his fingertips tracing circles into your inner thighs. The way you felt a thumb flick over your n*ked sex.

“Is your stomach still hurting you?” The sudden question snapped you out of your stupor.

Truth be told, you’d almost completely forgotten about your pains you were so caught up in the moment, but something held you back from saying so. As if Yuta would stop touching you if you let him know the “reason” for the two of you doing this was almost completely resolved. And, you were relishing in the tenderness of his comforting too much for it to stop.

“Y-Yes..”

Yuta bent further over you, his head looming over your core. He sunk down, his face leaning into the space of your skin where your tummy and pelvis met. He planted a light kiss there.

“Well, I’m gonna make you feel better.”

His grip on your thighs tightened as his head lifted, his presence shadowing over you once again as he held himself higher. Your heart pounded. He leaned further on your left thigh and removed his hand from the other, as you felt fingers poking at your aching heat again.

Could you feel… pulling?

You felt a horrible, obscene slick escape you suddenly when Yuta yanked out your tampon. He pinched it limply in fingers, observing it slightly before placing it on the towel you shared.

“Yuta?!” You whelped. It was ironic. The two of you were sharing an intimate moment with each other, almost completely exposed. But this? It felt somewhat... invasive.

You could sense Yuta shrugging. “It needed to come out.” Before you even had a chance to respond, you could feel him caressing your folds. He was circling his thumb over them, the peak of the eclipse swiping over your cl*t. “Don’t worry, (Name)-chan you look beautiful.”

You looked to him, but he didn’t return the gaze. His stare was boring into your most private parts, hungrily eating up the view. The calloused hand still wrapped around your leg was gripping on tightly, as you felt Yuta dip a finger into your sopping c*nt.

“Fuck.. it’s so.. wet.”

Well, that was a given you supposed. But you knew a lot of what was down there was also probably your usual feminine slick, with the way he was making you ache. He continued pumping his finger in and out, the motion becoming deeper and rougher, him gaining confidence in what you were willing to take in. You could feel your muscles strain around it.

“That’s three.”

“Wait, w-what?!”

“Three fingers, (Name)-chan. You’re drenched down here.” You felt him remove his digits, Spreading them out across your lips. You then felt him draw a line across your inner thighs that intersected your p*ssy in the middle. Was he… playing in it? You decided not to question, you were too caught up in a wanton haze, hips bucking upwards, begging for his touch to return to your most sensitive parts.

“Y-yuta..”

He looked at you and smiled sincerely. “-just need to make sure you’re nice and loose for me, (Name)-chan.” Before you could react, plunging fingers speared your weeping c*nt, pumping with violent pace. You yelped and crumpled in on yourself when you felt his fingers curl against your velvety walls, yielding against the pressure. You squirmed underneath him even more when he began spreading them, parting your insides. You hummed, laying your hand over the top of his head, entwining yourself in the strands of his hair.

He shifted into your touch. “God, love this. So fucking beautiful.”

He peered at you from beneath those dark lashes. “You think you’re ready?”

“Hm?”

“For my cock.”

At that, you nodded, releasing your grasp on his hair and trailing your hand down his chest as he straightened himself, looping his fingers over the sides of his boxers, staining it with blood. He tugged them down, his painfully erect dick springing out into open air. You found yourself surprised at the length. Yet, He was focused on you. Pointing at your top half he asked you, “Can you take all of this off?”

You nodded and complied hurriedly.

When you were done Yuta was quick, grabbing your knees to hold you in place, leaning over to plant yet another doting kiss on your body, This time in the space between your bare breasts. You felt him begin to push into you. He managed the entirety of his length, before pulling himself almost all the way out again. You noticed how he looked down, admiring the sheen of your blood now coating his member. He quickly snapped his hips back into you again, and began assuming a steady pace of rutting. Your legs found themselves wrapping around him, your ankles cross sectioning across his taught upper back. You wanted to tell him it felt good, but the most you could manage was a weak moan.

That seemed to set something off within him. He lunged over you, enveloping your entire body with his own. He planted one hand on the towel beneath you, firmly beside your head. The other found itself groping a t*t, clawing over it to pinch your hard nipple, surrounding the ar*ola with petals of red. His pace was raw and piercing, but the slight discomfort you felt was laced with a more intense pleasure.

You heard him groan. “-god.. You feel so good. Fucking you like this.. It’s just so.. primal.” He was lightly scraping his nails against you, tracing trails of scarlet down your body. You understood what he meant by that perfectly. The way he was looking down at you, almost slavering at the lips at your vulnerable form, like some wild animal lost in it’s lust.

The feeling of it, the sounds of it. It was also so expl*cit. Yet so gratifying.

You lost yourself, allowing Yuta to abuse your lower half as he pleased, even matching your hips to his punishing motions. The l*wd squelching noises as he fucked into your excessive wetness, the way he played with your sensitive nipple at the same time, your entire being yearning into his ministrations.

“I-I’ve always dreamt of this, (Name)-chan” You were too lost in a fucked out haze to really respond, humming lightly as you stroked the arm gripping your breast. His pace got even quicker then, rougher. His form that was already entirely draped over yours weighed down on you with even more pressure, the slap of his bucking hips against your buttox resounding loudly. It’s all too much, your legs weak when you cream his c*ck, a wave of release gushing out of you as your heat throbs wildly.

Your limbs go weak as you reel from the org*sm, your walls spasming around Yuta as he continued his bucking.

Yuta’s gaze rests on your dazed expression, his dark eyes settling over you. “You needed my c*ck didn't you?” He moves the hand that was on your bre*st to caress over your face. “Desperately. I know you did.”

You felt Yuta’s pace get rougher, losing it’s steady tempo as he chases closer to his climax. He thrusts into you heartily a final time before his release spills into you, closing his eyes as he rides out his orgasm out slowly and tenderly. He remains inside for sometime after, rubbing your hips with his thumb as he admires the mixture of c*m and blood streaming out of your hole and cascading down his dick.

“Beautiful.”

He looks to your face now, smiling gently.

“So, do you feel better now, (Name)?”

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blackswaneuroparedux · 3 years

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Anonymous asked: I enjoyed reading your posts about Napoleon’s death and it’s quite timely given its the 200th anniversary of his death this year in May. I was wondering, because you know a lot about military history (your served right? That’s cool to fly combat helicopters) and you live in France but aren’t French, what your take was on Napoleon and how do the French view him? Do they hail him as a hero or do they like others see him like a Hitler or a Stalin? Do you see him as a hero or a villain of history?

5 May 1821 was a memorable date because Napoleon, one of the most iconic figures in world history, died while in bitter exile on a remote island in the South Atlantic Ocean. Napoleon Bonaparte, as you know rose from obscure soldier to a kind of new Caesar, and yet he remains a uniquely controversial figure to this day especially in France. You raise interesting questions about Napoleon and his legacy. If I may reframe your questions in another way. Should we think of him as a flawed but essentially heroic visionary who changed Europe for the better? Or was he simply a military dictator, whose cult of personality and lust for power set a template for the likes of Hitler?

However one chooses to answer this question can we just - to get this out of the way - simply and definitively say that Napoleon was not Hitler. Not even close. No offence intended to you but this is just dumb ahistorical thinking and it’s a lazy lie. This comparison was made by some in the horrid aftermath of the Second World War but only held little currency for only a short time thereafter. Obviously that view didn’t exist before Hitler in the 19th Century and these days I don’t know any serious historian who takes that comparison seriously.

I confess I don’t have a definitive answer if he was a hero or a villain one way or the other because Napoleon has really left a very complicated legacy. It really depends on where you’re coming from.

As a staunch Brit I do take pride in Britain’s victorious war against Napoleonic France - and in a good natured way rubbing it in the noses of French friends at every opportunity I get because it’s in our cultural DNA and it’s bloody good fun (why else would we make Waterloo train station the London terminus of the Eurostar international rail service from its opening in 1994? Or why hang a huge gilded portrait of the Duke of Wellington as the first thing that greets any visitor to the residence of the British ambassador at the British Embassy?). On a personal level I take special pride in knowing my family ancestors did their bit on the battlefield to fight against Napoleon during those tumultuous times. However, as an ex-combat veteran who studied Napoleonic warfare with fan girl enthusiasm, I have huge respect for Napoleon as a brilliant military commander. And to makes things more weird, as a Francophile resident of who loves living and working in France (and my partner is French) I have a grudging but growing regard for Napoleon’s political and cultural legacy, especially when I consider the current dross of political mediocrity on both the political left and the right. So for me it’s a complicated issue how I feel about Napoleon, the man, the soldier, and the political leader.

If it’s not so straightforward for me to answer the for/against Napoleon question then it It’s especially true for the French, who even after 200 years, still have fiercely divided opinions about Napoleon and his legacy - but intriguingly, not always in clear cut ways.

I only have to think about my French neighbours in my apartment building to see how divisive Napoleon the man and his legacy is. Over the past year or so of the Covid lockdown we’ve all gotten to know each other better and we help each other. Over the Covid year we’ve gathered in the inner courtyard for a buffet and just lifted each other spirits up.

One of my neighbours, a crusty old ex-general in the army who has an enviable collection of military history books that I steal, liberate, borrow, often discuss military figures in history like Napoleon over our regular games of chess and a glass of wine. He is from very old aristocracy of the ancien regime and whose family suffered at the hands of ‘madame guillotine’ during the French Revolution. They lost everything. He has mixed emotions about Napoleon himself as an old fashioned monarchist. As a military man he naturally admires the man and the military genius but he despises the secularisation that the French Revolution ushered in as well as the rise of the haute bourgeois as middle managers and bureaucrats by the displacement of the aristocracy.

Another retired widowed neighbour I am close to, and with whom I cook with often and discuss art, is an active arts patron and ex-art gallery owner from a very wealthy family that came from the new Napoleonic aristocracy - ie the aristocracy of the Napoleonic era that Napoleon put in place - but she is dismissive of such titles and baubles. She’s a staunch Republican but is happy to concede she is grateful for Napoleon in bringing order out of chaos. She recognises her own ambivalence when she says she dislikes him for reintroducing slavery in the French colonies but also praises him for firmly supporting Paris’s famed Comédie-Française of which she was a past patron.

Another French neighbour, a senior civil servant in the Elysée, is quite dismissive of Napoleon as a war monger but is grudgingly grateful for civil institutions and schools that Napoleon established and which remain in place today.

My other neighbours - whether they be French families or foreign expats like myself - have similarly divisive and complicated attitudes towards Napoleon.

In 2010 an opinion poll in France asked who was the most important man in French history. Napoleon came second, behind General Charles de Gaulle, who led France from exile during the German occupation in World War II and served as a postwar president.

The split in French opinion is closely mirrored in political circles. The divide is generally down political party lines. On the left, there's the 'black legend' of Bonaparte as an ogre. On the right, there is the 'golden legend' of a strong leader who created durable institutions.

Jacques-Olivier Boudon, a history professor at Paris-Sorbonne University and president of the Napoléon Institute, once explained at a talk I attended that French public opinion has always remained deeply divided over Napoleon, with, on the one hand, those who admire the great man, the conqueror, the military leader and, on the other, those who see him as a bloodthirsty tyrant, the gravedigger of the revolution. Politicians in France, Boudon observed, rarely refer to Napoleon for fear of being accused of authoritarian temptations, or not being good Republicans.

On the left-wing of French politics, former prime minister Lionel Jospin penned a controversial best selling book entitled “the Napoleonic Evil” in which he accused the emperor of “perverting the ideas of the Revolution” and imposing “a form of extreme domination”, “despotism” and “a police state” on the French people. He wrote Napoleon was "an obvious failure" - bad for France and the rest of Europe. When he was booted out into final exile, France was isolated, beaten, occupied, dominated, hated and smaller than before. What's more, Napoleon smothered the forces of emancipation awakened by the French and American revolutions and enabled the survival and restoration of monarchies. Some of the legacies with which Napoleon is credited, including the Civil Code, the comprehensive legal system replacing a hodgepodge of feudal laws, were proposed during the revolution, Jospin argued, though he acknowledges that Napoleon actually delivered them, but up to a point, "He guaranteed some principles of the revolution and, at the same time, changed its course, finished it and betrayed it," For instance, Napoleon reintroduced slavery in French colonies, revived a system that allowed the rich to dodge conscription in the military and did nothing to advance gender equality.

At the other end of the spectrum have been former right-wing prime minister Dominique de Villepin, an aristocrat who was once fancied as a future President, a passionate collector of Napoleonic memorabilia, and author of several works on the subject. As a Napoleonic enthusiast he tells a different story. Napoleon was a saviour of France. If there had been no Napoleon, the Republic would not have survived. Advocates like de Villepin point to Napoleon’s undoubted achievements: the Civil Code, the Council of State, the Bank of France, the National Audit office, a centralised and coherent administrative system, lycées, universities, centres of advanced learning known as école normale, chambers of commerce, the metric system, and an honours system based on merit (which France has to this day). He restored the Catholic faith as the state faith but allowed for the freedom of religion for other faiths including Protestantism and Judaism. These were ambitions unachieved during the chaos of the revolution. As it is, these Napoleonic institutions continue to function and underpin French society. Indeed, many were copied in countries conquered by Napoleon, such as Italy, Germany and Poland, and laid the foundations for the modern state.

Back in 2014, French politicians and institutions in particular were nervous in marking the 200th anniversary of Napoleon's exile. My neighbours and other French friends remember that the commemorations centred around the Chateau de Fontainebleau, the traditional home of the kings of France and was the scene where Napoleon said farewell to the Old Guard in the "White Horse Courtyard" (la cour du Cheval Blanc) at the Palace of Fontainebleau. (The courtyard has since been renamed the "Courtyard of Goodbyes".) By all accounts the occasion was very moving. The 1814 Treaty of Fontainebleau stripped Napoleon of his powers (but not his title as Emperor of the French) and sent him into exile on Elba. The cost of the Fontainebleau "farewell" and scores of related events over those three weekends was shouldered not by the central government in Paris but by the local château, a historic monument and UNESCO World Heritage site, and the town of Fontainebleau.

While the 200th anniversary of the French Revolution that toppled the monarchy and delivered thousands to death by guillotine was officially celebrated in 1989, Napoleonic anniversaries are neither officially marked nor celebrated. For example, over a decade ago, the president and prime minister - at the time, Jacques Chirac and Dominque de Villepin - boycotted a ceremony marking the 200th anniversary of the battle of Austerlitz, Napoleon's greatest military victory. Both men were known admirers of Napoleon and yet political calculation and optics (as media spin doctors say) stopped them from fully honouring Napoleon’s crowning military glory.

Optics is everything. The division of opinion in France is perhaps best reflected in the fact that, in a city not shy of naming squares and streets after historical figures, there is not a single “Boulevard Napoleon” or “Place Napoleon” in Paris. On the streets of Paris, there are just two statues of Napoleon. One stands beneath the clock tower at Les Invalides (a military hospital), the other atop a column in the Place Vendôme. Napoleon's red marble tomb, in a crypt under the Invalides dome, is magnificent, perhaps because his remains were interred there during France's Second Empire, when his nephew, Napoleon III, was on the throne.

There are no squares, nor places, nor boulevards named for Napoleon but as far as I know there is one narrow street, the rue Bonaparte, running from the Luxembourg Gardens to the River Seine in the old Latin Quarter. And, that, too, is thanks to Napoleon III. For many, and I include myself, it’s a poor return by the city to the man who commissioned some of its most famous monuments, including the Arc de Triomphe and the Pont des Arts over the River Seine.

It's almost as if Napoleon Bonaparte is not part of the national story.

How Napoleon fits into that national story is something historians, French and non-French, have been grappling with ever since Napoleon died. The plain fact is Napoleon divides historians, what precisely he represents is deeply ambiguous and his political character is the subject of heated controversy. It’s hard for historians to sift through archival documents to make informed judgements and still struggle to separate the man from the myth.

One proof of this myth is in his immortality. After Hitler’s death, there was mostly an embarrassed silence; after Stalin’s, little but denunciation. But when Napoleon died on St Helena in 1821, much of Europe and the Americas could not help thinking of itself as a post-Napoleonic generation. His presence haunts the pages of Stendhal and Alfred de Vigny. In a striking and prescient phrase, Chateaubriand prophesied the “despotism of his memory”, a despotism of the fantastical that in many ways made Romanticism possible and that continues to this day.

The raw material for the future Napoleon myth was provided by one of his St Helena confidants, the Comte de las Cases, whose account of conversations with the great man came out shortly after his death and ran in repeated editions throughout the century. De las Cases somehow metamorphosed the erstwhile dictator into a herald of liberty, the emperor into a slayer of dynasties rather than the founder of his own. To the “great man” school of history Napoleon was grist to their mill, and his meteoric rise redefined the meaning of heroism in the modern world.

The Marxists, for all their dislike of great men, grappled endlessly with the meaning of the 18th Brumaire; indeed one of France’s most eminent Marxist historians, George Lefebvre, wrote what arguably remains the finest of all biographies of him.

It was on this already vast Napoleon literature, a rich terrain for the scholar of ideas, that the great Dutch historian Pieter Geyl was lecturing in 1940 when he was arrested and sent to Buchenwald. There he composed what became one of the classics of historiography, a seminal book entitled Napoleon: For and Against, which charted how generations of intellectuals had happily served up one Napoleon after another. Like those poor souls who crowded the lunatic asylums of mid-19th century France convinced that they were Napoleon, generations of historians and novelists simply could not get him out of their head.

The debate runs on today no less intensely than in the past. Post-Second World War Marxists would argue that he was not, in fact, revolutionary at all. Eric Hobsbawm, a notable British Marxist historian, argued that ‘Most-perhaps all- of his ideas were anticipated by the Revolution’ and that Napoleon’s sole legacy was to twist the ideals of the French Revolution, and make them ‘more conservative, hierarchical and authoritarian’.

This contrasts deeply with the view William Doyle holds of Napoleon. Doyle described Bonaparte as ‘the Revolution incarnate’ and saw Bonaparte’s humbling of Europe’s other powers, the ‘Ancien Regimes’, as a necessary precondition for the birth of the modern world. Whatever one thinks of Napoleon’s character, his sharp intellect is difficult to deny. Even Paul Schroeder, one of Napoleon’s most scathing critics, who condemned his conduct of foreign policy as a ‘criminal enterprise’ never denied Napoleon’s intellect. Schroder concluded that Bonaparte ‘had an extraordinary capacity for planning, decision making, memory, work, mastery of detail and leadership’. The question of whether Napoleon used his genius for the betterment or the detriment of the world, is the heart of the debate which surrounds him.

France's foremost Napoleonic scholar, Jean Tulard, put forward the thesis that Bonaparte was the architect of modern France. "And I would say also pâtissier [a cake and pastry maker] because of the administrative millefeuille that we inherited." Oddly enough, in North America the multilayered mille-feuille cake is called ‘a napoleon.’ Tulard’s works are essential reading of how French historians have come to tackle the question of Napoleon’s legacy. He takes the view that if Napoleon had not crushed a Royalist rebellion and seized power in 1799, the French monarchy and feudalism would have returned, Tulard has written. "Like Cincinnatus in ancient Rome, Napoleon wanted a dictatorship of public salvation. He gets all the power, and, when the project is finished, he returns to his plough." In the event, the old order was never restored in France. When Louis XVIII became emperor in 1814, he served as a constitutional monarch.

In England, until recently the views on Napoleon have traditionally less charitable and more cynical. Professor Christopher Clark, the notable Cambridge University European historian, has written. "Napoleon was not a French patriot - he was first a Corsican and later an imperial figure, a journey in which he bypassed any deep affiliation with the French nation," Clark believed Napoleon’s relationship with the French Revolution is deeply ambivalent.

Did he stabilise the revolutionary state or shut it down mercilessly? Clark believes Napoleon seems to have done both. Napoleon rejected democracy, he suffocated the representative dimension of politics, and he created a culture of courtly display. A month before crowning himself emperor, Napoleon sought approval for establishing an empire from the French in a plebiscite; 3,572,329 voted in favour, 2,567 against. If that landslide resembles an election in North Korea, well, this was no secret ballot. Each ‘yes’ or ‘no’ was recorded, along with the name and address of the voter. Evidently, an overwhelming majority knew which side their baguette was buttered on.

His extravagant coronation in Notre Dame in December 1804 cost 8.5 million francs (€6.5 million or $8.5 million in today's money). He made his brothers, sisters and stepchildren kings, queens, princes and princesses and created a Napoleonic aristocracy numbering 3,500. By any measure, it was a bizarre progression for someone often described as ‘a child of the Revolution.’ By crowning himself emperor, the genuine European kings who surrounded him were not convinced. Always a warrior first, he tried to represent himself as a Caesar, and he wears a Roman toga on the bas-reliefs in his tomb. His coronation crown, a laurel wreath made of gold, sent the same message. His icon, the eagle, was also borrowed from Rome. But Caesar's legitimacy depended on military victories. Ultimately, Napoleon suffered too many defeats.

These days Napoleon the man and his times remain very much in fashion and we are living through something of a new golden age of Napoleonic literature. Those historians who over the past decade or so have had fun denouncing him as the first totalitarian dictator seem to have it all wrong: no angel, to be sure, he ended up doing far more at far less cost than any modern despot. In his widely praised 2014 biography, Napoleon the Great, Andrew Roberts writes: “The ideas that underpin our modern world - meritocracy, equality before the law, property rights, religious toleration, modern secular education, sound finances, and so on - were championed, consolidated, codified and geographically extended by Napoleon. To them he added a rational and efficient local administration, an end to rural banditry, the encouragement of science and the arts, the abolition of feudalism and the greatest codification of laws since the fall of the Roman empire.”

Roberts partly bases his historical judgement on newly released historical documents about Napoleon that were only available in the past decade and has proved to be a boon for all Napoleonic scholars. Newly released 33,000 letters Napoleon wrote that still survive are now used extensively to illustrate the astonishing capacity that Napoleon had for compartmentalising his mind - he laid down the rules for a girls’ boarding school on the eve of the battle of Borodino, for example, and the regulations for Paris’s Comédie-Française while camped in the Kremlin. They also show Napoleon’s extraordinary capacity for micromanaging his empire: he would write to the prefect of Genoa telling him not to allow his mistress into his box at the theatre, and to a corporal of the 13th Line regiment warning him not to drink so much.

For me to have my own perspective on Napoleon is tough. The problem is that nothing with Napoleon is simple, and almost every aspect of his personality is a maddening paradox. He was a military genius who led disastrous campaigns. He was a liberal progressive who reinstated slavery in the French colonies. And take the French Revolution, which came just before Napoleon’s rise to power, his relationship with the French Revolution is deeply ambivalent. Did he stabilise it or shut it down? I agree with those British and French historians who now believe Napoleon seems to have done both.

On the one hand, Napoleon did bring order to a nation that had been drenched in blood in the years after the Revolution. The French people had endured the crackdown known as the 'Reign of Terror', which saw so many marched to the guillotine, as well as political instability, corruption, riots and general violence. Napoleon’s iron will managed to calm the chaos. But he also rubbished some of the core principles of the Revolution. A nation which had boldly brought down the monarchy had to watch as Napoleon crowned himself Emperor, with more power and pageantry than Louis XVI ever had. He also installed his relatives as royals across Europe, creating a new aristocracy. In the words of French politician and author Lionel Jospin, 'He guaranteed some principles of the Revolution and at the same time, changed its course, finished it and betrayed it.'

He also had a feared henchman in the form of Joseph Fouché, who ran a secret police network which instilled dread in the population. Napoleon’s spies were everywhere, stifling political opposition. Dozens of newspapers were suppressed or shut down. Books had to be submitted for approval to the Commission of Revision, which sounds like something straight out of George Orwell. Some would argue Hitler and Stalin followed this playbook perfectly. But here come the contradictions. Napoleon also championed education for all, founding a network of schools. He championed the rights of the Jews. In the territories conquered by Napoleon, laws which kept Jews cooped up in ghettos were abolished. 'I will never accept any proposals that will obligate the Jewish people to leave France,' he once said, 'because to me the Jews are the same as any other citizen in our country.'

He also, crucially, developed the Napoleonic Code, a set of laws which replaced the messy, outdated feudal laws that had been used before. The Napoleonic Code clearly laid out civil laws and due processes, establishing a society based on merit and hard work, rather than privilege. It was rolled out far beyond France, and indisputably helped to modernise Europe. While it certainly had its flaws – women were ignored by its reforms, and were essentially regarded as the property of men – the Napoleonic Code is often brandished as the key evidence for Napoleon’s progressive credentials. In the words of historian Andrew Roberts, author of Napoleon the Great, 'the ideas that underpin our modern world… were championed by Napoleon'.

What about Napoleon’s battlefield exploits? If anything earns comparisons with Hitler, it’s Bonaparte’s apparent appetite for conquest. His forces tore down republics across Europe, and plundered works of art, much like the Nazis would later do. A rampant imperialist, Napoleon gleefully grabbed some of the greatest masterpieces of the Renaissance, and allegedly boasted, 'the whole of Rome is in Paris.'

Napoleon has long enjoyed a stellar reputation as a field commander – his capacities as a military strategist, his ability to read a battle, the painstaking detail with which he made sure that he cold muster a larger force than his adversary or took maximum advantage of the lie of the land – these are stuff of the military legend that has built up around him. It is not without its critics, of course, especially among those who have worked intensively on the later imperial campaigns, in the Peninsula, in Russia, or in the final days of the Empire at Waterloo.

Doubts about his judgment, and allegations of rashness, have been raised in the context of some of his victories, too, most notably, perhaps, at Marengo. But overall his reputation remains largely intact, and his military campaigns have been taught in the curricula of military academies from Saint-Cyr to Sandhurst, alongside such great tacticians as Alexander the Great and Hannibal.

Historians may query his own immodest opinion that his presence on the battlefield was worth an extra forty thousand men to his cause, but it is clear that when he was not present (as he was not for most of the campaign in Spain) the French were wont to struggle. Napoleon understood the value of speed and surprise, but also of structures and loyalties. He reformed the army by introducing the corps system, and he understood military aspirations, rewarding his men with medals and honours; all of which helped ensure that he commanded exceptional levels of personal loyalty from his troops.

Yet, I do find it hard to side with the more staunch defenders of Napoleon who say his reputation as a war monger is to some extent due to British propaganda at the time. They will point out that the Napoleonic Wars, far from being Napoleon’s fault, were just a continuation of previous conflicts that arose thanks to the French Revolution. Napoleon, according to this analysis, inherited a messy situation, and his only real crime was to be very good at defeating enemies on the battlefield. I think that is really pushing things too far. I mean deciding to invade Spain and then Russia were his decisions to invade and conquer.

He was, by any measure, a genius of war. Even his nemesis the Duke of Wellington, when asked who the greatest general of his time was, replied: 'In this age, in past ages, in any age, Napoleon.'

I will qualify all this and agree that Napoleon’s Russian campaign has been rightly held up as a fatal folly which killed so many of his men, but this blunder – epic as it was – should not be compared to Hitler’s wars of evil aggression. Most historians will agree that comparing the two men is horribly flattering to Hitler - a man fuelled by visceral, genocidal hate - and demeaning to Napoleon, who was a product of Enlightenment thinking and left a legacy that in many ways improved Europe.

Napoleon was, of course, no libertarian, and no pluralist. He would tolerate no opposition to his rule, and though it was politicians and civilians who imposed his reforms, the army was never far behind. But comparisons with twentieth-century dictators are well wide of the mark. While he insisted on obedience from those he administered, his ideology was based not on division or hatred, but on administrative efficiency and submission to the law. And the state he believed in remained stubbornly secular.

In Catholic southern Europe, of course, that was not an approach with which it was easy to acquiesce; and disorder, insurgency and partisan attacks can all be counted among the results. But these were principles on which the Emperor would not and could not give ground. If he had beliefs they were not religious or spiritual beliefs, but the secular creed of a man who never forgot that he owed both his military career and his meteoric political rise to the French Revolution, and who never quite abandoned, amidst the monarchical symbolism and the court pomp of the Empire, the republican dreams of his youth. When he claimed, somewhat ambiguously, after the coup of 18 Brumaire that `the Revolution was over’, he almost certainly meant that the principles of 1789 had at last been consummated, and that the continuous cycle of violence of the 1790s could therefore come to an end.

When the Empire was declared in 1804, the wording, again, might seem curious, the French being informed that the `Republic would henceforth be ruled by an Emperor’. Napoleon might be a dictator, but a part at least of him remained a son of the Enlightenment.

The arguments over Napoleon’s status will continue - and that in itself is a testament to the power of one of the most complex figures ever to straddle the world’s stage.

Will the fascination with Napoleon continue for another 200 years?

In France, at least, enthusiasm looks set to diminish. Napoleon and his exploits are scarcely mentioned in French schools anymore. Stéphane Guégan, curator of the Musée d'Orsay in Paris, which, among other First Empire artworks, houses a plaster model of Napoleon dressed as a Roman emperor astride a horse, has described France's fascination with him as ‘a national illness.’ He believes that the people who met him were fascinated by his charm. And today, even the most hostile to Napoleon also face this charm. So there is a difficulty to apprehend the duality of this character. As he wrote, “He was born from the revolution, he extended and finished it, and after 1804 he turns into a despot, a dictator.”

In France, Guégan aptly observes, there is a kind of nostalgia, not for dictatorship but for strong leaders. "Our age is suffering a lack of imagination and political utopia,"

Here I think Guégan is onto something. Napoleon’s stock has always risen or fallen according to the vicissitudes of world events and fortunes of France itself.

In the past, history was the study of great men and women. Today the focus of teaching is on trends, issues and movements. France in 1800 is no longer about Louis XVI and Napoleon Bonaparte. It's about the industrial revolution. Man does not make history. History makes men. Or does it? The study of history makes a mug out of those with such simple ideological driven conceits.

For two hundred years on, the French still cannot agree on whether Napoleon was a hero or a villain as he has swung like a pendulum according to the gravitational pull of historical events and forces.

The question I keep asking of myself and also to French friends with whom I discuss such things is what kind of Napoleon does our generation need?

Thanks for your question.

#question #ask #napoleon #french #french history #history #military history #bonaparte #france #historiography #republic #historians #personal

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guildsarchitect · 2 years

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ASDFGHJKLASDFGHIUH I FORGOT TO FOLLOW YOU SORRY, GUESS WE'RE EVEN NOW.

also i have a very simple question, and you are the ONLY person i trust to answer it. do you think tachihara prefers the mafia over the hunting dogs?

very interesting question boss i'll try not to betray your trust!!

i've thought about this a little and i think the answer is. yes, kind of, but also no. it depends on what you mean

what makes this question so interesting is the fact we see michizou ask himself the same thing. like, we all watched him have this little crisis

and in the end, he seemingly decides this

it’s important to note he decides this before he ever considered fukuchi a suspect. remember (i know i bring this up all the time in these analysis posts, but its very important!!) all law enforcement in the world is forced to consider the agency guilty, so says the book. if tachihara considered himself a hunting dog and also a mafioso, at the same time, he would still be law enforcement even if he was also something else, so i think the restriction would still apply. so the fact michizou is free of this restriction all but confirms he considers himself a part of the mafia. (or, at least, that while he may consider himself a hunting dog, he doesn’t necessarily consider himself law enforcement—this may seem contrary, but i’ll explain) but does that mean he prefers the mafia? well. that's where this gets tricky, because if you mean the organization itself? yes, probably, even if he's not fully aware of it. but if you mean the people? well. no

to say that tachihara "prefers" the mafia is to imply he somehow cares less about the hunting dogs, which just isn't true—tachihara loves the hunting dogs, the team itself, the people in it, and it's obvious in every interaction he's had with them.

the best example i can think of for this is the fact that, when tachihara thought he might be marching to his death, the person he left his final message for was teruko, his vice-commander.

he tells her the results of the investigation, so you could argue the reason he choose to leave a message for the hunting dogs over the mafia was just because he wanted to clear the agency's name, but the message is. very clearly more personal, and more heartfelt than that

this isn't something you say to someone you only consider a colleague. and it goes both ways:

teruko is clearly devastated in these panels. because she cares about him, personally, as a teammate and as a friend.

teruko is not the outlier here, either; he shares a similarly close relationship with jouno. when tachihara is revealed as a hunting dog, it's jouno that gives him his cape—

—and when tachihara returns to the base, jouno is the first person to congratulate him on his mission (albeit in a mildly sarcastic way, because it's jouno)

look at his little smile :) he's proud!! it means a lot to him to have jouno speak kindly of him! and we know jouno extends this same level of trust and respect to him; jouno's trust in tachihara was so deep, in fact, that it directly lead to him rebelling against fukuchi

he’s talking about slipping aya the note, here; something he does before fukuchi reveals himself as the mastermind. at that time, he really had no reason to believe tachihara or suspect fukuchi at all, but he prepared to do so anyway. that’s a huge limb to go out on based on nothing, but jouno did it! because he believes in tachihara, and that’s it!

we don’t see tachihara interact as much with tecchou, unfortunately, but i’d bet my leg their relationship would follow this trend. we do get this little acknowledgement

so if nothing else, tachihara definitely recognizes and respects tecchou’s strength. (side note: i think tachihara and tecchou have a surprising amount in common, i won’t lie. defined by orders. defined by their fierce loyalties, to their friends and to their teams, tortured and having their world turned on its head at the conflict those loyalties create... hmm)

we also don’t get to see tachihara interact as much with members of the port mafia, especially people besides gin and hirotsu. we get a little scene of him in chapter 77 visiting them while they recover from their injuries, and they talk about how the wounds were superficial and not that serious

something tachihara definitely did on purpose, and without any real reason to do so. killing them might have been detrimental to his mission if he wanted to continue to gather intel from them, but at the time of the attacks tachihara thought that he was done being undercover. him going back to the mafia was something that was decided later. by all means, taking out two of the black lizard’s commanders would have been a smart move, and yet that’s not what he did. the only reason he would have had to spare them was because, well. he couldn’t bring himself to do otherwise

i don’t really know what to say about this panel, also, but it feels important enough to put here

the fact he describes “faking his emotions” while also calling the black lizard his comrades in the same breath... that means something!

tachihara is a character very much defined by his loyalties, and the conflict that those loyalties create. as much as he loves the mafia, and as much as he considers himself a mafioso, he loves the hunting dogs. he really, really does, and that’s why it’s so hard for him to deal with it. when tachihara starts advocating for the agency, and the other hunting dogs seemingly refuse to listen to him, he never once considers them arrogant or short-sighted or holds it against them. he views them as victims, people being tricked, and he wants to help them see the truth clearly. if he just wanted to help the agency, he could have done that in a number of ways, more covertly, ways that didn’t involve going to the rest of the team and risking being ostracized. he’s never displayed any ill-will towards them, and in the end, he only officially denounces his place in the team because fukuchi turns out to be a major douche

(side note: it’s kind of interesting here that tachihara says “i’m not a soldier”, not “i’m not a hunting dog”)

anyway, if fukuchi hadn’t been the mastermind, i pretty firmly believe tachihara would have ended up staying with the hunting dogs purely out of his sense of loyalty

so, uh, this ended up being long and going in a lot of different directions. to answer your question, “do you think tachihara prefers the mafia over the hunting dogs?“ no, but also yes, but also. no. tachihara is a mafioso who would put his life on the line for the hunting dogs, because they’re his teammates even if he’s not on the team. does that make sense? umm no. not especially, but it’s a very contrary state to be in, so i think it’s fitting

#nri-the-dumbass #ask #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd tachihara #michizou tachihara #the hunting dogs #mine #one day. i should make an analysis post tag. perhaps.#IF U SEE TYPOS IN THIS NO U DONT

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haleigh-sloth · 3 years

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Thoughts on Rei? I feel like I’m in the minority in that I don’t think she’s like morally on Enji level but I also don’t think it’s wrong to feel resentment towards a mother who didn’t protect her kids even if she was a victim too... like I want her to reconcile with Touya and all her kids (glad for her progress!) while I don’t so much for Enji (even if he will probably in the end) so I don’t mean to write her off but... sometimes I feel the fandom gives her a pass because her situation is so tragic and impossible to condemn, yet irl kids do resent the parents who are bystanders and I wish ppl would acknowledge that when saying she deserves no criticism?

Dude this is so weird. @redphlox and I were discussing EXACTLY THIS EARLIER TODAY WHEN WE WERE HANGING OUT WTF. WERE YOU THERE EAVESDROPPING. Lol. Anyway.

Ohhh god. I'm kind of terrified to comment how I really feel because some people get really upset over this but here goes nothin.

Please--if you disagree that is okay. I understand. Do not come to my inbox and be a bitch.

CW: Abuse, domestic violence under the cut

So before I can really comment on Rei I need to lay some things out.

Firstly--I've made it clear on here many times that I work in child welfare. I'm not talking out of my ass when I say the things I do. I find it really hard to converse about the Todofam a lot of the times because I look at it from such a different perspective that there's just a disconnect between what I think and what others think. Which is fine, it really is. Maybe this disclaimer will make sense after you read all of this to come lol.

Also: I am speaking from an American POV. I have said it before but I cannot comment on Japanese protocol for child abuse. But the psychology behind it all is all the same.

Secondly--a lot of people who give Rei a 100% pass do not understand how ugly and complicated family abuse and domestic violence is. I'm gonna have to talk about two different aspects here, because two different things were happening in the Todoroki household: domestic violence and child abuse.

In real life: When domestic violence occurs and children are involved---it does not matter who hit who or who started it or what the fuck ever. Both parents are responsible for the safety of their children. The victim of the domestic violence is held JUST AS RESPONSIBLE for their children's safety. They weren't the ones endangering their children per say, but they are responsible for getting their children out of that situation. By law, they are responsible. If a mother who is constantly abused by her husband fails to remove her children from that mentally and emotionally (potentially physically) damaging environment, BOTH parents are considered guilty for being neglectful of their children's wellbeing. For different reasons obviously, but's that's how it is looked at by law because those children NEED to be protected. They have to be. It does not matter who did what.

Now domestic violence does not always involve child abuse, but in the Todoroki household it did. Which makes it even MORE complicated and ugly. Rei, a mother in distress who is losing control over her life, is still responsible for her children's wellbeing. Touya and Shouto were both being abused by their father. Rei, as a mother, had a responsibility to her children. But could she stand up to Enji?

For Shouto: It's pretty clear that by the time Shouto was being beaten by Enji, she had no control over the situation. We saw her stand up to him once, and she probably tried other times as well. But it didn't save Shouto. We already know Shouto doesn't blame Rei at all, and he hardly views himself as an abuse victim and instead views his mom as the sole victim.

For Touya: This is the reeeaaalllllllyyyy complicated part. We know that when Touya was starting to spiral Rei had some semblance of control. Rei was in a better position to take control of the situation happening with Touya. The truth here is--Touya was abandoned by his dad at a much younger age than when he started really spiraling. Did Rei step in? We don't know. But judging by Touya's reaction to her attempt at helping him, and their disconnect as mother and son--I'd say she didn't step in when she could have early on.

"You're guilty too, Mom."

Here's the thing, Touya was smart. We know this. He caught on quick to what was going on. Rei's situation with her marriage to Enji aside--she is his mother. She is supposed to protect him. In ALL ways--physically, mentally, and emotionally. And she didn't. She did not protect him from the emotional harm that was being thrown onto him. By this point ^^^^ it was already too late. She didn't protect him and the emotional damage done by Enji was done.

Rei knew the reason she got married. She knew why Touya was born.

Touya has every right to resent Rei for not protecting him.

When you're a child and you're suffering on a daily basis because of one of your parents, and your other parent doesn't protect you? Yes--that is going to hurt. Touya is allowed to hold her responsible. She is his MOTHER.

HOWEVER---before some people lose their shit on me

Rei was in a very complicated position. From Touya's perspective--she did it to herself. That's not necessarily true--but that brings me back to the one FACT that rings true above all else. Rei is his mother and is responsible for protecting his wellbeing.

To put is as simply as I can: Rei is not 100% guilty by ANY MEANS, but she is not 100% innocent. Or rather--her feelings of guilt are justified, and absolutely normal. She did not go out of her way to hurt her children. She didn't . She is not guilty of abusing her children or neglecting them. Her failure lies in where she had room to step into a more protective role of her children--specifically for Touya. She tried with Shouto and we saw how that went. But with Touya the situation was different. It hadn't escalated to that point yet. As soon as the doctor told them to stop having kids--that is when she had the opportunity to step in and try to mend what was already so fucked up to begin with. Would it have worked? Maybe, maybe not. We'll never know. But her attempt that we saw with Touya didn't work because he had already spent years being emotionally abused by his father and watching his attempted replacements be born--one of them being a success. It was too late.

I guess my closing statement on Rei is:

As a mother, she didn't protect her children from mental and emotional harm. As victim of domestic violence, she didn't have any control over the situation. From one of her children's perspective (Touya), she didn't save him. From the other (Shouto), she tried and couldn't. All of those things can coexist. The fact of the matter is--domestic violence is ugly. But at the end of the day--BOTH PARENTS are responsible for their children's wellbeing.

It isn't just ugly and complicated in fiction. It's fucking BAD in real life too. Believe me they're the most complicated cases to resolve.

Needless to say: As a reader, I don't blame Rei at all. I still think the retcon of Enji is fucking bullshit. BUT, Rei feeling guilty as a parent is absolutely normal. It is. Even if she tried her best, for her to FEEL like she could have done more is a normal thing to feel.

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emospritelet · 3 years

Text

Heatstroke - chapter 24/24

Last time, Gold confronted Zelena over trying to frame Regina, and Lacey caught the whole show on tape. This is the final chapter! Happy endings FTW!

[AO3]

Lacey set down the camera on the shop counter, and raised an eyebrow at Gold.

“So,” she said. “What do you want to do?”

He inclined his head, lifting a hand and letting it fall.

“It appears you have a story to tell about Miss West,” he remarked. “I feel the choice is very much yours. Perhaps Mr Glass can be persuaded that running an exposé is in the public interest.”

Lacey hesitated.

“Yeah, I think he would,” she acknowledged. “It’s just - Mayor Mills doesn’t know, does she? About Zelena.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I think maybe we should tell her,” said Lacey. “Before it all comes out, I mean. That would be the decent thing to do, wouldn’t it?”

“It would,” he agreed, and let out a heavy sigh, his head rolling back. “Well, that’s unfortunate.”

“What is?”

He raised his head again, sending her a stern look.

“It appears I’ve discovered a conscience,” he said. “The rumour was I didn’t have one. I blame you for this outrage.”

Lacey giggled, and leaned in to kiss him.

“Does that mean you’ll come with me to break the news?” she asked, and he offered his arm.

“To the Mayor’s office,” he said. “I’m sure Regina will be just delighted to see us.”

“This can’t be true.” Regina was staring at Lacey’s phone, having watched the recording twice. “This - this is impossible!”

“This must be a hell of a shock,” said Lacey, and Regina shook her head.

“I always thought she disliked me, but Mal told me I was being paranoid,” she said. “All this time she was plotting to ruin my life because my mother abandoned her? The nerve of the woman!”

“I guess sibling rivalry’s tough to deal with,” said Lacey. “Makes me glad I’m an only child.”

“Well, she certainly has my mother’s ambition and vindictiveness,” said Regina, with a sigh. “I don’t suppose you know anything about the father?”

“I’m afraid not,” said Gold. “Did your mother ever hint that you had a half-sister?”

Regina shook her head.

“She never spoke about her youth,” she said. “Other than to tell me she had to fight for anything she could get and I should do the same.”

She handed the phone back to Lacey and frowned at Gold.

“Exactly how long have you known about this?” she demanded, and he smiled.

“I heard what you did,” he said.

“That wasn’t what I asked,” she said coldly. “I know you, Gold. Were you holding onto this information until it was of use to you?”

“You think I’m working against you?” he asked, in a mild tone.

“I think you never do anything that doesn’t benefit you.”

“Well, perhaps you don’t know me as well as you think,” he said. “Or perhaps we assess risks and benefits differently. Either way, you have Miss French to thank for the investigation of her past and this recording. I merely - encouraged a confession.”

“Quite the sleuthing team,” said Regina, in a dry tone. “Can we expect a new office in town? French Gold, Private Investigators?”

“I don’t mind investigating his privates,” said Lacey, and Gold shot her a very level look as Regina curled her lip.

“Thanks, I’m going to spend the rest of the evening trying and failing to get that image out of my head.”

“You’re welcome,” said Lacey cheerfully.

“The question for you,” said Gold, “is how are you going to handle this? Miss French has quite a scoop on her hands, but she wanted to bring it to you first before raising it with Mr Glass.”

Regina shot Lacey a grateful look before sitting back in her chair with a sigh.

“There’s supposed to be a debate,” she said. “The two of us up on stage. You think it’s her intention to reveal the whole sordid story in front of the whole town?”

“I don’t believe she wants the rest of the town to know,” said Gold. “If they did, then her whole campaign reeks of sour grapes. She’ll want to play on the image she’s created while she’s been here. However inaccurate it is.”

Regina growled under her breath.

“I can’t believe I’m having to go through this charade!” she snapped. “I’m supposed to stand there and - and debate her when she’s trying to frame me for corruption and destroy my life!”

“We don’t have any actual evidence that she’s tried to frame you,” said Lacey, and Regina nodded impatiently.

“I know, I know. Nothing court worthy on that tape, however much she hinted at it,” she said. “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to hand it over to the Sheriff, get him to look into it.”

“If you agree to an exclusive interview with me after the debate, sure,” said Lacey quickly, and almost blushed as Gold shot her an approving look. Regina drummed her fingers on the desk.

“She’s far too good for you, Gold,” she said abruptly. “I hope you know that.”

He smirked at that, winking at Lacey.

“Oh, I’m well aware.”

Gold was finding it hard to stop grinning like an idiot now that he and Lacey were dating, and even found himself unexpectedly granting rent extensions, much to the surprise of nervous tenants. He made dinner for her again later in the week, and she stayed the night, Darcy curled at their feet as they drifted into sleep. It was pleasant being nuzzled awake by a purring cat and finding Lacey in his arms. It was a feeling he could get used to.

They had eventually managed to finish the interview, most of which was carried out in bed, and he had found himself telling her things he had previously had no intention of revealing. He blamed that on Lacey; it was difficult to maintain his usual cool distance when she was wearing his discarded shirt and looking at him as though he was a particularly delicious snack. She kept her word about giving him the final say on the article, however, and upon reading her draft, he noted that she had kept some of the more personal details to herself. He only felt the need to redact a couple of minor points about his early life, but was happy to let the remainder stand as it was. If the rest of Storybrooke was surprised at the intimacy of the piece and his sudden desire to be open about his life - well, they could all go and fuck themselves, as far as he was concerned.

The only opinions he cared about were those of his family, and it wasn’t too long before Neal called. Gold sighed as he looked at the number flashing on his phone. They’re gonna tease me relentlessly about this. Emma especially.

Shaking his head and smirking to himself, he picked up.

“Dad, hi,” said Neal. “Thought you might have called to let us know how your big social occasion went. You’re not avoiding the issue, right?”

“Of course not,” said Gold. “Been a busy week, that’s all.”

“Uh-huh. Emma thought you’d say that.” Neal sounded amused. “She’s been dying to find out about the dance, so I said I’d call for an update.”

“Tell her she needs a better hobby than worrying about my social life,” said Gold dryly. “How’s Henry? I was wondering what to get for his birthday.”

“Nice attempt at deflection, but I’m not done with you,” said Neal. “Come on, how did it go?”

“Uh - it was fine,” said Gold.

“Did you ask Lacey to dance, like I said?”

“Yes.” Gold hesitated. “We’re - uh - sort of dating now.”

Neal whooped, making him grin.

“Way to go! See, I knew you could do it!”

“Yes, well.” Gold scratched the back of his neck, feeling awkward. “It’s early days, I suppose. Very early days, but it’s going well.”

“I am so happy for you, really. Wait until I tell Emma.”

“She’s gonna tease me, isn’t she?” said Gold dryly.

“No more than usual.”

“A lot, then.”

“Hey, her teasing comes from a place of love.”

“Hmm.” Gold was amused. “Well, you can tell her I love her too.”

“And you can tell Lacey we can’t wait to meet her,” said Neal, and Gold’s grin widened.

“I believe the feeling’s mutual,” he said.

“Good. How about in two weeks’ time?”

Gold smirked to himself.

“Excellent timing,” he said. “It’s the Mayoral debate and election.”

“I’m almost certain we can find something better to do than listen to some crusty old politicians.”

“I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised,” said Gold. “It could be an interesting night.”

The evening of the debate arrived more quickly than Lacey thought possible, and she was nervous about more than just reporting the evening’s events. Gold’s son and daughter-in-law were due any minute, and there was a tiny part of her that kept whispering that they wouldn’t approve, that they would wonder why the hell Gold, with his money and power and class, was dating the likes of her. Stressing over her coverage of the election was a welcome distraction from the unwelcome internal monologue, and she concentrated on getting her things together for the debate, checking the recording equipment on Gold’s kitchen table and fretting about the sound quality.

“You’ve already checked it three times,” he said. “It’s fine.”

“I’m supposed to be writing the front page article!” she snapped. “What happens if I fuck up and don’t get anything recorded? I’m gonna look like a total idiot and Sidney won’t trust me with anything more complex than the hot dog eating contest!”

“I can record everything on my phone, if you’re worried,” he said. “Besides, don’t you do shorthand?”

“Yeah, but—”

“You’ll be fine,” he said gently, and kissed her head. “I promise.”

The doorbell rang, and Lacey started, heart thumping.

“Relax, that’ll be Neal and Emma,” said Gold, heading for the door. Lacey frowned at his back.

“Relax, my arse,” she muttered, shoving the recording equipment into its bag.

There were voices from the hall, and a sudden burst of laughter, and she closed her eyes, willing herself to calm the hell down. Footsteps from the doorway made her look up, and she was greeted by a warm smile and an outstretched hand. Gold’s son had his eyes, and curling dark hair above a ready grin.

“I’m Neal,” he said. “Really pleased to meet you.”

“Lacey,” she said, shaking his hand. “Uh - likewise.”

She was reminded vividly of the fact that she had flashed him on their first encounter, and felt a blush start to rise in her cheeks. If Neal was thinking of it too, he was better at hiding it than she was. His wife was a pretty blonde, with a kind look in her eyes and a plump baby in her arms, who was glancing around curiously at everything.

“This is Emma,” added Neal, “and that’s Henry.”

“We’ve heard a lot about you,” said Emma, shooting Gold a teasing look.

“Well, I won’t ask if it was all good, because I’m willing to bet it wasn’t,” said Lacey, and they chuckled.

“Maybe not at first,” admitted Emma. “Don’t hold it against the old bastard, though.”

“Oh, believe me, the feeling was mutual,” said Lacey.

“I’m standing right here,” said Gold evenly.

Lacey caught Emma’s eye and returned her grin. She felt herself relax a little, and leaned over to kiss Gold’s cheek.

“We got there in the end,” she said. “Uh - how hungry are you guys? I didn’t even think about dinner.”

She shot Gold a look, hoping that he would suggest something, and he nodded.

“We’ll head to Granny’s after the debate,” said Gold. “I have no doubt that Lacey will be demonstrating her excellent skill as a journalist, and I’d hate for you to miss it.”

“No pressure then,” said Lacey, and he smiled.

“You’re writing the article for the Mirror front page,” he said. “You have an exclusive with the Mayor herself after the debate. Sidney Glass clearly believes you to be as capable as I do.”

“Yeah, because I got that interview with you,” she said. “I didn’t tell him we were naked when I got most of that info.”

Neal closed his eyes with a pained expression.

“Shows ingenuity if you ask me,” said Emma abruptly. “I can usually get a ton of stuff out of Neal when we’re naked. Must run in the family.”

It was Gold’s turn to look pained. Neal put his hands over his face with a heavy sigh, and Lacey and Emma chuckled. Lacey decided that she liked both Emma and Neal very much. She zipped her bag and nodded to Gold.

“Okay,” she said. “Wish me luck.”

The town hall was filled with residents, chatting amongst themselves and casting curious glances at the empty stage. Ruby was seated next to Leroy on the third row back, and she winked at Lacey as she and Gold took their own seats. Ruby had been delighted to hear that the two of them had started seeing one another, and had only made a salacious comment to Gold on one occasion. Maybe two.

“Big turnout,” said Neal, glancing around. “I had no idea the people in this town were so into politics.”

“Usually they don’t bother,” said Gold. “The Mayor getting some competition appears to have piqued their interest.”

As though his voice had summoned her, Regina walked onto the stage, chin held high, looking calm and competent in a sharp black suit. Zelena followed, in a green dress with a soft silk scarf around her neck and gold hoops in her ears. A green folder was tucked under her arm, her hair tied up, and Lacey thought she was going for the image of a respectable school teacher. A gleam in her eye spoiled the look.

Dr Hopper was moderating the debate, and Lacey quickly checked her recording equipment and opened her laptop, rattling off a few sentences about the tense atmosphere of the hall and the opening statements from each of the candidates. Zelena gave a speech about decency and traditional values, at which Regina seemed to be stopping herself from rolling her eyes with some difficulty. Regina spoke of her record on town planning, law and order—she shot Zelena a look at that point—and prosperity.

“Thank you, ladies,” said Dr Hopper, when she was done. “Now, perhaps we’ll go to some questions from the press before we deal with those the townsfolk have submitted.”

“I have a question for Miss West,” said Lacey, in a loud, clear voice, shoving her laptop at Gold as she got to her feet.

Zelena’s mouth twisted, her smile more of a grimace.

“Of course,” she said lightly. “It’s - uh - I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.”

She waved a languid hand, and Lacey felt her mouth flatten.

“Lacey French, Storybrooke Mirror,” she said evenly, and Zelena let out a tinkling laugh.

“Of course, silly me,” she trilled. “How could I forget Storybrooke’s eager young reporter? Lending the local newspaper such an air of class in that - lovely - outfit.”

There was a muttering amongst the townsfolk, and Lacey distinctly heard Ruby say ‘What a bitch!’, but she smiled sweetly as though she hadn’t understood the insult.

“Yeah, I have a question about your motivation for running for Mayor,” she said. “You said yourself you’ve never been involved in politics, so what inspired you to make this move now?”

Zelena smiled widely.

“Well, as I said, I thought about where I could do the most good,” she said. “Storybrooke is a wonderful town, with many excellent qualities, but talking to its residents has made me realise that there’s a feeling that it may be lacking direction. I sense a need for a return to the basics of community. Neighbourliness. Family values. The traditions of small-town America that we all grew up with.”

“But you grew up in England,” said Lacey. “Wasn’t your father a diplomat? How do you know this view of America is either accurate or desirable?”

Zelena’s nostrils flared as she continued to smile brightly.

“Well,” she said. “Who’s been doing her homework?”

“Yeah, it’s just that people hear politicians mention tradition and family values, and all too often it’s a smoke-screen to hide racism and homophobia,” went on Lacey. “How would you address those concerns?”

Zelena spread her hands.

“I’d say look at my record,” she said. “Since I moved here I’ve made it clear that I’m happy to work with people of all backgrounds. It’s important that no one feels left out, and my initial conversations have led me to believe that there are concerns, and that some residents feel that their interests are not - fully appreciated - by the Mayor.”

“What kind of interests?” asked Lacey quickly, before Zelena could turn away, and her mouth twisted again as she tried to keep smiling.

“As I said, some feel that traditional family values are being lost in the push for modernity,” she said. “I’d like to reassure them that I stand for everything that Storybrooke represents. Decency. Morality.”

“Does that mean you think the Mayor is immoral?” asked Lacey, and Zelena pulled a face.

“I think there have been some questionable decisions at city hall under her watch, yes,” she said. “Does anyone really think that a seedy bar called Queens of Darkness is fitting for this town?”

“It’s a jazz club,” said Regina. “And there’ll be dance lessons each week. A perfectly respectable establishment, run by three accomplished businesswomen.”

Zelena let out that insincere laugh again, and Lacey sat down, retrieving her laptop from Gold and opening it up as Zelena addressed the room.

“Well, it’s not only the company the Mayor keeps,” she said. “We’ve all heard the rumours. Missing money, accounts not holding quite as much as people thought…”

“That’s an outrageous lie,” said Regina coldly. “Where’s your evidence, Miss West?”

Zelena smirked, as though she had been waiting for that very question. She held up the green folder, showing it to the room.

“I have the evidence right here,” she announced. “A brave employee of city hall managed to smuggle this out to me. Evidence that the Mayor has been embezzling town funds!”

There was a shocked intake of breath around the room. Lacey typed furiously.

“How dare you!” snapped Regina. “That’s a lie and you know it!”

“I believe this is my allotted time to speak!” Zelena snapped back. “I think the people of Storybrooke deserve to know exactly who you really are, don’t you? They should understand the choice before them!”

The doors at the end of the hall opened, and there was the sound of heavy boots on the floor. Zelena looked surprised, and then somewhat nervous, and a low-level muttering started up in the audience. Lacey glanced over her shoulder, watching as Sheriff Graham Humbert walked towards the stage with his deputy Dorothy Gale by his side. Regina appeared to be drumming her fingers on the lectern, and Lacey couldn’t work out whether it was anxiety or impatience.

“Miss West,” said Graham. “We’d like you to come with us, please.”

“Why?” demanded Zelena. “I’m a little busy winning this election, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“It’s a matter of obstruction of justice,” said Graham. “If you could come to the station, please.”

Zelena opened and closed her mouth, a sudden flicker of fear in her eyes.

“What if I say no?”

“I’d prefer not to have to handcuff you,” said Graham.

“But we will if we have to,” added Dorothy, folding her arms.

“This is a conspiracy!” blurted Zelena, waving a finger at Regina. “Did the Mayor put you up to this? This is exactly the kind of corruption I’m talking about! The Sheriff being used as the Mayor’s enforcer!”

“Miss West…”

“Mayor Mills will do whatever it takes to silence me!” she went on. “She’s scared I’ve exposed her for what she is!”

“Miss West, I didn’t want to have to arrest you, but…”

“One hint of competition and she calls in her - her goon squad to crush it!”

“Oh, for God’s sake, I know you’re my sister!” said Regina loudly.

Silence fell, and Lacey hurriedly typed a few sentences, describing the shocked atmosphere of the town hall. Zelena was staring at Regina, eyes wide and nostrils flaring.

“I wasn’t going to mention it,” said Regina, curling her lip. “I wanted to give you a chance to be a decent person and deal with this in an honourable way. But since you’re determined to try to ruin my life for no good reason, then yes. I’m well aware we share the same mother, and frankly she’d be disappointed at this pathetic bid for attention.”

“How dare you—”

“I believe it’s my turn to speak,” interrupted Regina. “We’ve listened to enough of your rambling this evening. Since you’d been dropping hints about corruption in my office, I had Sheriff Humbert investigate. He told me earlier this evening that someone had been planting evidence to try to frame me. No doubt that’s what he wants to speak to you about.”

“This is—”

“The residents of Storybrooke know how seriously I take my duties as Mayor,” Regina went on, addressing the room as a whole now. “They know that I value their support and their trust. Of course I’d want any threat to that to be investigated. I’m just - I’m beyond disappointed that the threat comes from my half-sister.”

Her voice echoed around the silent room. Lacey was watching the townsfolk avidly, their eyes fixed on Regina as she spoke.

“I had no idea that my mother had had a daughter before me, no idea that I had another family member out there in the world,” she went on. “Her coming to Storybrooke should have been a time of joy and reunion. But instead of her reaching out to me, she tries to undermine me, to take away the most important job I have in this town.”

She looked down, shaking her head, and Gold leaned in close.

“I wonder how much of this is for the benefit of the voters and how much is genuine,” he murmured.

“Maybe fifty-fifty,” Lacey whispered back, and he nodded in agreement.

Regina raised her head, taking a deep breath, as though steeling herself for something unpleasant. Graham and Dorothy had edged towards the stage, Dorothy removing the cuffs from her belt.

“All I can do now,” said Regina, “is trust that justice will take its course.”

“You know nothing about justice!” shouted Zelena, as the Sheriff started reading her her rights. “You’ll pay for this! All of you!”

She was still yelling when Dorothy handcuffed her and marched her from the room. The sound of the doors closing was very loud in the silence that remained.

“Well,” said Regina, placing her hands on the lectern and looking around the room. “I think we can all agree that this was one of the more - eventful - political debates this town has seen.”

There was a ripple of nervous laughter, and she smiled.

“I truly hope that Miss West gets the help she so desperately needs,” she went on. “And when she has, I want her to know that she’s welcome to visit with Mallory and I. After all, we may not be able to choose our family, but that makes it all the more important to nurture the bonds we share with those around us.”

There were noises of agreement from the audience, and Gold leaned in close again.

“Ever the politician,” he murmured, and Lacey nodded.

“Storybrooke is like an extended family to me,” went on Regina, “and all families have their moments of conflict and frustration, but underneath that there is respect for one another, and a common set of values. I believe I have lived by those values for every year that I’ve served as your Mayor. I will always reach out to those in need and I will always act in the best interests of this town. Under my leadership, Storybrooke will continue to prosper. I guarantee it.”

There was applause, and a couple of cheers, and Regina nodded, looking extremely self-satisfied. She started taking questions, and Gold kissed Lacey’s cheek and whispered that he would see her in the diner when she was done. She watched him leave with his family, Emma balancing the baby on her hip and Neal pushing the stroller after them. Lacey turned back to listen to Regina field a question about the state of the town’s roads, bent her head to her laptop, and began typing up her article on the Mayoral debate.

She emailed the article over to Sidney before leaving for the diner, and walked back there with Ruby, who was chattering about the drama that had unfolded. Regina had been in her element when answering the remaining questions, and Lacey had felt a surge of satisfaction over her part in exposing a crime. Perhaps small town life offered the chance for rewarding work after all. She could see Gold and his family through the window, and his face lit up as she entered, making her stomach flip. Damn the man. I’m falling in love with him.

“Excellent job this evening,” he said, getting up to pull her chair out and kissing her cheek. “I got you a rum and coke, I hope that’s okay.”

“Perfect,” she said fervently, and took a slurp, relishing the taste on her tongue.

“How’d the Mayor look at the end of all that?” asked Emma, and Lacey pulled a face.

“The whole place gave her a round of applause, and she was looking about as satisfied as she could, I guess,” she said. “I still feel kind of sorry for her. Not every day you find out you have a half sister. Especially one that’s out to get you.”

“Well, it could have been a lot worse,” said Gold. “I very much doubt Miss West will present much of a challenge from a jail cell.”

Lacey nodded, taking another sip of her drink.

“Does this mean you and Regina are friends now?” she asked, and Gold smirked.

“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far,” he said. “What’s that term the kids use these days?”

“Frenemies?”

“That’s the one.”

“Kind of like we were,” she observed, and he laughed.

“Regina would fillet me with a letter opener if I even contemplated looking at her the way I look at you.”

“No, I don’t mean that,” she said. “I just meant - well, we kind of had that thing where we poked at each other to get a reaction, right?”

Gold looked as though he was trying very hard not to laugh, and she swatted his arm.

“Stop thinking about dirty stuff! You know what I mean!”

“I do,” he acknowledged. “And I, for one, am very glad that we - er - got the reaction we wanted.”

“You’re still thinking about dirty stuff, aren’t you?” said Emma shrewdly, and Gold shrugged.

“Maybe a little.”

They ate ribs, sticky with Granny’s special sauce, licking it from their fingers and washing it down with beer and wine and rum. By the time they got out into the cool night air, Lacey felt wonderfully tipsy, and regretted putting on her high heels earlier in the evening. At least there was no one else around to see if she fell on her arse, she supposed. Neal and Emma were walking ahead, pushing the stroller and talking quietly, and Lacey let out a sigh, slipping her arm through Gold’s for support, and resting her head on his shoulder.

“I ate too much,” she said, and Gold chuckled.

“We all ate too much.”

“You didn’t throw half of it over your lap, though.”

“No, I thought I’d leave that to you.”

“Stupid gravity,” muttered Lacey, and he laughed, squeezing her arm with his.

“Tired?” he asked.

“Yeah. Long day.”

“Maybe you should have an early night.”

She glanced up at him, and he was grinning at her, his eyes twinkling.

“How’s that gonna work?” she asked flatly. “Your family’s staying over. No way I’m letting you give me screaming orgasms while they’re in the room next door.”

“In that case I could sneak over to yours,” he suggested. “You could scream to your heart’s content.”

Lacey giggled, barging him affectionately with her shoulder.

“I think I love you, Mr Gold,” she said, and Gold stopped dead, turning to face her with a stunned look on his face.

“Really?”

Lacey turned to face him, taking his hand.

“Really,” she said. “I mean I’m kind of drunk, but that’s not why I’m saying it. I think I’ve sort of been in love with you for a while now. Is that okay?”

He was staring at her, wide-eyed, and a softness seemed to spill over his features, making his eyes gleam as he smiled.

“Well,” he said. “I think I love you, too, Miss French. Is that okay?”

“More than okay.”

He seemed to hesitate for a moment, then raised his chin.

“D’you want to move in?” he asked.

“Can I bring Darcy?”

“Of course.”

“Then you got a deal.”

He was grinning, and she found herself grinning back, her heart swelling with love for him.

“Let’s wait until after Neal and Emma go before I move in, though,” she said. “I think you said something about screaming orgasms?”

Gold’s grin turned wicked, and he bent his head to kiss her.

“I’ll be over later.”

She let his lips pull at hers, leaning in to feel the warmth of his body as his arms went around her, and let out a sigh of contentment. Yes. Life in a small town could be amazing.

#fic: heatstroke #golden lace fic #rumbelle fic #golden lace #rumbelle #my fic

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jgnico · 2 years

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Not to be that person but i think you're exaggerating hard on Gojo's powers, his abilities have already been broken down by physic level graduates and literally explained in the most simple way possible which isn't even surprising as they were not that hard to get a grasp on what they actually are either, only it was Gege's horrible way of trying to explain things via mathematics instead of simply saying it like so but i suppose he wanted people to work their brains a lil. The way you are explaining though is something i would hear from a die hard fanboy that likes to wank Gojo because his technique has pretty colors. If you're going to argue that he can erase/create matter and literally erase everything in existence then please for the love of JJK stop there. Gojo is not a fuckin God, he is a human that's blessed with power, notice though that there's still word human in there. The fact that he himself is aware of his shortcomings proves that he knows he's not nigh invincible. Yet you wanna throw him towards a sun for science lol, nowadays all you're doing is attributing any kind of property you want into his abilities even when literal manga proves otherwise. The fact that Gojo cannot control space/gravity directly but does so via matter proves also that he cannot do it with just a forethought and has to use rct to constantly keep his brain from frying while doing so. What next, are you going to drop your self proclaimed claims that he moves at infinitely faster speeds in the jjk than anyone else? Are you going to say he's light speed maybe? The fact that Gege never intended something for something like this in the manga yet you'd argue it's true for whatever hypocritical reason. I mean seriously, at this point just say that Gojo can erase an entire universe and be done with it, you'd probably also just straight out say he can live in space without oxygen because so. If that was all the case, the whole point of JJK would be pointless. People like you are why Gojo gets hated left and right, throwing whatever attributes you want into his powers and turning him into a fucking alien instead of a human he so fights to be perceived as.

Wow what a really long ask with a lot of assumptions.

Never said that Gojo could get rid of everything in existence, so amazing job on reading there, I see that comprehension is still as prevalent as it ever was. I also never said that he could erase matter. I said that he could create matter, which is true; that's literally what Red Glow is.

Gojo's technique as a default is the manipulation of matter. Matter makes up everything around us and always has and always will. You're matter, I'm matter, my car is matter, the sun? Also matter. Regardless of whatever form that matter takes it cannot be made or destroyed, only changed or moved. This is called the Law of Conservation of Mass and it's a concept that has been around well before germ theory or the discovery of the atom. If the Ancient Greeks could wrap their heads around it, I think you could too with the help of google. Or a book.

Regardless, the fact that Gojo, through his technique, can break the laws of physics at will, annoys me. That was the point of my post, expressing my annoyance at Gojo's abilities because from a physics standpoint, they're a nightmare.

I also never said anything about Gojo being a god. In fact, I've made a point on this blog to point out how Gojo very much isn't one. He's just as human as any other character in JJK and the label of godship, the burden of being the Strongest, is a tragic aspect of his character since the people around him stop seeing his humanity as it truly is. They see his strength, they see his technique, they see his status, but they don't see his weaknesses, which is partially due to him intentionally hiding those weaknesses to safeguard against emotional harm and because Juju society cannot keep him on the pedestal that they've placed him on if they acknowledge that he's just a person with too much responsibility. He doesn't even have a God Complex like so many people in this fandom like to claim, he's just a dude that was born with abilities that, yes, break the general laws of physics as we know them.

But how do his Techniques break those principles and why does that annoy me so? Blue creates negative distance that pulls mass toward a specific point. Red creates matter, resulting in an irregularity in space that creates a vacuum. Neither of these things are possible or probable, as distance cannot be completely negated and something (matter) cannot be made from nothing. And yet, they're a thing that Gojo can do. If it had simply been that Blue condensed matter to a point and Red moved existing matter to where it previously wasn't, then I wouldn't be annoyed because while Gojo would still be playing with the building blocks of the universe, it would at least be using defined and "attainable" methods.

But whatever, I'm a nerd and it's possible that my anger toward the concept of Limitless (and Gojo, by extension) is because I personally enjoy breaking down things by science and logic as a hobby and I can't comfortably do that with Limitless because it defies science and logic. That's my own hang up, much like that post was me airing my personal grievances with the Technique.

I just find it interesting that I can talk (rant, really) about how much Gojo's technique annoys and frustrates me (I believe I capped the post off with "Fuck off, I'm eating bricks over here") and that be taken as me "fan-boying" over the Technique and Gojo because "pretty colors." I actually don't even like Gojo and I never have. Do I outright bash him on my blog? No, not unless you count me joking about him not getting hoes. Do I analyze his character and enjoy picking apart his relationships with others? Yes, but I enjoy doing that for all of the characters in JJK, because meta analysis is fun and Gege has given us a lot of detail to work with. Unlike you, dear anon, it's very possible for me to dislike and critique things that I read without being an asshole about it, so despite you starting with "I don't mean to be that person," I think you did, in fact, mean to be that person.

You just happened to send your disorganized, overly emotional and uninformed opinion into the ask box of an adult with an engineering degree and zero patience for someone putting words into my mouth.

PS: Gege using math to explain Gojo's abilities isn't "horrible," they actually did a decent job of simplifying their explanation of Limitless in a way that teenagers could understand. Which is the point, Jump is for a teenage audience. Regardless, Physics is a branch of Science that uses mathematics throughout it's entire framework. Those "physics graduates" used multiple pages worth of math to break down Gojo's techniques, there was no "said like so" about it.

PPS: Tagging my post as "day no 586 of wanting to launch gojo into the sun for science" was obviously a joke, but I'd love to know what properties I'm attributing to Gojo's abilites that haven't been disclosed by Gege in Q&As or stated in the manga itself. Send me something I've actually said and I'll explain it for you, but until then, never assume to know how I think or feel about something, especially when it's clear that you haven't read a single other post that I've made on this blog.

#obviously youre very passionate about how you *think* i feel about gojo #but keep in mind that wasnt meant to be an informative post about limitless #that breakdown is in the works and eill be explained in a clear fact-based way #my post was simply me bitching about how bullshit limitless is because it is in fact bullshit from a scientific pov #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #meta answers

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dornish-queen · 4 years

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Pedro Pascal: “I already took all my drugs very early. In middle age, a hangover is not an option ”

When he was approaching 40, he resigned himself to having sporadic papers that would allow him to pay the rent. But playing Oberyn Martell in 'Game of Thrones' changed his life and opened the doors of 'Narcos'. Since then it has not stopped. Now he's the villain from the blockbuster 'Wonder Woman 1984'

JUAN SANGUINO

THE ANGELS OCT 2, 2020 - 3:19 PM EDT

The first big opportunity of his career was presented in 2011, when he participated in the pilot episode of Wonder Woman for NBC, but the network discarded the series and Pedro Pascal returned to his main occupation: casting castings to play the criminal of the week in the Law and order of duty. “That cancellation was a disappointment, of course, I wanted to work. I did not care if it was something good or bad, I just wanted to work, "he recalls today from his home in Los Angeles during a virtual conversation with ICON. Now Pascal plays the villain of Wonder Woman 1984 , one of the blockbusters destined to return audiences to movie theaters .

How can you not believe in fate? The boy who broke his arm twice playing Indiana Jones has ended up becoming the favorite hero of the kids (the bounty hunter in The Mandalorian ), his parents (Agent Peña in Narcos ) and, well, everyone's. world (Oberyn Martell, The Red Viper, in Game of Thrones ). When Pedro was little, the good guys were always white and the bad guys were Russian, Arab or Latino. The Wonder Woman 1984 villain , however, is a white billionaire played by a Chilean.

“The film is set in the United States of the eighties, which were marked by capitalist greed. It was a tainted concept of evil. Stripped of humanity, but still absolutely attractive and alluring. People who dreamed of being rich and successful had to be salivated. It is true that at that time villains in the cinema projected a xenophobic image. Now the white man can finally be the bad guy, ”explains Pascal.

Some already compare his character, Maxwell Lord, to Donald Trump because of that muck in this mud: Reagan's glorification of rogue moguls in America turned guys like Trump into aspirational role models and glamorous stars. “Trump was not the core of inspiration for my character, on our costume designer's board were Gordon Gekko [Michael Douglas on Wall Street ], American Psycho's Patrick Bateman and other suckers in expensive eighties suits. All those millionaires who hid despair, unbridled ambition and terrified masculinity ”, he clarifies. If Pedro Pascal sounds like a socialist infiltrated in Hollywood it is because that is exactly what he is.

“When Reagan was elected, many people around me were frustrated that the worst forms of capitalism were winning. In my home, with refugee and socialist parents, conservatism was not demonized but it did go against what was important to my family, ”he says. Pascal's father, José Balmaceda, was an Allende supporter doctor who saved the life of a priest wounded by Pinochet's militia .

The priest was later tortured and ended up confessing the name of his savior. When the police went to look for Balmaceda at the hospital where he worked, he took his wife and the newborn Pedro and jumped over the wall of the Venezuelan embassy in Santiago de Chile to request political asylum. That's why Pedro ended up growing up in San Antonio (Texas), in a socialist home but in Reagan's land. A Chilean with no memories of Chile who was called Peter in high school.

At the age of 20, Pascal was in Madrid working as a go-go and keeps good memories. Here she is wearing a Prada sweater. Photo: Danielle DeGrasse-Alston / Realization: Warren Alfie Baker

The Chilean-born but US-raised actor wears a Paul Smith sweater and suit. Photo: Danielle DeGrasse-Alston / Realization: Warren Alfie Baker

Pascal has never left the immigrant mentality behind. Even his father, who came to open a practice in California, always lived in terror that at any moment everything could vanish. “It doesn't matter who you are, how much you are working or how much you get paid. Deep down you always think that each job is the last one ”, confesses the actor. Maybe that's why he didn't dare move from his Red Hook, Brooklyn, hovel to a house more suitable for a Hollywood star until filming for Kingsman 2 and Narcos was over . Nor is it that he had spent more than an entire week at his house since, in 2014, Game of Thrones made him the guy most people would want to party with.

Pascal knew right away that Oberyn Martell, the Westerosi rockstar who always seemed willing to fight or fornicate with the same bravado, was going to change his life. “I had done a lot of castings for friends' plays, for copier factory ads or for very serious independent films that no one was going to see, while I watched how many characters that I had been about to play changed the lives of others. actors. And thanks to my experience and maturity, I recognized the potential of Oberyn. I understood who he was and who he could be ”, he presumes.

The actor found out about the audition when one of his acting students told him that he had taken the test but had been discarded because of his youth. Pedro snapped up and must have thought, “What would Oberyn do?” So he recorded a video on his phone and sent it to his good friend, actress Sarah Paulson . She passed it on to her good friend actress Amanda Peet and this one to her husband, David Benioff, one of the creators of Game of Thrones . The rest is the history of television and headaches: when he informed the Narcos producer that he was available to play Pablo Escobar's pursuing policeman, he accused him of making a spoiler for Game of Thrones: If Pascal had a free agenda, it is because Oberyn was going to lose his fight against La Montaña . He couldn't imagine, of course, in what way.

Part of that electric, lively and hedonistic energy of Oberyn comes to Pascal from the summer (that of 1996) that he spent in Madrid, where in addition to studying he worked as a go-go in a disco. That stay was transformative because the actor realized that he had had to adapt his identity all his life with each new move, but in Madrid he felt effortlessly at home. “I was 20 years old and I liked it so much that I almost moved. My main language is English, I have an American accent and I can pass for white. But in my house there were many cultural differences with respect to the outside world and I remember that when I was 20 years old, when I came to Madrid, I felt very comfortable in my own skin in a way that I had never felt anywhere else. I guess I was not aware that I had spent my childhood and adolescence learning new ways of adapting, connecting, learning, and pulling. On the contrary, living in Madrid was organic and easy for me. I made friends right away and I felt supported, ”he recalls.

By the time he was 40 Pascal was resigned to being an actor with enough odd jobs to pay the rent. According to him, his aquiline nose was a bad nose by Hollywood standards. Far from being offended or frustrated by this typecasting, he was looking forward to it, if it translated into a new check. “It is very strange to develop a fantasy as a child, to have the opportunity to turn it into a hobby, then some studies and finally transform all that into a career. That is the bet. But my dream of becoming Leonardo DiCapriodied. He died dozens and dozens of times. So to move on he had to accept that, at best, he was going to be an actor with a job. That was already a triumph, "he says. "Also, I accepted that I was not qualified for anything else, I had no more skills: I had put all my time, my energy and my concentration in being an actor and the rest in living life and having fun."

That absence of vanity lives on today, even when he's been involved in large-scale projects for five years without stopping. After Game of ThronesHe has made eight films, of which seven are action blockbusters. The wave of fame came to him when he was no longer expecting it but when he was well prepared to ride it. Still, every workday is a surprise and she acknowledges that what amazes her most about Hollywood is the sheer physical stamina that people have. “Sometimes a project can look like building a city, with all the hours, all the work and all the energy it requires. Some people have better stamina and can get by with little sleep. That is an interesting contradiction: all the people creatively involved in a film have a special sensitivity and at the same time have developed a very tough skin and energy to go through the physical experience of shooting it, ”he admires.

Then Pascal switches to Spanish (the language he uses to confess intimacies) and explains, in a few words, that he is old for this shit. “I thought I had all the energy in the world and now, in my 40s, I see that ... wow! There are times when I don't know if I will be able to reach the goal, because my energy is not at the necessary level. But I always take it forward ”, he guarantees. Maybe that's why people get so high in Hollywood. Pascal responds between laughter and again in Spanish.

“I already took all my drugs very early. It is something that is already too much in the past, and in middle age a hangover is not an option. No, no, no ”, she assures. What if the other hangover, that of the wave of fame, runs over you? “I was a good waiter. Not at first, because they fired me many times, but I ended up getting the hang of it, ”he jokes. If the Hollywood thing doesn't go well, you can always put drinks again. But for now Pedro Pascal is the personification that the American dream , although sometimes it takes a little longer to materialize, really exists. Even Ronald Reagan would be proud.

source

#pedro pascal #el pais icon #whole article

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paenling · 3 years

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no ones saying you cant enjoy daniil? people like him as a character but mostly Because he’s an asshole and he’s interesting. the racism and themes of colonization in patho are so blatant

nobody said “by order of Law you are forbidden from enjoying daniil dankovsky in any capacity”, but they did say “if you like daniil dankovsky you are abnormal, problematic, and you should be ashamed of yourself”, so i’d call that an implicit discouragement at the least. not very kind.

regardless, he is a very interesting asshole and we love to make fun of him! but i do not plan to stop seeing his character in an empathetic light when appropriate to do so. we’re all terribly human.

regarding “the racism and themes of colonization in patho”, we’ve gotta have a sit-down for this one because it’s long and difficult. tl;dr here.

i’ve written myself all back and forth and in every direction trying to properly pin down the way i feel about this in a way that is both logically coherent and emotionally honest, but it’s not really working. i debated even responding at all, but i do feel like there are some things worth saying so i’m just going to write a bunch of words, pick a god, and pray it makes some modicum of sense.

the short version: pathologic 2 is a flawed masterwork which i love deeply, but its attempts to be esoteric and challenging have in some ways backfired when it comes to topical discussions such as those surrounding race, which the first game didn’t give its due diligence, and the second game attempted with incomplete success despite its best efforts.

the issue is that when you have a game that is so niche and has these “elevated themes” and draws from all this kind of academic highbrow source material -- the fandom is small, but the fandom consists of people who want to analyze, pathologize, and dissect things as much as possible. so let’s do that.

first: what exactly is racist or colonialist in pathologic? i’m legitimately asking. people at home: by what mechanism does pathologic-the-game inflict racist harm on real people? the fact that the Kin are aesthetically and linguistically inspired by the real-world Buryat people (& adjacent groups) is a potential red flag, but as far as i can tell there’s never any value judgement made about either the fictionalized Kin or the real-world Buryat. the fictional culture is esoteric to the player -- intended to be that way, in fact -- but that’s not an inherently bad thing. it’s a closed practice and they’re minding their business.

does it run the risk of being insensitive with sufficiently aggressive readings? absolutely, but i don’t think that’s racist by itself. they’re just portrayed as a society of human beings (and some magical ones, if you like) that has flaws and incongruences just as the Town does. it’s not idealizing or infantilizing these people, but by no means does it go out of its way to villainize them either. there is no malice in this depiction of the Kin.

is it the fact that characters within both pathologic 1 & 2 are racist? that the player can choose to say racist things when inhabiting those characters? no, because pathologic-the-game doesn’t endorse those things. they’re throwaway characterization lines for assholes. acknowledging that racism exists does not make a media racist. see more here.

however, i find it’s very important to take a moment and divorce the racial discussions in a game like pathologic 2 from the very specific experiences of irl western (particularly american) racism. it’s understandable for such a large chunk of the english-speaking audience to read it that way; it makes sense, but that doesn’t mean it’s correct. although it acknowledges the relevant history to some extent, on account of being set in 1915, pathologic 2 is not intended to be a commentary about race, and especially not current events, and especially especially not current events in america. it’s therefore unfair, in my opinion, to attempt to diagnose it with any concrete ideology or apply its messages to an american racial paradigm.

it definitely still deals with race, but it always, to me, seemed to come back around the exploitation of race as an ultimately arbitrary division of human beings, and the story always strove to be about human beings far more than it was ever about race. does it approach this topic perfectly? no, but it’s clearly making an effort. should we be aware of where it fails to do right by the topic? yes, definitely, but we should also be charitable in our interpretations of what the writers were actually aiming for, rather than reactionarily deeming them unacceptable and leaving it at that. do we really think the writers for pathologic 2 sat down and said “we’re going to go out of our way to be horrible racists today”? i don’t.

IPL’s writing team is a talented lot, and dybowski as lead writer has the kinds of big ideas that elevate a game to a work of art, particularly because he’s not afraid to get personal. on that front, some discussion is inescapable as pathologic 2 deals in a lot of racial and cultural strife, because it’s clearly something near to the his heart, but as i understand it was never really meant to be a narrative “about” race, at least not exclusively so, and especially not in the same sense as the issue is understood by the average American gamer. society isn't a monolith and the contexts are gonna change massively between different cultures who have had, historically, much different relationships with these concepts.

these themes are “so blatant” in pathologic 2 because clearly, on some level, IPL wanted to start a discussion. I think it’s obvious that they wanted to make the audience uncomfortable with the choices they were faced with and the characters they had to inhabit -- invoke a little ostranenie, as it were, and force an emotional breaking point. in the end the game started a conversation and i think that’s something that was done in earnest, despite its moments of obvious clumsiness.

regarding colonialism, this is another thing that the game is just Not About. we see the effects and consequences of colonialism demonstrated in the world of pathologic, and it’s something we’re certainly asked to think about from time to time, but the actual plot/narrative of the game is not about overcoming or confronting explicitly colonialist constructs, etc. i personally regard this as a bit of a missed opportunity, but it’s just not what IPL was going for.

instead they have a huge focus, as discussed somewhat in response to this ask, on the broader idea of powerful people trying to create a “utopia” at the mortal cost of those they disempower, which is almost always topical as far as i’m concerned, and also very Russian.

i think there was some interview where it was said that the second game was much more about “a mechanism that transforms human nature” than the costs of utopia, but it’s still a persistent enough theme to be worth talking about both as an abstraction of colonialism as well as in its more-likely intended context through the lens of wealth inequality, environmental destruction & government corruption as universal human issues faced by the marginalized classes. i think both are important and intelligent readings of the text, and both are worth discussion.

both endings of pathologic 2 involve sacrifice in the name of an “ideal world” where it’s impossible to ever be fully satisfied. in the Diurnal Ending, Artemy is tormented over the fate of the Kin and the euthanasia of his dying god and all her miracles, but he needs to have faith that the children he’s protected will grow up better than their parents and create a world where he and his culture will be immortalized in love. in the Nocturnal Ending, he’s horrified because in preserving the miracle-bound legacy of his people as a collective, he’s un-personed himself to the individuals he loves, but he needs to have faith that the uniqueness and magic of the resurrected Earth was precious enough to be worth that sacrifice. neither ending is fair. it’s not fair that he can’t have both, but that’s the idea. because that “utopia” everyone’s been chasing is an idol that distracts from the important work of being a human being and doing your best in a flawed world.

because pathologic’s themes as a series are so very “Russian turn-of-the-century” and draw a ton of stylistic and topical inspiration from the theatre and literature of that era, i don’t doubt that it’s also inherited some of its inspirational literature’s missteps. however, because the game’s intertextuality is so incredibly dense it’s difficult to construct a super cohesive picture of its actual messaging. a lot of its references and themes will absolutely go over your head if you enter unprepared -- this was true for me, and it ended up taking several passes and a bunch of research to even begin appreciating the breadth of its influences.

(i’d argue this is ultimately a good thing; i would never have gone and picked up Camus or Strugatsky, or even known who Antonin Artaud was at all if i hadn’t gone in with pathologic! my understanding is still woefully incomplete and it’s probably going to take me a lot more effort to get properly fluent in the ideology of the story, but that’s the joy of it, i think. :) i’m very lucky to be able to pursue it in this way.)

anyway yes, pathologic 2 is definitely very flawed in a lot of places, particularly when it tries to tackle race, but i’m happy to see it for better and for worse. the game attempts to discuss several adjacent issues and stumbles as it does so, but insinuating it to be in some way “pro-racist” or “pro-colonialist” or whatever else feels kind of disingenuous to me. they’re clearly trying, however imperfectly, to do something intriguing and meaningful and empathetic with their story.

even all this will probably amount to a very disjointed and incomplete explanation of how pathologic & its messaging makes me feel, but what i want -- as a broader approach, not just for pathologic -- is for people to be willing to interpret things charitably.

sometimes things are made just to be cruel, and those things should be condemned, but not everything is like that. it’s not only possible but necessary to be able to acknowledge flaws or mistakes and still be kind. persecuting something straight away removes any opportunity to examine it and learn from it, and pathologic happens to be ripe with learning experiences.

it’s all about being okay with ugliness, working through difficult nuances with grace, and the strength of the human spirit, and it’s a story about love first and foremost, and i guess we sort of need that right now. it gave me some of its love, so i’m giving it some of my patience.

#meta #discourse #long post #ipl #writing #Anonymous #slight edit for colonialism #untitled plague game #pathologic

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edie-k · 3 years

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Here‘s my drabble for the HPRomione Discord fanfic tag. Thanks to @zurisenchantedquill for tagging me. My prompt was fireworks - literal and figurative.

My head - let’s write spicy figurative fireworks! You’ve wanted to stretch those muscles!

My heart - uh…. we’re going to write a fight.

I am tagging @bluegreenandpurple next. Your prompt is revenge

Title: Tense

Rating: PG-13 (Ron and I can’t go too long without using the f word)

Pairing: Romione

Disclaimer: Not my characters

Quick head canon note: I believe that Ron isn’t completely aware of his actions when under veela influence.

Takes place the summer before HBP.

Ron stepped out of the house and rubbed his face wearily.

Everything was so fucking tense right now.

He had certainly gotten used to a high level of tension in the year since Voldemort had returned and it was obviously warranted. But today, there was a completely new kind of tension and it made no sense.

The week had started off well. Hermione had arrived four days ago. Ginny, of course, had to insert herself in their business constantly but the first night, Hermione had suggested the two of them take a walk around the edge of the property after dinner and they’d repeated it every night. With the shop opening, Fred and George had been scarcely around to subject him to their normal torment. And Bill had written to say that he’d be arriving today to stay for the summer and it was always great to have his older brother around.

But that was where the trouble started.

Bill hadn’t arrived alone. He hadn’t mentioned that his girlfriend, Fleur Delacour, would be in tow. Ron had no issue with Fleur except it was considered polite to give a fucking warning when you bring a veela around so a bloke can have a chance to try to not make a fool of himself.

And then, with Fleur standing next to him with a beatific smile on her face, Bill announced she wasn’t his girlfriend - she was his fiancée.

Ron had always assumed his mum would go mad with excitement at the first of her children to marry and the fact that it was her golden boy should have made it even more unbearable. Instead Bill’s announcement was met with confusion by he and the twins (while he caught all the grief from his sister, Fred and George certainly weren’t immune to veela charms), a nervous smile from his dad, and stony silence from his mum and Ginny.

Fleur’s smile dropped and Bill frowned.

“Well,” said Dad, standing up and breaking the silence. “Certainly something to celebrate!” He pulled his eldest son into a hug before repeating the action with Fleur.

Ron felt his mind clear a bit and shook his head. “Uh, yeah. Congratulations,” he said, stepping forward to pat his brother on the back and grin. The twins seemed to come back to themselves as well and enthusiastically shook Bill’s hand.

“And, uh,” Ron turned to Fleur. “Welcome to the family.” He tried to make his voice warm and mature but he was sure he sounded like a total git. To make matters worse, he awkwardly raised his arms but didn’t actually move to touch her. Ron was sure he looked like an idiot.

Fleur, however, seemed to appreciate his gesture. She gave him a small smile and quietly said “Thank you.” She then pushed herself up on her toes and kissed his cheek.

His brain was starting to feel a touch fuzzy until he suddenly heard a tongue cluck behind him. He whirled around - Mum and Ginny were now both glaring at Dad for some reason. Hermione however, was looking at Fleur with absolute disdain. He shot a quizzical look at her but she pointedly ignored him.

Dad was staring back at Mum and Ginny. “This is something to celebrate,” he repeated in an unusually stern tone.

“Of course,” replied Mum tersely. Ron watched his mum inhale sharply and force a smile onto her face. “Oh, my boy is getting married!” She pushed Fred aside to embrace Bill and her words almost sounded genuine.

At his father’s insistence, they had a full feast for dinner. Dad had even popped out and returned with three bottles of champagne. He had poured Ron, Hermione, and Ginny each a generous glass as Mum looked on disapprovingly. But despite Dad’s best efforts, the meal had been uncomfortable. Delicious but uncomfortable. And Hermione had skipped pudding and excused herself from the table, breaking what he already considered their after dinner tradition. Ron hadn’t seen her since. He’d gone to the sitting room to play a couple of games of chess with Bill but as darkness was setting, he felt the need to escape the uneasiness that existed in the room and a pull to see Hermione.

As he glanced around the garden, he spotted her on the far end, sitting on the bench with a book.

“Hey,” he greeted, approaching her slowly.

Hermione glanced up from the tome and grunted in acknowledgement. Ron bristled at her reaction.

“You stood me up,” he said, struggling to keep his tone light. He was still unsure as to what had brought on this mood.

“You seemed busy,” she responded curtly.

He shrugged. “I wanted cake. And Bill was asking about the Quidditch Cup match.”

Hermione snorted and closed her book before setting it next to her. “Oh, it was Bill you were sharing your heroics with.”

“Yes,” he said, confused. “They weren’t exactly heroics either.”

“Right. And Bill is the one you found so interesting. Not his fiancée, whose lap you practically crawled into.”

Ron ignored that comment. He thought he was doing quite an admirable job of treating Fleur normally. “Do you have a problem with Fleur?” he asked.

“Do I have a problem with Fleur,” she repeated, a bit shrilly.

“Er, yeah? It just seems like you do.”

“She’s being awful! Snide comments about absolutely everything.”

“She’s to be my sister in law! And Mum and Ginny are being awful to her! I just think we all should make an effort.”

“Yes, that’s you. The welcoming committee,” she rolled her eyes.

“Again, she’s going to be part of the family,” he insisted.

“It doesn’t bother you that it’s happening so quickly? You’re always so suspicious of new people. They just met.”

“It’s been a year. And I reckon I trust Bill,” he said, shrugging.

“I know he’s your brother and you think a lot of him but he’s just a person like the rest of you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“The whole lot of you. Falling all over yourselves because a beautiful woman enters the room or looks at you or kisses your cheek,” Hermione sneered.

“Hang on,” Ron stopped, his blood suddenly running cold. “Are you jealous of Fleur?”

“What?” Hermione squeaked, looking a bit panicked.

“Are you - do you have a thing for my brother?”

“What?!” Hermione shrieked.

“Well, you seem to have a thing for people that are way too old for you. Lockhart, Krum, and now…”

“Are you being serious?”

“It’s the only thing that makes sense. You must be jealous of Fleur over Bill.”

Hermione let out a humorless laugh. “I’m not jealous of Fleur because of Bill.”

Ron froze. He replayed her answer in his mind. He wasn’t at his sharpest due to the after effects of veela powers and champagne but he was sure that she hadn’t denied that she was jealous; it just didn’t have to do with Bill. Did that mean… what did that mean?

“What does that mean?” he asked her. Their eyes locked and Hermione bit her lip nervously.

Wheeeeee - BANG!

Ron turned sharply and looked up to the sky to see three pink rockets bursting overhead.

“There’s your proper celebration, Dad!” shouted Fred gleefully. George whooped and pumped a fist in the air.

While Ron and Hermione had argued, Fred and George apparently tapped into their firework stock, which was bringing the rest of the family outside.

“Boys! Be careful! Ginny!” Mum yelled, as his sister squeezed by and ran toward the twins. She tutted and followed Ginny, his dad close behind. An orange Catherine wheel appeared above their moving forms.

Bill and Fleur, holding hands paused at the door and looked up.

“They are lovely although the display in Marseille for Bastille Day simply cannot be outdone,” Fleur declared. “The city is not without its problems but -” Bill laughed and pulled her along, trailing after his parents.

Ron glanced back at Hermione, who was scowling. “Is that true?”

“Is what true?”

“You’ve been to Marseille with your parents, right? Cause your mum’s a fan of that one poet from there. Are the fireworks there better?”

She looked at him and for a moment, she seemed speechless, which made no sense. It wasn’t a particularly challenging question. “Uh, yes, I have been there but not for Bastille Day. I wouldn’t have seen any wizarding fireworks anyway of course but I have a hard time believing that anyone can outdo your brothers.”

BOOM! Sparks in the form of a large green fire breathing dragon lit up the sky.

“Fred and George are quite unbeatable when it comes to explosions,” Ron agreed.

Hermione smiled at him and moved her book back onto her lap, gesturing for him to sit. Ron didn’t quite understand what he did to change her attitude but he thought it best not to push. He plopped down next to her and his bare calf brushed up against hers, sending a shiver up his spine. She didn’t move her leg away.

They sat side by side, Hermione watching the fireworks, Ron watching Hermione.

#romione #ron x hermione #romione fanfic #ron weasley #ron and hermione #hermione granger #hp fanfic

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theangrycomet · 3 years

Text

HeadCannon: Ben Tennyson and Steven Universe can’t stand one another.

Ben and Steven, while they have many things in common, would NOT get along, despite both being pretty friendly people.

This is going to be a long one folks

Methods of Addressing Problems: Combat vs Pacifisim

Ben:

Do no harm but take no s***

Fight and subdue the person causing the problem

Attempt to work out a peaceful solution

If that doesn’t work, rinse repeat until someone of authority can help or opponent gives in

He ensures that his opponent can’t cause any more harm/trouble to those around them BEFORE trying to discuss a solutions

Steven:

Sing and dance it out

Attempt peace discussions

Sing song about friendship/ the problem/potential solution or the combination thereof

If that doesn’t work,repeat

If person causing problem engages in combat, use defensive tactics and continue to attempt peace, (song is optional at this point)

Poof only if necessary

Give person time after and continue peace talks

Generally his fights are in less populated locations. Not nearly as many people are indangered when he has to fight so his surroundings are expendable.

How they Grew up and how it affects their intergalactic view

Ben has had to fight multiple sides in conflicts he didn’t fully understand. He’s had to learn that there

Multiple sides to any problem that require multiple views on how to fix things

No such thing as a simple, long term solution

Learning to delegate problems to the appropriate people and leaders

Peace Treaties are more complicated than you’d think

Society as a whole is more important, though individuals have a strong impact as to what happens to it

Steven fought the tail end in a two-sided war between a resistance group and an empire

Usually 2 sides to a problem

No war = no more political responsibility for Steven

See Steven Universe Movie and Steven Universe Future

Delegating problems to individuals to solve for themselves

Little Homeworld

Individuals are more important than society’s designated roles for them

Whose in charge in space

Ben:

There are still laws in space, and while you may not agree with them they are there for a reason

Hence Loopholes

Plumbers will attempt to do the correct thing (this is not necessarily the case, but it’s Ben’s perspective)

Steven:

Free frontier unless you’re on planet, and even then the laws will not be in your favor so you can get away with ignoring most of them

No one really enforces law off planet

It’s up to your to fix problems

Gems Cause Ben problems

This is where I dive more into head canons, but the Impact of Gems going across other planets with the Idea that they can do what ever they want is likely bigger than Steven first imagined.

Economics: With Gems going to other inhabited planet, they single handedly wreck their economies

Causes shrinking working class

They don’t buy anything, so the flow of money becomes stagnant

Only the people who don’t need to eat, drink, or seek medical help (ie the Gems) can continue to work in increasingly harsher conditions

Once they reach complete economic collapse, the Gems simply move on to the next planet

Steven refuses to address this problem, Making it Ben’s problem

Law: Gems don’t Respect planetary government authority nor plumber authority

Steven also refuses to do anything about this

Little Homeworld teaches Gems they can do anything they want after all

War: Conflicts over new territories would break out in mass.

With the mass withdrawal of colonies, thousands of fully formed, extremely technological planets are left unoccupied and unused.Hundreds of wars break out to claim these new territories

The Gempire doesn’t keep track of unoccupied colonial planets so they don’t know nor care

Every planet wants Ben to fight for them

Spends a lot of time negotiating peace treaties

Political Power

Both think the other has WAY too much political sway just because of who they are related to and the fact that they have cool alien powers that they totally abuse

Conflicting Personalities:

The boys are polar opposites in ways that would grate on the others nerves

Ben is arrogant and cocky whereas Steven is humble and modest

To Steven, Ben seems like a jerk

To Ben, Steven seems like a wimp

Defensive Mechanisms/ Dealing with Frustration:

Ben uses his arrogance and laid back manner as a mask to cover up how much heroing takes a toll on his mental, emotional, and psychological health

Resulting in Ben refusing to open up about how he feels on a deeper level, even with people he trusts

Steven’s powers and LITERAL being depend on his ability to be honest about how he feels, both to others and himself

Resulting in Steven trying to push others to discuss their problems mutually in order to find a solution

Both are REALLY bad at acknowledging when their family is hurting them, and get defensive about it

I’m not going into how Gwen and Kevin were outright s***** partners in crime fighting to Ben at times

See Steven Universe Future episode with White Diamond

Contrasting Views on Romantic Relationships

Ben’s Romantic Luck is terrible, and he knows relationships take the time he doesn’t have to give

Additionally, in the words of Rook, his intergalactic fame as a Hero precludes all of his Relationship attempts

Not only is he wary of new relationships, his is weary of them as well

Steven knows that relationships are formed on communication, love, and trust

See his Relationship with Connie

Envy

Ben, whether he’d admit it or not, would be envious that Steven doesn’t have nearly the amount of problems as he does [from Ben’s perspective, not necessarily true to fact]

No constant calls for help for things the Aliens can handle by themselves

No random attacks from people who want to prove themselves

No irritating fans prying into his life

Steven’s actually able to maintain relationships, both platonic and romantic

No public hatred

No plans to slaughter you from numerous terrorist groups

Steven would be envious that Ben doesn’t freak out over what should be traumatizing incidents, and that if Ben really anted too, could completely get rid of his powers [from Steven's perspective, not necessarily true to fact]

No break downs

No outbursts

No one misidentifying him

No cleaning up past mistakes made before you were even born

The longer they know each other, the more irritating the other would become in their eyes. Once Ben goes Ben 10k, I wouldn’t be surprised if there wasn’t a full out brawl or two.

Now, would they be able to play nice in the sandbox and play it professional? Of course.

Just... don’t leave them alone in a room unsupervised for too long.

[Though I will admit, due to Reboot!Ben having less experience (meaning less BS to put up with) and being easier going over all, I think he would be fine with Steven, until his dimension’s Alien’s got caught up in the Gempire mess and started coming to Reboot!Ben to fix it. Than he’d be annoyed.]

#Ben 10 #Ben 10 OS #Ben 10 UAF #Ben 10 Omniverse #Ben 10 Reboot #Ben Tennyson #Steven Universe #and Steven!#Character Analysis #Relationship Analysis #Headcannons #AngryComet Rambles #This applies to my AU's #Leave your opinions below

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slashingdisneypasta · 4 years

Text

Peter Hayes x Reader || Oneshot

Title: The One and Only

Notes:

This is set after the Allegiant BOOK. So, SPOILER WARNING, Peter has used the memory serum.

I love this boy. And his lack of fanfiction is a PROBLEM.

Plot: For whatever reason, you were in love with Peter, and he was with you. But... now he’s gone. And you have to try and forget. Which is hard to do when he’s still around.

Finally, he wants to remember again.

Warnings: There is SMUT. Its indicated where though, so you can skip it if you like ^^ But there is a bit of plot in the middle. Also, swearing.

~~~

“Hey, Y/N!” Without my permission, my heart does a little jump, but it’s not for the person who said hey to me. Sighing, I take my hands from my laptop and straighten my back, turning to smile at Peter as he comes over to me and takes a seat on the bench right by me. I’m sitting sideways on it so my laptop can be set on it as well, so now I’m facing him without turning and trying to notice how differently he sits down, to how he used to. It’s like he completely started over, which he kind of did. His whole life, “Wiped away by chemistry,”. Including the way he walked, talked, and everyone who loved him. Well, person.

Me.

Which was a total dick move on his part, which was the last completely in-character thing that he did.

But, I can’t be mad at this boy in front of me, even if he looks miraculously similar to the dick in question. From his shiny hair to the tips of his greedy fingers. “Hi, Peter, what’s up?”

“Just finished another recall lesson. Still nothing,” He shrugs, uncaring. I already told him that this is what he wanted by taking the serum, to forget everything. So, he doesn’t really try in these lessons that he’s forced to attend, by government law. He believed me right away, weirdly. And has been acting so aloof about it since like somehow, he understands, which of course he can’t. Because he doesn’t know anything about himself or what he did to cause his old self to want to erase his memory! The whole thing, his whole response to this life changing event is aloof, and its infuriating. It’s the main thing that hasn’t changed at all about him, along with his appearance and his firm aversion to sprouts. He’s still really, really annoying.

“You know, I’m glad you’re respecting his wishes to not remember, but maybe you should try and remember some things. I mean, the techniques are working for some of the others, right? You said, uh… Katie, remembered something? Her choosing ceremony?” I watch, expression changing from thoughtful to deadpanned as he takes my can of coke and swigs from it like he spent 3 dollars on it. Once he’s done, I snatch it away from him and set him with a glare as I put it down on the other side of the bench, away from him. It causes a mischievous grin to pop onto his face and a laugh, and I try to forget the other times he’s made that face at me before he took the serum. Because that Peter’s dead, and I need to let him go like Four’s letting go of Tris. It’s not fair to this Peter.

In response to what I said, he just shrugs his shoulders again and look away to across the park- where Caleb is taking some photos. We drove here together, him and me. In fact, we’ve been doing a lot together. As two of the only ones from the original group who knows everything that happened, we have a connection. Peter’s next words rip my attention from Caleb though and makes me want to blurt out no, immediately. “Nah, I mean old me wanted this for a reason, right? I mean, I do kinda wanna know why he wanted this, but I figure he was some kind of depressed loser with self-esteem issues. That’s good enough for me, to keep going like this. Don’t wanna be that.”

Words have escaped me. I guess, I figured he thought something like that the whole time, but… hearing it out loud, in such a certain tone, hurts. My heart fights for me to tell him he’s wrong, at the very least, but my brain tells me to let him go on. Don’t interfere. He told you, before he took the serum, to let him go. Still be friends but let go.

He was being unfair, but that’s nothing new is it? The asshole.

I press my lips together after I get over the shock and horror and kiss my teeth. Deciding this has been enough ‘friendship’ for today, I quickly save my work and shut down my laptop, closing it. “Yeah, um, Peter. I gotta go. Caleb! Caleb, are you done? I’m having an Old Peter moment, so we have to go now.”

It’s not exactly a code, but it is what he or I say when we’ve had enough of new Peter or we’re remembering too much and need to get away. We use it for Tris, too. Even though she really isn’t here anymore. Caleb immediately starts putting his camera in its bag and walking over, without a word.

Peter himself looks unruffled by it, having come to accept it easily that I won’t always be able to handle this. He isn’t exactly cold about it… in fact, he’s understanding. Nearly nice. It makes me feel even sicker. “Oh, by all means, go. I’m gonna stick around a while, see you guys later.”

Caleb nods to Peter, reaching us and turning to me. “See you, Peter. Y/N? Are you oka- Oh,”I pick up his wrist and start dragging him to the car. As soon as I’m in the front seat and I’m buckle din, I look back over to the bench Peter’s sitting at, and catch him watching me. Trying not to scowl at him, I turn back to the steering wheel and turn the ignition. “It’s never going to get easier, is it?” Caleb asks from the passenger seat after a while, looking up from his camera on which he was flicking through the pictures he took.

I shake my head, immediately, heart still clenched in annoyance and ageing heartache. I risk a glance at him, chewing the inside of my cheek. “Nope, don’t think so.”

With that, there isn’t else to say, so we just hold hands. Tightly.

~~~

At dinner later in the community dining hall, I sit with Four and listen to him talk about work for a while. It’s a little awkward, and a lot strange seeing as we don’t talk at all, most days. Not since Tris died, but we’ve never acknowledged that and it’s been months. We were never close in the first place, but once you’ve fought a revolution with someone, you become attached. He’s a staple in my life just as much as I am his, and that’s why our relationship is so strange.

Nodding in agreement to something he said about how ridiculous milk prices are at the moment and how frustrating that is as I skewer a piece of broccoli and place it in my mouth. I don’t foresee Four’s and my relationship ever changing, seeing as we’re so different and have very little common and I don’t particular want to be best friends with him -acquaintances with a non-personal past is nice. Comfortable, without any expectations but still the understanding that we’re here for each other. I like it, - so there isn’t much in thinking about how strange it feels, I just thought I would mention it once to myself. “Also, the toilet paper, you seen that??”

He groans, in response, causing a bubbling laugh to travel up my throat from my chest. “It’s killing me.”

“Killing you! I have a lower paying job then you, I’m gonna have to start using the cardboard rolls soon!” He shakes his head, the tiniest grin on his lips as he looks back down at his food. I feel triumphant. “It won’t be good!!”

“Oh, jeez… “

“Hey, we’re gonna have to rig Secret Santa so you can buy me some, okay?” I point my fork at him conspiratorially. “I’ll get you milk.” He chuckles this time, making me smile.

For the rest of dinner, we continue like that. Talking about our shared financial issues and even switching over to Caleb at one point and how he’s sitting so pretty on his high paying job and his stockpiled toilet paper. God damn Brainiac’s…

It’s a good distraction from Peter, a few tables away.

~~~

When I finally get home, after hanging with some other friends after dinner just outside the community centre, goofing around I nearly suffer cardiac arrest as soon as I walk through the door.

Peter is not usually a menacing presence. But when he’s sitting in my dark apartment in the middle of the night and I had no idea he would be there, that fact changes! I don’t let myself scream, though. I hold my breath until the urge disappears.

After a moment, I let out the breath deeply and turn fully to him, dropping my scarf and keys on the hallway table before moving further into my home, past him. “Peter… “I growl, annoyed at him instantly. I don’t catch the mischievous smirk he sends my back, but I do feel it. “What the bleeding hell?!”

“Sorry if I scared you.”

“Oh, you are not.”

“True.” His cheeky tone puts my senses on high alert. Both because a cheeky Peter has always and will always be something to worry about, and because it used to turn me on. Still kinda doe, but that’s not something I’m about to admit to this version of him. We haven’t established that kind of relationship, nor will we ever. Sighing as my heartbeat slows down to its normal speed, I check the battery level on my pheon before putting it on charge. Then, finally, I sit down at the kitchen table across from Peter and settle into figuring out why the hell he’s here. And… also… how he got in??? The door was locked??? “Key was under the mat, Y/N. You should probably find a more secure hiding spot. Or at least more creative, jeez.”

“… okay… “I roll my eyes. He has a point. “So, Peter, uh… why are you here?”

“Well, I… “I watch while he suddenly droops in confidence and draws something on the table with his finger. These moments are really weird for me. Peter was always so confident before, even when he shouldn’t have been. Its cute, but so, so weird. He draws the thing, whatever it is, then looks around the room, making me remember that he’s never been in here before. An attempt made by me to keep him at a distance, which I guess now has been turned to shit. His shy moment ends, and one corner of his mouth perks up in a half smirk. “I like your place, could get used to it here. I wonder… why haven’t you ever brought me here before?”

“To keep you at a distance.” I say, bluntly. Theirs a slight shift behind his eyes at it, making his mouth turn down a bit in a tiny scowl and his green eyes look cold.

“Has Four been here?”

“Uh… yeah.” I don’t know why I should lie, or why he would look so serious about it. Before the serum, this was his murderous face, but I’m assuming it must be something different now. New Peter doesn’t have an evil bone in his body. “He has, but not for long. He just came to help me move in, hasn’t been back since though… why? Uh, you know what, I don’t care. Why are you here?”

His serious face intensifies. “I saw you with him tonight, and it brought back some feelings. So, I have a question.”

Making a confused, and slightly frustrated face, I shrug. “What kinda feelings?”

“Jealously.” Oh, he’s playing blunt too.

That does make me think, though. Whether this is unwanted memories coming back, or just a glimmer, a shadow of the old Peter coming back for a second. Because, yes, this is exactly something that he would feel before the serum. Any time I was with another guy, especially Four due to his particular dislike of the tattooed, ex Dauntless, he would get so jealous. Usually, it ended with that guy receiving some kind of punishment or dirty look, and me getting Peter attached to me for the rest of the day. Now, though, I should just tell him to ignore it.

But… “So, what’s your question?” I can’t pass up the chance he’ll become a little more the Peter I love. Even though I shouldn’t.

He looks dangerously focused into my eyes, which is also very Old Peter-like. “Were we a couple, before?”

Ahhhh, whoops. I don’t know what I thought he was going to ask, but for some reason this didn’t occur to me. If I tell him the truth, he might remember more then he should. Not to mention the fact that it’ll ruin whatever relationship we have now. And if I tell him a lie, he’ll know. “Umm, well… uh, yeah.”

I hold my breath, as soon as the last word escapes my lips. Have I ruined it? Will he remember, and hate me? He’s silent for just a moment, not giving me enough to time to think of a plan if he does remember, before he leans back in his chair, muscles relaxing.

“Well, that’s news.” Well, that’s not the reaction I expected or one I wanted! At least be sensitive to my situation, Peter! He looks away from me and to the side of the room, and I watch. How will he take this? Will he leave? “Thought I felt something. No wonder I wanted to be with you so bad.”

“Hm, and I thought the new you was just annoying.” I get up from the table and head for the door. “Well, you better go, before you remember anything else,”

“Well, I kinda want to now.”

Don’t be serious, don’t be serious, don’t be serious…

“No, you don’t.” You didn’t want to remember before, you’ll hate yourself even more if you miss out on your one chance to change yourself easily. You’re already doing so well! Don’t do this to yourself, please. “Just trust me, telling you that you don’t want that.”

He looks at me again, and his green eyes change again. He gets up from his seat and comes over to me, a little too close. Oh, no. he doesn’t think just because I was with the other him that he’ll get any action, does he? The jerk. I look up at his face, craning my neck since he’s so close, and feel my heart plunge to my feet. He’s made up his mind, he wants to know. I shake my head at him, he smirks. “Come on, Y/N. Haven’t you missed me?”

I groan, and push him away. “Nooo… I mean, yes. But you’re not him. And I won’t take away your chance, to- “He brings me back to him his familiar hands on my hips. It’s like trying a drug that I long gave up… but still feels so good. Stubbornly though, I pick his hands off of me. I have to try to avoid his eyes. “Peter, go home.”

“No.” The resolve and the determination in his voice shocks me and I look up quickly at his face. He would’ve never refused to leave me alone like that earlier today. Already, his old self is coming… oh no. Groaning again, I turn to open the door and force him out. This is not good. We were doing so well! We were nearing our 6-month mark! It was going to work! And now… now… well, it can still work! It will. I just need to get him out of her- His hands are on me again, oh no. That feels good.

“Y/N… “He tightens his grip on my waist nearly painfully, so familiar and demanding me to give in and enjoy it. You know, before the morning comes and he remembers everything and shuns me. But I wont give up, and I put my hands on his again to try and peel them off, before his breath hits the side of my neck and his voice, dark and with that ever-joking way about it, causing me to pause. The asshole tone. “I want to remember, now. And you’re my ticket. Plus… you’re mine, right? I have some punishment to implement for talking to Four. For some reason that really pissed me off.”

My body’s ahead of my mine, in this. Already leaning back and feeling the warmth of his chest against my back while my mouth still talks about him leaving. “You’ll regret this.”

“Hell I will, now come on.” I turn around to face him, causing him to flash me a bright, Peter smile before he much too soon since I wasn’t really expecting him to ever do this again, kisses me, and it feels so good my resolve melts away. Of course, its still hanging around back there in the back of my heart, but now all the time I wasn’t touching him, wasn’t thinking about him this way has taken over. Not to mention pure, dumb, human sex drive.

SMUT FROM HERE ON

Kissing is nice for a couple minutes, at least. Everywhere his body touches mine, from our chests to our lips and our tongues to my arms over his broad shoulders and his hands holding my hips against his feels solid and exciting. The way he kisses me can only be described as being carnal. Purely animalistic, wanting to taste, and the way I’m kissing back isn’t different at all. I can’t help sucking gently on his tongue when his lips part, causing a lascivious groan to come from him.

In fact, in response, one of his hands comes up to cup the back of my neck and hold my head in place so he take control of the kiss entirely, the other arm hooking around my lower back and compressing me against him. I don’t know if it was his goal, but now I can feel clearly the wicked, familiarly full way of his pants when he’s turned on. Which he is, right now. Truly.

It makes me think for how long he’s been waiting for this, if he’s gotten so stiff so quickly. I can’t say though that I’m in much a different situation. My keenness for him is so that my core is dripping in wait, wanting to be filled by him. Impatient, I break the kiss and nearly give in to it again when his lips nearly follow me but stay strong. “Peter… “Oh god, oxygen. Breath, need it. He’s so hot. His hair’s a mess of brown surrounding his head, scar on his neck is calling out to be sucked on, and his eyes are beautiful. Green, and mesmerising, and tempting as ever. Giving in feels a lot like freedom.

“Yeah?” The word comes out as a breath, quiet with just a hint of his voice peaking around.

I trace my hands down from his shoulders to the rest of him, enjoying the feel. “Sit down, I can’t ride you standing up.”

“Oh, right.” Once he’s sitting down, I can clearly see his erection straining defiantly against his pants before he takes them off, his underwear going to the same place on the floor. I want to sit on it so badly, my legs shaking uncontrollably with arousal as I get rid of my own lower garments. When he sees my shining, wet pussy, he embarrassingly zeroes right in on it, an unstable smirk on his lips. Good, then. I like it when he’s unstable. Never know what he’s going to do to me. “C’mere, baby.” Tentatively, hoping I don’t trip on the way because that would be embarrassing as hell, I do as he says. As soon as I get a foot from him, he gets off the chair and kneels in front of me. Oh, god, if he starts anything here my legs won’t keep me up. “Hmmm, I think I remember you wetter,” I struggle to breath for a moment when he, without warning or even looking up at me, swipes a finger up between the slit of my lips. My hands snatch his shoulders, so I can stay up and I open my legs more, ready. “I think I missed this. Can you tell? My fucking cock feels like its going to snap off if I don’t get to have you.” He glances up at me for a second, then does a double take and looks back at my face again, focusing on it. I wonder what’s going through his head. The old Peter would have told me right away, just to see me go red and squirm. He is becoming that one, slowly, but still this Peter just grins devilishly at me, hooks his hands around the back of my knees and nudges me towards him some more. My body moves on its own, reacting to his hands and shuffle forward.

Then, looking into my eyes, he does something that puts me in the palm of his hands. He licks a long stripe, as if I’m an icy pole, deeply through my lips. It makes me rigid, and moan out in bliss, my eyes falling shut. Not one to be dormant though I really want to, to just let him do whatever he wants to me, I take my right hand and entangle my fingers through his soft, hickory hair and grip his shoulder with the other, swinging my leg over his right shoulder before opening my eyes and peering down at him again. He looks surprised, in awe. I feel freaken powerful. “You… you just going to stare at me Peter, or finish what you started.”

Its not a question, it’s a demand. He needs to do that again.

“Yes, Ma’am.” He flashes me another Peter smile, then gets to work. And man, did my move make a difference. It felt good before, but now I really do think I might lose in my legs, especially since I’m only one! And, god, he looks good eating me out. Like he’s kissing me, taking generous gulps every time his tongue scoops some more of my essence, getting deeper with every plunge until I’m trying desperately to distract myself by playing with his hair. Simultaneously though I’m pressing my heat into his mouth.

In the end, it’s the sucking that pushes me over the edge. Just as I’m getting used to the pleasure, he abruptly puts his mouth over my cunt and sucks, causing shock to rush through me and my eyes to widen. ‘Peter!” I gasp, tightening my grip on his hair, as cum explodes from my core. He doesn’t drink it, just leans back on his heels and watches it drip down my thighs in satisfaction. After a moment, he looks like he’s in a trance as he watches, and I reel from the extreme pleasure.

“It’s going to feel so fucking good in there. I missed this.”

“How can you miss something you don’t remember.”

“I remember Capture the Flag,” He says it off-hand, before either of us can realise that he shouldn’t remember that. I remember. Eric had picked him second for his team and me last because it was either me, or Christina and they didn’t have a good track record with her. I found Peter shortly after he got ‘shot’ with those neuro stim guns, and we stuck around that old carnival after everyone else left. He created a really dumb one liner, entailing that it’d make him feel better if I kissed his wounds. We didn’t get back until the early hours of the morning, getting probably near 2 and half hours of sleep. But he shouldn’t remember that.

My eyes snap down to him and hop down on my knees with him, looking into his eyes. Of course, I can’t tell just by looking at his eyeballs if he’s back, but maybe if I stare hard enough, he’ll tell me. After a moment, he just shrugs a little a smiles, blankly back at me. Then leans across and gives me a deep kiss. He pulls back and grins. “You’re the ticket, sweetheart. I knew it.”

Sighing, having let my hopes raise just then that he would be back, and wrap my arms over his shoulders and play more, softly with his hair. Looking at his lips, then his eyes. “Then maybe you should hurry up and take it.” I lower my voice, my heart bleeding to tell the secret I haven’t dares to utter to anyone, since Peter disappeared. “I want you back. I miss you.”

“I want to be back.” He leans towards me, curling an arm around my back so he can carefully lay me back on the floor. “Hey, when he’s back. Tell him for me that he owes you something big, for putting you through this.”

“Peter, are you making a dirty joke to me right now?” I giggle, looking at the ceiling now as he ready’s himself. He laughs, too.

“No, I actually didn’t hear that until you mentioned it. Really.”

“Really,” I roll my eyes, disbelieving.

“Absolutely Y/N! Now, let me concentrate.” That brings me back to the present. I realise I’m still dripping with cum from before, and when I look up at him above me ready to power into me fully, I realise I still fucking want him. He’s so tall, and strong, and I intend to give him a hickey on that neck scar if it is the last thing I do tonight.

Hooking my legs up and around his waist, I meet him in the middle for the first delicious thrust. I watch curiously, his face as it changes from mischievous to delighted, in an enticingly smutty way. That makes me grin, but then the pleasure hits me and a surprisingly, nearly embarrassingly amorous moan comes from me, as his cock powers through me, rubbing against my inner walls like static. In reaction the pleasure, I arch up into him, and pull him by the hair down to my mouth, pressing a slow, careful kiss to his lips first before moving on to that neck scar.

While he pounds into me, he also feels my ministrations on his neck. I lightly trace the tip of my tongue up the long line, then kiss the middle and start nibbling and sucking there to my liking, taking my time to enjoy it. And I know he does, too, because he mumbled a very sexy, guttural curse at one particular lick. It sent trickles of pleasure all the way down to my core.

This ecstasy goes on for who knows how long, I certainly wasn’t watching the time, before he lets himself go and I watch through half lidded eyes as he comes apart inside me, the stuff leaking out from around his dick and dripping out of me in warm spurts. I gives one last, hard thrust and I come along with him, a sigh escaping me and a sentence of curses from him. Carefully, he disconnects himself from me, and I get up and help him to his feet, beyond sleepy now. “… okay. That was nice, now… sleep?” I giggle, at the understatement and at his cute weary look.

“Show the way,”

“Yes sir, come on.” I lead him by the hand to my bedroom. Quickly we clean ourselves up, and then we hop in and the bed is so, extremely comfy after the floor. “Can’t believe we did that on the floor when this was here… “I mumble, tiredly.

“Wouldn’t be the weirdest place.” He pulls me toward him and I entangle our legs, almost subconiously. I’m so tired I don't pick up on that hint.

Snorting, I shake my head as I start to fall asleep. “No, guess not… “

~~~

In the morning, I wake up to peter already awake. He hasn’t moved much, just… you know, rested his head on his fist and is watching me sleep.

I squint and push my head back further into my pillow and away from him suspiciously. “… Goodmorning.”

He flashes a wicked grin. Wide smile and dull eyes, like he wants you to think he knows something you don’t. Or worse, he does. Very Peter-like. “Morning, beautiful.”

Even more suspiciously, I try to figure out first on my own what’s up, because something surely is. All I remember is what we did last night, and shame washes over me. Oh, lord… it’s too early for this. “What?”

“Told you, you were the ticket- “That makes me gasp, and sit up immediately, hitting my forehead on his and causing pain that I ignore. He rubs his forehead, but doesn’t seem mad. Just cheeky, and a little evil. “Christ, Y/N, I guess the honeymoons over, huh??”

I clench the sheets under my fists and chew on my bottom lip. “You’re… back?”

He just gives me a look, like ‘Well, obviously’.

No, no. I need a real answer. Does he realise what he’s put me through?? Probably. He is a jerk after all. “Peter?”

“The one and only.”

#Peter Hayes x Reader #Oneshot #Smut #Lemon #Divergent #Caleb Prior #Tris Prior #Four #Peter Hayes #Book Events #Divergent Imagine #Divergent x Reader #Allegiant

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everlarkficexchange · 3 years

Text

A Simple Choice

Written by: @justajjfan

Beta’d by: @sunsetsrmydreams

Prompt 83: Katniss is whipped instead of Gale in Catching Fire, Peeta’s the one who’s there to take care of her after. [submitted by anonymous].

Prompt 116: Peeta braids Katniss’ hair to soothe her. [submitted by anonymous]

Rating: Mature

Warning: Mention of whipping

A/N: My plan is to post each chapter (7 in all) daily so thank you @everlarkficexchange ; @javistg and @xerxia31 for always being so accommodating and generous with your time. A special thank you to my beta and bestie @sunsetsrmydreams.

~~~

Chapter 2

Dad and I make a great team working harmoniously alongside each other and it’s not hard to notice the difference in him in the short space of time. He seems less pressured and the warm smile I remembered as a small boy has returned. Whether in the kitchen or serving customers, I’ve realised just how connected I am to this place.

I delight in friendly conversation but avoid answering any questions relating to The Hunger Games which most of our customers respect. What I enjoy doing the most is preparing for the morning ahead and kneading fresh bread dough in the back room has become a tranquil sort of therapy for me.

In the mindless quiet, I can block everything out giving me time to sort the shiny stuff in my head until I’m left with what’s real. This might not be a proven method of mind-therapy, but it works for me most of the time by sifting through all my cluttered thoughts so I can make better decisions for me and my future.

And I need that now more than ever.

Mother, in her usual meddling ways was quick to invite the Cartwright family to dinner and insisted Delly and I go out for a walk alone to get to know each other. As it turned out, she’s good company and I enjoy having someone to talk to, although she does most of the talking herself.

Now we meet almost every evening.

Delly’s a nice girl, just like mother said and I know I need to start thinking about a lot of things especially my future, but she keeps hinting at speeding up our friendship and I don’t think committing myself to her in that way is something I’m ready for.

In the few weeks Delly and I have been seeing each other, things have moved rather quickly from our casual walks after dinner. She’s pretty and sweet but I’m only fooling myself into thinking I could ever let another claim my heart.

Each time our lips meet, I close my eyes tight and imagine it’s someone else I’m kissing. I feel awful but I just can’t stop imagining grey eyes and a dark braid.

I’ve tried talking to Delly, suggest we slow things down and just get to know each other as friends, but she makes a habit of changing the subject at the slightest hint.

Far from being pure and the shy girl my mother claims her to be, Delly has on more than one occasion, suggested we move up from chaste kisses under the moonlight to something more intimate. Her hands always seem to wander, telling me how good she can make me feel once I let go of my inhibitions. But each time she brushes her fingers against my belt buckle, I quickly step away and end the night abruptly with my ‘it’s getting late’ excuse and walk a very disappointed Delly home.

Any normal hot-blooded male would have easily jumped at the invitation and I can almost hear my brothers smart arse remarks telling me what an idiot I am and saying something crude like ‘try before you buy’ or ‘never look a gift horse in the mouth’, but I can’t bring myself to do that. I always imagined my first time would be meaningful, not just some frivolous teenage romp at the slag heap.

Maybe I am a complete idiot.

***

Hoping to gain some reprieve from the mounting list of questions in my head today, I busy myself by preparing the rest of the dry ingredients for another batch of baking but the unusual noise level coming from outside is becoming a distraction.

When I hear raised and panicked voices, I wipe my hands on my flour-dusted apron before covering everything on the bench with a clean cloth and head towards the shop front.

Walking through the swinging doors, curious to see what all the commotion is about, I see my parents peering out the shop front window speaking in hushed tones and so engrossed with what’s happening outside, they haven’t even noticed me entering the room.

“What’s going on out there?” I ask, and they both startle at my words.

Dad turns to me first, his face noticeably pale and pauses to swallow before speaking, “Jake Blacksmith came by a minute ago and he…umm…said Head Peacekeeper Thread has ordered everyone out to the square,” he answers, taking a quick glance towards my mother who stands stoically and uncharacteristically silent.

“Thread is claiming he caught a traitor trying to sneak back into the district to spy for the rebels. The punishment has been set at fifty lashes,” dad finishes with a harder swallow and a noticeable sheen of sweat covering his forehead.

The image of Thread using his whip to tear into flesh from the back of some poor citizen while everyone in Twelve is expected to bear witness to his cruel and barbaric form of corporal punishment, sends a cold shiver up my spine.

Since he’s arrival, our new Head Peacekeeper was quick to impose strict laws forbidding practically everything his predecessor Harvey Cray conveniently overlooked…for a price. Now, anyone caught disobeying these laws usually find themselves tied to the newly-erected wooden post in the town square without trial or appeal and the punishment is always the same.

Being flogged within an inch of your life is Thread’s answer to law and order and the brute even insists on inflicting every lash on his unfortunate captives himself.

The first citizen of Twelve to feel the sting from the Head Peacekeeper’s cat o’ nine tails was Zed Palmer, a tailor with no male heirs to take over his business. That, along with severe arthritis in his hands meant he could no longer work to pay the hefty taxes now enforced and those who witnessed the flogging were grateful Zed was dead well before his fifty lashes was reached. Most disturbing was Thread not being satisfied until the last lash was counted.

I hope whoever this unfortunate citizen is, their suffering too will end long before the count to fifty is reached.

I move closer to the door and watch mother step out onto the street to join Delly and her parents who are in deep conversation while more people leave their shops and head towards the town square in hurried steps.

“A traitor?” I huff and shake my head in disbelief as I watch Merchants lock their shop front doors obeying Thread’s authoritarian command. “I doubt anyone in their right mind would want to come back if they had the chance at freedom,” I tell dad. “They should have kept running as far away from here and never looked back,” I add, expecting him to agree with me but he stares into the distance and offers nothing in response.

A moment of awkward silence falls between the two of us and the strange look on dad’s face gives me pause, but I let the weird feeling pass. As I turn to step back into the kitchen and carry on with my work, he speaks in an afterthought manner, “must’ve had a good reason to risk it all,” he says looking at me strangely, but I don’t say anything and give him a nod acknowledging his comment at least. Still, it doesn’t alter my way of thinking. If there was a choice between freedom or here…?

No…nothing would be worth it.

I take another glance outside at the passing townsfolk all walking in the same direction towards the town square like a herd of frightened sheep. But my attention is more centred on mother who stepped outside to speak with the Cartwrights and are conversing in lowered voices, sending the odd stare my way.

That cold shiver I was feeling earlier returns and it runs through me like ice.

I wave politely to the Cartwrights, but they ignore my friendly gesture and after a few brief seconds decide to join the rest of the Merchant population gathering in the town square.

What could be more horrid than being forced to witness a fellow citizen of Twelve…or anyone for that matter, whipped to a pulp?

I try to block the image from my thoughts. I’ve seen enough horrors to last me a lifetime and I’m a little disappointed Delly’s parents seem eager to join the growing crowd.

Delly gives me a half-smile as she continues to speak with my mother and the looks I’m receiving from them both increases my uneasiness.

I can’t shake this feeling of dread and turn back to dad who’s staring out in the distance, his facial expression looking lost. “Something isn’t right,” I mutter under my breath, and even though I spoke in a hushed tone, I know dad heard me.

“What is it you’re not telling me?” I ask, knowing if anyone is going to give me a truthful answer, it will be him. Dad’s straightens his back and shoulders almost immediately and when his eyes meet mine, his chin begins to tremble.

“Dad?” I ask, holding in a shaky breath.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, dad looks away from me and gives my question a moment’s pause before nodding, almost as though he’s giving himself permission to speak.

“Jake said Katniss disappeared with her family and the Hawthorne’s a couple of days ago and everyone thought they’d escaped to the woods to join up with the rebels, but she was caught trying to sneak back in this morning…alone. She’s tied to the whipping post. Fifty lashes.”

I stand dumbstruck. This can’t be true.

“No…Jake’s mistaken! He must’ve heard wrong!”

The curtains in Katniss’s room have been drawn for two days now and I haven’t heard her scream out in the night. I just assumed she and Gale—

I clear that image from my mind as I try to process everything in my head and look out to see my mother shouting at dad to shut up and what a worthless idiot he is while Delly stands in silence, watching me.

Over my mother’s angry and verbal abuse, dad continues to speak, “I wished to God he was wrong but Jake saw Katniss being dragged up on the wooden platform and I have no reason to doubt him. He’s a good, hard-working honest man and wouldn’t make something like this up.”

This I know to be true.

Dad reaches his hand to my shoulder, but I don’t feel the touch as the world around me starts to spin and I feel like I’m about to pass out. I’m so caught in a daze I don’t even know if I’m still breathing or if my heart is beating at this point. How I managed to step outside without tripping over my own feet is beyond me.

I need to get to her.

Delly breaks her silent stare and rushes towards me with a look of determination on her face and reaches her hand out to try and stop me, “she’s not worth risking your own life Peeta…think about us!” she pleads, and her words hit me like a ton of bricks.

Us?

Was it her intention to keep me from knowing what was happening to Katniss until it was all over? Is that what they were all trying to do? I can understand my mother wanting to keep me from rushing to Katniss…but Delly?

I brush past Delly ignoring her pleas to stop. I can’t even bring myself to look at her right now and only get a few steps away before mother is in front of me, grabbing a firm hold of my arm and blocking me from running to the square.

“Let go of me!” I say through gritted teeth, as anger starts to build up inside me.

“You’ll kill us all by drawing attention to yourself and for what? She’s nothing but Seam trash!” My blood boils and just like Delly’s words, I don’t let the venom spilling from mother’s mouth stop me from getting to Katniss.

Mother wouldn’t understand…nobody would. Despite everything, I made a promise to protect Katniss and I know she’d do the same for me.

“I forbid you to go! Your future is with Delly not that dirty whore in the square getting exactly what she deserves!” she yells but I yank my arm away from her tight grip.

“My future is not for you or anyone else to decide…it’s mine!” I shout defiantly.

“You’re a fool! She’s as good as dead already!” I hear mother yell as I run towards the square.

***

I silently curse my legs for failing to get me to the square any faster and when I finally reach the cobble-stoned ground, I’m feeling ragged and short of breath.

Crack!

Don’t let it be her! Don’t let it be her! I repeat those words over in my head as I try to catch my breath and refill my lungs with much needed air.

Crack!

I hurry my steps…breath be damned and as I approach the sea of faceless people both Seam and Merchant standing side by side to watch the sickening spectacle, I begin to push my way through.

Hands reach out to stop me and I hear their gasps and pleading whispers not to venture any further, but I need to see with my own eyes.

Crack!

I feel my blood drain from my body, but I continue to edge my way closer to the wooden platform and as I do, my legs begin to weaken as soon as I reach the first step. Climbing the next two seems like I’m moving in slow-motion and when my eyes lock on the gruesome sight before me, I cry out her name in a pathetic wail.

“Katniss!”

What has he done to you?

My heart plummets at the sight of her limp body, hanging like a piece of butchered meat. Her hands are bound together by a thick piece of rope tied to a large hook above her head. Katniss’ braid is messy and mattered with loose and bloodied strands of hair covering her bruised face and when my eyes look closer to her bare back, rage envelops and I almost lose what little is left of my self-control.

The shirt Katniss wore has been ripped in half exposing the upper part of her petite frame including her breasts for all to see. The raised marks and torn flesh from the countless number of lashes she’s already received, seeps with so much blood I swallow back the bile rising from my throat.

I was too late to save her.

My eyes well up from tears rolling down my cheeks and I gasp for breath between my uncontrollable sobs. I shut my eyes tight praying this is a horrible nightmare and I’ll wake up in my bed, walk the usual steps to my window and see her alive and pacing about in her bedroom. But when I open them again, there’s no mistake.

This nightmare is real.

I feel my legs start to buckle from beneath me and I slowly kneel to the ground to stop myself from falling. I don’t know how to fix this…what can I do? She shouldn’t be here. Dad said she ran away.

Why did she come back?

Endless questions whirl around my head consuming me along with the grief and the realisation I’ll have to live the rest of my worthless life knowing I failed in my promise to keep Katniss safe.

Loud voices bring me back to the now just in time to see Thread’s arm raised, poised and ready to inflict another lash to her lifeless body.

Even in my grief-stricken state, the feeling of deep loss and sorrow is overtaken by a sudden rush of strength and courage from within and it propels my body forward to block Thread and his whip from finding their mark.

‘No!” I cry out. This Capitol brute will have to go through my dead body first before I let him touch her again.

“Well, well, well…who do we have here?” Head Peacekeeper Thread remarks loudly and when I look up, I see him grinning with mutt-like eyes staring down at me.

“Looks like this traitor scum has a bedfellow eager to play white knight. She must have some hidden talents worth risking your life for,” he suggests crudely, wiping the sweat and blood from his face with the palm of his hands…Katniss’ blood.

The distinct sound of Peacekeepers heavy tread come barrelling towards me, then hands roughly try to pry me from where I lay clinging to Katniss.

“Can’t you see she’s dead!” I yell, shoving their hands away to stop them from breaking my protective hold over her body. “She’s been punished enough. What more do you want from her?” I shout to the point of hysteria, not caring if my question will be answered with a lash to my back or a bullet to my brain.

“It’s the other Victor, Peeta Mellark, sir,” a voice I recognise answers from behind me. My eyes dart slightly to the left and even through the darkened visor of his white peacekeeper’s helmet, I know it’s Darius Jackson, one of a dozen or so decent soldiers stationed here in Twelve, clearing his throat and standing at attention.

“He’s also the youngest son of the town baker, sir,” he adds.

Head Peacekeeper Thread storms over to Darius and barks out a chilling warning, “you speak one more time without my permission Corporal Jackson, and I will take great pleasure in cutting out your tongue and feeding it to the jabberjays. Do I make myself clear?” Thread emphasises loudly.

“Yessir!” Darius is quick to respond as he stands at attention.

“Now I don’t care who he is, get him off this platform! I’ll deal with the gallant knight once I’m done here,” Thread orders and Darius obeys, saluting him first before stepping towards me with his head lowered.

“He can help you keep count while he waits his turn,” Thread adds coldly, as he inspects the leather handle of is whip.

Keep count?

I have no idea how many lashes Katniss received before I got here and the thought of counting them down much less being forced to watch helplessly as Thread carries on with her punishment is more than I choose to bear.

I jostle with Darius and the other two peacekeepers who stepped forward to help him pull me away from her body. It takes all three peacekeepers to overpower me and pry my hands away forcing me to separate from Katniss.

Weakened by my struggles and overtaken by grief, they drag me away and all I can do is cry out and tell Katniss how sorry I wasn’t here to protect her and that I’ll always love her. Just as those words leave my lips she moves and moans in pain.

She’s alive!

“Stop! Please! I’ll take the rest of her punishment!” I scream, finding a new source of strength and scuffle myself free from the heavy-handed grips of the peacekeepers.

“Whatever you think she did…whatever the count, I volunteer to take them all. Just let her go!” I demand and as my words ring out, loud murmurs coming from the crowd distract Thread for a moment before turning his attention back to me.

“How very noble of you,” Thread snickers. “But your request is denied. This runaway whore was sent here by the rebels and she refuses to disclose her mission and the whereabouts of her leader’s hideout. Now move knight!” he commands, and when I don’t budge he raises his arm and I instinctively throw myself over Katniss to shield her and the pain is instant.

Crack!

The pointed leather straps strike my shoulder blade before I have a chance to brace myself for the blow. Even against the fabric of my shirt, the lash rips through the worn calico barrier as if it were made of paper. My skin underneath feels like I’ve been stung by a nest full of tracker jackers…but I don’t budge.

With clenched fists I try to ignore the painful stinging sensation and the warm, watery feeling that is probably my blood trickling down my shoulder and stay on top of Katniss’ body to block Thread from getting to her.

“She doesn’t know anything! She’s not a rebel spy!” I yell at the top of my voice, pleading with Thread to stop but when I hear the distinctive cocking of his pistol I know my desperate pleas are about to be silenced with a bullet.

“You’ve tried my patience long enough knight. Obstructing a Peacekeeper from carrying out his duty and interfering with a prisoner’s sentence is punishable by death and you are guilty as charged!” Thread bellows and the gasps and murmurs of discontent from the crowd grows louder.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” an all too familiar voice shouts out from amongst the crowd and I’ve never been happier to hear his gruff tone.

Daring to look, I see Haymitch with hands raised, step up to the platform and inch his way closer to me and Katniss. If he is disturbed by what he sees, he doesn’t show it and keeps his eyes pinned on the Head Peacekeeper.

It takes Thread a split second to shift his pistol from the direction of my head, to our mentor’s instead and I’m holding onto my breath in trepidation of what may happen next.

Katniss murmurs something then moans in pain from her bloodied wounds as she tries to move and my attention falls back on her. But all I can do is gently stroke the only place I know Thread’s lashes haven’t ravaged.

With shaking hands, I stroke her hair and push a few loose strands away from her face before bringing my lips to her ears to hush her, “shush…it’s going to be okay. I won’t let him touch you again,” I whisper, hoping she can hear me. My only focus now is calming her as best I can so I start to comb my fingers through her hair while silently praying Haymitch can get us out of this hellish mess.

“I don’t think President Snow is going be too pleased when he hears what you’ve done to one of his newest Victors,” he tells Thread who keeps his pistol aimed at Haymitch’s head.

“Stripping you of your command would be my first guess. I’ll let you do the math as to what my second guess would be?”

Whatever game Haymitch is playing at to set us free better work because right now, I’m not feeling confident as he stares down the barrel of Thread’s pistol.

The Head Peacekeeper lowers his weapon just long enough to grab Haymitch by his jacket, bringing his face so close to Haymitch and of all the things to cross my mind at this crucial point, I’m wondering if he can smell the alcohol on our mentor’s breath.

“My allegiance is to General Maximus Jackson and I answer only to him not that old fool in the Capitol,” Thread informs him, then shoves Haymitch back raising his pistol towards his head again.

Haymitch unperturbed, regains his footing and straightens his jacket, “oh, so Maxy Jackson is your boss? Well, it’s a small world after all,” he remarks flippantly.

“Your General and I are old drinking buddies and we go way…way back. I’m sure he won’t be too thrilled when he finds out you’ve whipped a Victor within an inch of her life,” he quips to Thread who glares at him with displeasure in his eyes.

“Now who do you suppose Maxy reports to…huh?” he pauses just long enough to take a breath and when Thread isn’t forthcoming with the obvious answer, Haymitch supplies it for him.

“I’m gonna take it you’re still working it out in your head but let me help you out here. President Coriolanus Snow…that’s who. He’s probably watching us from the Capitol. Eyes and ears everywhere you know,” he says, waving his hand randomly about the square.

Thread takes a quick look around the square then turns his attention back to our mentor, “my men caught her sneaking under the fence. She’s a rebel spy!” Thread yells but Haymitch is quick to respond to his preposterous accusation.

“Katniss Everdeen may be a lot of things but a rebel spy isn’t one of them! Everyone around here knows she hunts outside the perimeter for wild game…technically illegal yes, but she’s done so out of necessity to help feed her family. She sells whatever’s left at the hob, which you and your peacekeepers seem to have overlooked while enjoying the fruits of her labour with the fresh meat you buy to fill your own stomachs,” Haymitch reminds Thread, and I hear voices from the crowd bravely agreeing with our mentor.

“We all know you’re a smart man, but have you taken a moment to think what the consequences you alone as Head Peacekeeper will be expected to pay if you kill Snow’s Victors, not to mention how all this will impact on our mutual friend, the General? I think the best thing you can do for yourself right now is to let them both go and pray the girl doesn’t die from her injuries,” Haymitch strongly advises.

Silence fills the square as the crowd hold their collective breaths and wait for Thread to react and just when I think all hope is lost, Haymitch gives it one last-ditched effort to free us.

“The President had Cray removed…permanently, what makes you think he won’t do the same to you?”

The colour on Thread’s face turns a scorching red but he tries to remain unaffected by Haymitch’s comment. No matter who gave the order, Cray was relieved of his command the day Thread and the new troop of peacekeepers under his command drove into Twelve in their heavy-armoured combat vehicles.

Cray’s disappearance is a grim reminder of the absolute power President Snow holds over every citizen including his peacekeepers.

No one is safe…not even a Head Peacekeeper.

The silent tension is immediately broken when a peacekeeper rushes up to the platform, panting heavily and carrying a radio transmitter device. He salutes nervously first then informs Thread that General Jackson is on the other end wanting to speak with him without delay.

Thread snatches the device from the out-of-breath peacekeeper’s hand and strides to the corner of the wooden platform. Even from this short distance, his General’s voice can be heard shouting from the other end of the device. After a much one-sided conversation, it ends in less than a minute.

The order for everyone, including us to clear the square, is bellowed out before Thread marches off the platform and into his armoured vehicle where it speeds back towards the peacekeepers barracks.

I untied Katniss’ hands from the large hook the moment Thread finished barking out his order and when she flops into my arms and begins to whimper, my first thought is to cover her half-naked body with my apron which starts to blot with blood.

There’s no time to waste and with Katniss safely in my arms, I start to make my way off the platform in long even strides. Haymitch is there to guide me carefully down the steps before we make our way through the gathered crowd who strangely offer me sympathetic looks as they move to the side giving me a clear path.

This in itself is a strange occurrence but I don’t have time to analyse. There are some things I want to ask Haymitch but before I get a chance to open my mouth, he’s in my ear.

“That sadistic bastard! Thankfully for us Thread’s not too bright,” Haymitch claims. “Now listen to me very carefully boy and don’t ask questions…there’s not much time,” he begins, looking cautiously over his shoulders.

“I could wring that hot-head Hawthorne’s neck. He knew sweetheart would never leave without—” he stops mid-sentence, clearing his throat. “Nevermind…none of that’s important right now,” he adds and although our mentor is talking in riddles, one thought sticks in the forefront of my mind.

If Gale Hawthorne was responsible for this in anyway and by some slim chance we cross paths in the near future…he’s a dead man.

“Take Katniss back to your house and stay there until I come for you both,” I go to protest, not exactly sure why I think it would be a bad idea, but Haymitch speaks again before I have a chance to utter a word.

“Don’t argue with me! Things are going to move quick from here on end, and I need you both ready and in the one place when all hell breaks loose. Just stay alert!” he emphasises strongly. “Your house is the safest place for both of you…no listening bugs there, I’ve made sure.”

Be ready; stay alert; no bugs; when what happens? I don’t have a clue what any of that means and maybe it’s best I don’t…for now.

What little he does tell me, I already figured out for myself. Without Katniss’ healer mother and sister Primrose, who escaped along with the Hawthorne family, there’s isn’t anyone in Twelve qualified to attend to her wounds, but when Haymitch mentions sending someone he thinks could help, I’m quick to refuse the offer.

I won’t let a stranger near her.

“No! I’ll take care of Katniss myself,” I interject. “I know you have connections in the black-market, and I don’t mean Ripper. She’ll need the right kind of medicine and I’ll pay double whatever the going rate is…more if need be. Tell them to name their price and I’ll pay it! Just bring me everything you can lay your hands on, anything to fight infection and something strong for the pain,” I instruct with urgency as we make our way out of the square.

I may not be a healer, but I know the basics and keeping wounds clean is the first step to healing. That much I learnt from Katniss.

Haymitch taps me on the shoulder and I wince, my body reminding me of the single lash I received from Thread trying to protect Katniss.

“Keep your money boy. I’ll get you everything sweetheart needs and if she lives through this, it will be a bloody miracle,” he says before hurrying off, and the insides of my stomach twists with his response.

She has to live.

#Springtime Edition 2020 #submission #justajjfan #prompt 83

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cienie-isengardu · 3 years

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The development of Law’s relationship with Zoro - Part 5: Zou, The Kindred Spirits (The Last Moments Before War)

<<Part I: Before Meeting>> <<Part II: Sabaody Archipelago, The First Meeting>> <<Part III: Punk Hazard: The Alliance (A)__(B)>> <<Part IV: Dressrosa, The Breaking Point (The Plan Failed)__ (Saving Law)__(Protecting Law)__ (Birdcage, Pica and Doflamingo)__ (Aftermath)>> <<Part V: Zou, The Kindred Spirits (Traveling Together)__(Searching for Nakama)__ (Reunion)__ (Ninja-Pirate-Mink-Samurai Alliance)__(The Last Moments before War)>>

After Jack’s attack, Zonesha required medical attention (chapter 822). Anime extended that by showing how various members of the alliance worked together to help the injured elephant and even included a scene between Zoro (who again was lost) and Law asking him about his awful sense of direction.

This scene is funny on many levels, because:

anime didn’t show Law to be involved in any task like making bandages or preparing medicine or, like Zoro, cutting the wood

which means either he wandered and just saw Zoro or went after him on purpose

the “you walked on your own, Zoro-ya” implies he was aware Zoro at some point disappeared which supports possibility Law searched him on his own

and thought Zoro’s sense of direction was ridiculously terrible which clearly made Pirate Hunter embarrassed.

At least we know Law paid attention to Zoro in the Dressrosa arc, when he twice got lost on different occasions.

Then the whole interaction was related to Law invading Zoro’s personal space. Either it was his “revenge” for victory party on Dressrosa or he simply felt that comfortable around the other man. Whatever Law’s reason was, once Carrot and Luffy showed up out of nowhere, Law stepped back. Not too far away, but the distance between him and Pirate Hunter was more casual.

Luffy and Carrot made fun of “stray swordsman”. Zoro retorted he will simply carry the wood into the right place and did not take kindly to Law’s comment about waste of time and that he may be lost again. Whatever Zoro wanted to say, Trafalgar without warning used shambles to send the other man into the right place. With wood. That fell from the sky with Zoro and almost killed some poor Minks. Zoro called Law “that bastard” but overall it didn’t change anything between them.

That makes episode 775 one of the most direct interactions between these two Supernovas. Involving violating personal space, commenting on someone's flaw and a bit of arguing.

Once the Zunesha’s wound was dressed, the alliance split in four groups:

The rescue mission for Sanji was carried by Luffy, Nami, Chopper and Brook, Pekom and Pedro. Heart Pirates (represented by Law) and remaining Straw Hats (represented by Zoro) were going to Wano as Kinemon’s group.

While saying goodbye to Luffy’s team, Law and Zoro stayed far away from each other but close to their respective crewmembers. Then Luffy grabbed his people and simply jumped into an abyss, shocking and/or scaring his companions, samurais, minks and Law alike (chapter 822).

Law definitely still wasn’t used to such a way of transport. And maybe seeing Luffy doing it again brought the not so happy memories of a similar jump on Dressrosa. In contrast Zor’s group was pretty much relaxed watching their companions fall down from such height.

And so, the Zou arc ended.

Luffy’s group headed to Big Mom’s territory while Zoro’s group with samurais and Heart pirates will soon travel to Wano cramped in Law’s submarine.

Zou arc is set up for the upcoming fight against Kaido and Big Mom. One one hand, chapters 803 - 822 provided details and pieces of history needed for better understanding of the alliance situation and what will wait for them in future. On another, there were a few days of needed rest for characters during which the similarity between Law and Zoro could be seen. Both have marks of “dark characters” with specific sense of humor and/or logic. Both are cool-headed and while analyzing their situations often emotionless, if not to say clinical or even heartless. In dangerous situations they aren’t prone to panic or showing worries. Both have low tolerance for idiots (unless said idiots were their crewmembers). Both are introverted, quiet people who don’t talk much but observe their surroundings. Often keep some tangible distance from the large group and seem to like their own personal space. At the same time, through the arc Law could be seen in close range to Zoro - sometimes with little to no personal space between them. They may not talk much about personal matters and don’t hang like Luffy and Usopp do, but they definitely feel comfortable enough to stick so often close to each other and share observations.

Zoro, as one of the quietest Straw Hats and less prone to being emotional (like crying after dying painted dragon) was still the safest person to stay around for Law. They understood each other without need of many words, had similar reactions to danger or shocking news and people saying idiotic things (Bartolomeo and Luffy) while not showing their own emotions - even when ninja picked their interest immediately. Which is why Zou arc was titled by me as “The Kindred Spirits” because finally manga presented their interactions in more detailed way and it is hard to miss how often those two decided to stay around the other, even if there wasn’t anything to talk about.

If I have to sum up the Zou arc in relation to the development of Law’s relationship with Zoro in one sentence, I think “Law hanging out with a fellow introvert when there are so many noisy extroverted people around” would do the work.

Here comes additional thoughts and details worth to consider:

↪ In theory, as non captain, Zoro is below Luffy and Law. Straw Hat and Surgeon of the Death are de facto leaders of alliance. But once Luffy went his way, Zoro led Straw Hat group (similar like Sanji led the separated part of crew to Zou). During that time, he and Law were on equal footing in the sense of leadership skills. Interestingly, the narrator called their group as “team Zoro”, totally ignoring Law’s status as captain or potential leader. Later on, when alliance split in four groups, the graphic illustrating the division showed Trafalgar and Zoro as equal leaders representing their respective crews while both were put into Kinemon’s team.

↪ Thinking more about “team Zoro”, there is a possibility that Law temporary accepted Zoro’s leadership:

- it is clear he hates when people order him around (what was seen on Sabaody Archipelago with Eustass Kid) and Luffy, every time Straw Hats makes a decision ignoring Law’s opinion or outright ignoring him.

- Nami mentioned in Dressrosa Law was a lot like Luffy - giving orders to others without caring what they think. At the same time on Zou he did not boss anyone from Straw Hats. All major matters (not waiting for samurais and finding Bepo) were decided by Zoro. Everyone was allowed to express their concerns - what Robin and Usopp did - but once Roronoa made the final decision, no one questioned his judgment of the situation. Not even Law who, as captain himself, should be on equal ground.

- Law said “we should head straight for [Bepo] if we want accurate intel” which sounded like a suggestion of best action instead of giving order. This adds to the impression Law was truly compliant through their journey into the unknown place.

- Considering that Zoro did not try to order Law around (like Kid) and listened to his observations and suggestions (unlike Luffy sometimes), there wasn’t any reason for conflict or power struggles between those two Supernovas. Trafalgar was treated well by Zoro and the group who asked about his opinion and respected him in the general sense of the word.

↪ There is also the matter of Carrot’s attack. Zoro took on himself to fight the unknown enemy and Law did not protest.

- Once again, Sabaody Archipelago showed Law did not take kindly to insinuation he needed protection of others when Kid insisted on fighting marines alone.

- During Dressrosa, he didn’t fight unless he had to; to save as much energy as possible in case of a facing Doflamingo. We learned then that though Ope Ope no Mi was a powerful devil fruit, using its powers consumed a lot of energy.

- It is hard to judge how much time Law needed to fully renew his strength but after three days of rest on Dressrosa and one week of journey, from the group that arrived to Zou, Law seemed to still be recovering from injuries. What the bandages on his arm implies. Not even Luffy or Usopp had any visible injury signs after so much time.

- In all fairness, Zoro was the only one person in the group who wasn’t really damaged during the previous battle. The fight with Doflamingo left Luffy sleeping for three days after, Law and Usopp were mercilessly beaten down at some point, Franky had a manly fight against Senor Pink that left him injured and exhausted, Robin was hurt while protecting Rebecca from Diamente’s attack.

- Now, considering that Law could be not fully healed - and if that was true, Law and Zoro should be very aware of such a problem - letting Roronoa to deal personally with the danger makes sense. On one hand Zoro is always first to fight an enemy, because he likes fighting. On another, protecting others is his natural reflex. But in contrast to Kid, Zoro doesn’t make a big deal of that; he doesn’t ask for gratitude nor make fun of those who rely on him for being weak. The same as in Dressrosa, Law’s inability to fight at full capability was acknowledged but didn’t treat as personal weakness. Zoro simply protected the group because it is what he always does - put himself between danger and other people.

- Which could explain why Law didn’t protest and let the other Supernova deal with the enemy instead of proving his battle superiority or something like that. Law allowed himself to be protected - maybe because of injuries or because of trust in Zoro. Maybe for both of those reasons.

↪ During the joint trip to meet Raizo, Law always stayed at the end of the group, just after Zoro. Anime made it especially look like Trafalgar kept quite a large space between himself and Pirate Hunter, even though for most of time he didn’t mind staying close to the man. This actually made me think about author’s notes included in volume 76:

“This famous Japanese saying that can be taken as even sexist. "A wife must always walk three steps behind her husband."

This saying comes from ancient Japanese samurai culture. Let's say we were one of those samurai who constantly carried around those dangerous Japanese swords, not knowing when we'd need to pull them out and fight- if that were the case, would we really make our loved ones walk right next to us? Those "3 steps" are equivalent to the distance we must make to keep our ladies safe!! If you're a man, say this. "Take 3 steps back and follow me!!!" Take 3 steps back from volume 79, and this is "Volume 76"!!” [translation according to one piece wiki]

Putting aside the context of wife, the “safe distance” from someone who is carrying katanas actually could explain the change in range between Zoro and Law. When the group went to and came back from the hidden place, everyone was walking in line, one person after another. Since Law was a swordsman himself, he may follow some unspoken safety rules, like not going too close to armed swordmaster. Also, maybe he prefered to keep a distance between Zoro’s cursed sword and his own? The cursed blades like to cause problems and some, like Kitetsu, are bloodthirsty. So in general, the distance kept then most likely was less about liking or disliking each other and maybe about some rules of safety understandable to swordsmen?

↪ This seems to be more anime-thing, but Law addressed Roronoa as Zoro-ya. In the previous arc, most male Straw Hat pirates get their own nicknames (nose-ya for Usopp, Black Leg-ya for Sanji, Straw Hat-ya for Luffy). Law is on a first-name basis with Zoro. On the other hand, Roronoa used Luffy’s nickname Traffy..

↪ The interest in ninja is another thing they have in common albeit for different reasons. Law was mainly interested in clone jutsu which fits his medical skills - he can manipulate someone’s body while a ninja may multiply himself. Zoro’s interest was focused mainly on weapons and ninja’s endurance to pain/injury, because of course he wanted to see how strong the shinobi was.

↪ Law seems to not be a fan of partying, at least not in a big and noisy group. I’m not sure if we ever saw him actually drinking alcohol (don’t remember that personally) and who knows, he may not be fond of that too. This time Zoro didn’t drink with Law, so either he respected Trafalgar’s wish to be left alone or simply knew that Law was surrounded by his own crew, thus didn’t need his company. Last time, Law was a lonely Heart pirate between Straw Hats and the new Straw Hat Grand Fleet, now his own crew for sure wanted to spend some time with a long no see captain.

That is all for now for Zou arc. The alliance had a chance to relax and rest a bit before facing Kaido. With the help of new friends, Zoro and Law headed to land of samurais now occupied by one of Yonko. How their relationship will work under new level of pressure will verify the next part - Wano arc.

#one piece #The development of Law’s relationship with Zoro #trafalgar law #roronoa zoro #straw hats #monkey d. luffy #an introverted law hanging out with fellow introvert zoro with so many noisy extroverted people around #zou arc #finally done #if ony tumblr didn't make so much problems with posting long text post i would published it much earlier #my analyze #zou arc was a nice in between more serious dressrosa and wano

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thecoleopterawithana · 4 years

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Hi there! Just discovered your blog and I love it. I appreciate your in-depth analyses. But I have a question: I saw in a previous post that you think the line "I'm in love with a friend of mine," from "Dear Friend," is Paul saying he loves John. But, couldn't this line apply to Linda? It seems to me Paul could be telling John either, "Let it go, you know I'm in love with you," or "Let it go, you know I'm in love with Linda." What do you think? I'd love the line to be for John of course. Thanks!

Hey there, dear anon! I’m so happy you’re having fun with the blog and my sporadic thoughts!

Ah, yes! The famous conundrum: who is the friend Paul’s in love with?

I want to start off by making it clear that I have no doubt in my mind that Paul was in love with Linda.

In the same way, I don’t see it as too far fetched to think that Paul was in love with John. They both used it to describe their relation often enough.

The question, as always, is what exactly Paul means and what we mean when using the term.

So the third point I’d like to make is that Paul being in love with John doesn’t necessarily entail him wanting to kiss him or be a typical romantic couple. It’s possible that this is simply the best term they found to describe the level of intensity and infatuation present in their relationship; how fascinated they were with each other, how interested in spending time together. Of course, we as a culture are very hung-up on the physical manifestations of these feelings, and often use this small constituent of very complex dynamics to categorize them into platonic, romantic, sexual, etc. But I think I’ve harped on enough about the illusion, limitation, and importance of language/concepts/categories in the previous post you referred to.

By all of this I just mean to say that maybe we shouldn’t decide who the line is about based on how plausible it would be for Paul to use “in love” in reference to John Lennon, as there are more instances him doing exactly so.

So, assuming that Paul is just as likely to use “in love” to refer to his relationship with Linda as to his relationship with John, let’s see what he says about the song:

“Dear Friend” was written about John, yes. I don’t like grief and arguments, they always bug me. Life is too precious, although we often find ourselves guilty of doing it. So after John had slagged me off in public I had to think of a response, and it was either going to be to slag him off in public — and some instinct stopped me, which I’m really glad about — or do something else. So I worked on my attitude and wrote “Dear Friend”, saying, in effect, let’s lay the guns down, let’s hang up our boxing gloves.

— Paul McCartney, interviewed for Club Sandwich (1994).

Dear Friend was to do with John, a bit of longing about John. Let’s have a glass of wine and forget about it. A making up song.

— Paul McCartney, interviewed by Paul Du Noyer for Mojo (July 2001).

[Dear Friend] was written for John, to John. It was like a letter. With the business pressures of the Beatles breaking up it’s like a marriage. One minute you’re in love, the next minute you hate each other’s guts. It’s a pity, because it’s very difficult to cut through all that. So you do what we all seemed to do, which was write it in songs. I wrote “Dear Friend” as a kind of peace gesture.

— Paul McCartney, in Bill Harry's The Paul McCartney Encyclopedia (2002).

And then with ‘Dear Friend’, that’s sort of me talking to John after we’d had all the sort of disputes about The Beatles break up. I find it very emotional when I listen to it now. I have to sort of choke it back. I’m not going to cry in front of all you lot though! […] But, for me, it is a bit like that. I remember when I heard the song recently, listening to the roughs [remastering works-in-progress] in the car. And I thought, ‘Oh God’. That lyric: ‘Really truly, young and newly wed’. Listening to that was like, ‘Oh my God, it’s true!’ I’m trying to say to John, ‘Look, you know, it’s all cool. Have a glass of wine. Let’s be cool.’ And luckily we did get it back together, which was like a great source of joy because it would have been terrible if he’d been killed as things were at that point and I’d never got to straighten it out with him. This was me reaching out. So, I think it’s very powerful in some very simple way. But it was certainly heartfelt.”

— Paul McCartney, You Gave Me The Answer - ‘Wild Life’ Special (29 October 2018).

So, starting by stating the obvious, Paul has made it clear that the ‘dear friend’ the song is addressed to is John. Now, is the ‘friend of mine’ a different subject or the same?

Conveniently, because they continue to mirror each other, both Paul and John are ‘really truly, young and newly wed.’ So the whole phrasing of the song is exactly the sort of “very non-specific way to say it” that Paul prefers.

Though, in 2018, Paul comments precisely on this line: “I find it very emotional when I listen to it now. [...] And I thought, ‘Oh God’. That lyric: ‘Really truly, young and newly wed’. Listening to that was like, ‘Oh my God, it’s true!’”

It’s worth to consider the context of the whole verse, as that specific lyric is the end of a sentence: ‘Dear friend, throw the wine, I'm in love with a friend of mine, really truly, young and newly wed.’

Paul tells us that this phrase in particular gets him choked up, but also almost awed in realization. I personally don’t feel like this kind of surprised amazement would be elicited by acknowledging that it’s him and Linda that were ‘in love’ and ‘really truly, young and newly wed’, unless out of a sense of nostalgia.

But the thing is, Paul doesn’t bring up Linda or Yoko or their respective marriages even once while discussing the song. If the point he’s trying to make is, ‘Look, I’m in love with Linda, you’re with Yoko, why are we fighting?’, why would he never bring them up while discussing the song? Or state something to the effect of “We are individuals— all different. John married Yoko, I married Linda. We didn't marry the same girl.” (Which he did say in the autumn of 1969, to Life magazine.)

In actuality, he only mentions his metaphorical matrimony to John, and how “one minute you’re in love, the next minute you hate each other’s guts.” So, when discussing a song written to, for and about his ‘dear friend’ John, in which he declares he’s ‘in love with a friend’ of his, Paul explains how it’s like they’d been “in love” with each other.

I think we might be making this needlessly complicated by bringing in his love for Linda, and so would like to invoque the law of parsimony.

But then, what does he mean?

Paul makes it abundantly clear that the ultimate goal of this ‘letter’ is an attempt at reconciliation, “a kind of peace gesture”, “let’s be cool”, “let’s lay the guns down, let’s hang up our boxing gloves”. It’s a “making up song.”

It pays to point out that while Dear Friend was first recorded at the beginning of the Wild Life sessions, on 24 July 1971, the demo tapes date back to a year prior, estimated to have been made at home in 1970. So it’s unlikely it was a response to How Do You Sleep?, recorded on 26 May 1971, and released on 9 September 1971. So Paul seems to be answering some other slagging off in public that John did.

But let’s look at the song:

Dear friend, what's the time? Is this really the borderline? Does it really mean so much to you?

Are you afraid, or is it true?

Dear friend, throw the wine I'm in love with a friend of mine Really truly, young and newly wed

Are you a fool, or is it true?

Are you afraid, or is it true?

The first line seems to be pretty self-explanatory, with the same sentiment Paul expressed in 1994, that “life is too precious”; after all, ‘Life is very short, and there's no time for fussing and fighting, my friend.’

In the second line, the question could mean, ‘Is this really where we’re at? Is this where we ended up?’ Or he could be using ‘borderline’ to mean a division, in the sense that he asks ‘Is this really where the line is drawn?’, which could help explain the end of the verse and his bafflement at how hurt John is by having that line crossed.

Now, what might be the action that meant so much to John? What might be Paul pinpointing as the source of John’s hurt? The sources could be multiple. John himself said no one hurt him as much as Paul did, and he was quick to point out Paul’s insensitivity. Paul would later continue to ponder this issue:

I always felt guilty. Always felt guilty. But looking back on it, I keep thinking, okay, let’s try and analyse this. Now John was hurt; what was he hurt by? What was the single biggest thing that we can find in all our research that hurt John? And the biggest thing that I can find is that I told the world that the Beatles were finished. And I don’t think that’s so hurtful. [...] I look at it now and really kind of shudder. At the time it was me trying to answer some questions that were being asked and I decided to not fudge that question. [Note: Where John’s hurt is concerned, Paul may or may not be referring specifically to his answering “Do you foresee a time when Lennon-McCartney becomes an active songwriting partnership again?” with a definitive “No.”] And I say, looking back on it, I don’t think… I mean, if that’s the most hurtful thing I did, I haven’t really heard much else beyond that.

— Paul McCartney, interviewed by Chris Salewicz for Musician (October 1986).

Of course, there’s nothing to say that Paul would be aware of all of this back in 1970. So we may never know what hurt Paul was referring to, if any. Remember this is just my present personal interpretation; which can be completely incorrect.

Now comes the part which I consider the most mysterious in the entire song: ‘Are you afraid, or is it true?’ and the variation, ‘Are you a fool, or is it true?’ The exact meaning for these inquires often eludes me. What is John afraid of and what is the alternative state that Paul wonders if it’s true?

One interpretation I’ve seen is made in the context of Dear Friend being an answer to How Do You Sleep? Here, the question ‘is it true?’ amounts to ‘did you really mean all those things you said, or were you just hurt?’ This seems a reasonable take and it works as a response to any attacks by John, not just necessarily How Do You Sleep?

Of course, Paul uses the word ‘afraid’. And although I can see a post-divorce John Lennon slagging of his ex out of hurt, I don’t understand how he’d do it out of fear. But maybe there was something to lose still.

Personally, clarity arrived when I was exposed to the song A Love For You. Part of the RAM demo tapes made between May and August 1970, this track recorded in 26 October 1970 would only be heard by the public in 2003, in the soundtrack for the movie “The In-Laws”.

The piece shares many motifs with other McCartney songs, as I’ve tried to explore before. But, to our discussion, I think the most relevant part of this contemporary of Dear Friend is the very last line of the second verse:

Is it true, are you coming through, or were you just leaving?

Here we have it; around the same time, precisely the same question: ‘Is it true?’

Though in the case of Dear Friend, it’s as if what he questions as “true” is reversed, asking instead: ‘Is it true you were just leaving? Or are you afraid of coming through? Or are you a fool for not seeing that I really am, I really can, I really do, I really have a love for you?’

This interpretation seems to match my current hypothesis that the breakup was but a disastrous series of miscommunications, which both created and were created by fear, distrust and insecurity in the other’s love.

If this is the case, the second verse seems to also make more sense. The first line is explained by Paul in 2001: “Let’s have a glass of wine and forget about it.” Assuming that the second line (the reason for this whole post) is referring to John, then it represents a clarification of Paul’s feelings. The verse culminates with a question that seems to reinforce the whole message: ‘Are you a fool for not seeing I’m in love with you, or is it true that you actually meant to leave and that you don’t feel the same anymore?’

I have to reinforce that, even with all of this, when Paul says ‘I’m in love with you’ to John, I don’t think it necessarily means ‘I’ll leave Linda, take me back!’ From my perspective, the way Paul’s in love with Linda doesn’t really infringe on the way he’s in love with John. He probably had totally different needs and expectations from the two relationships, which he doesn’t see as mutually exclusive.

So, in conclusion, for me Dear Friend is essentially Paul writing a letter to John saying, ‘Come on, are we really wasting time with this fighting nonsense? Let’s make up! I still feel the way I felt. Do you?’

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