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luckquartzed · 2 months

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AVENTURINE — MISC. HEADCANONS PART 1 ( Quirks, Culture & Past )

Part 2

• He can’t drive for shit. Like, he can, but he didn’t learn until he was like 20 because Space Anchors are awesome so why would he ever need to learn? He’s from a tribe that was banished to the desert they did not have a traffic system down there. He knows how to ride a Sun Camel though! Do not check the HSR Wiki for Sun Camel okay I made that up. Anyway he’ll drive at like 200km in a 80km zone because adrenaline makes him feel like he’s alive instead of just a puppet on strings.

• His eyes, which are said to be a genetic trait of the Avgin, aren’t just for show. Because their people evolved to hunt & work mainly at night due to the blistering heat during the day, they have a layer of tissue in their eyes called tapetum lucidum, their eyes also reflect light, even in the dark, which accounts for the intense hue & tendency to glow even at night. He has the night vision of a predator animal basically. He can’t see in pitch black darkness, but he can see about 8-10x better & more clearly than other human races.

• Also because of the eye thing, he’s mildly nearsighted because nocturnal predators have worse sight in the daylight than they do at night.

• The files pertaining to his background prior to becoming an IPC employee are encrypted & not under his name. Even if you were skilled enough to decode them, it still doesn’t list his birth name or his moniker of Aventurine, instead it lists his background regarding criminal activity prior to his arrest under a case number. The Avgin boy they discuss in the file is merely referred to as ‘No. 35’, which is also the name his Master referred to him as when he purchased Aven & 34 others years ago. Likewise, if you were to scan the commodity code on his neck, it’s original data has been wiped clear & replaced by instructions of the IPC to contact upper management & arrange the return of their asset. Though it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, it’s a necessary step in case Aventurine was ever captured or arrested on a hostile planet not under IPC control. He’s valuable enough they would be willing to negotiate for his release.

• He doesn’t like the taste of soda. It’s weird to him. He grew up drinking sterilized rain water, native fruit juices, farm fresh milk & a type of coffee or tea plant occasionally, but they didn’t have soda so he didn’t try it until he was almost sixteen, & quickly decided he hates it. Same with sparkling champagne, sparkling water or anything with that fizzy carbonation in it. He thinks, “That shit tastes like TV static.”

• He’s not great at cooking from scratch using electric appliances. The things he does know how to make well require fresh, raw ingredients because his people were farmers, hunters, gatherers, artisans. They didn’t have modern technologies like synthesizers which could just make food out of pre-prepared ingredients. He learned how to make a lot of stews, broths, breads, spices, teas, syrups etc. But he does not know how to bake muffins or cook a roast in an oven, time it just right, whip potatoes or make a macaroni etc.

• He didn’t learn to use a computer until he was almost 17 & the IPC showed him. Ditto for writing, although he had self taught himself a bit of reading it was only at maybe a third grade level. He also has the math skills of about an 8 year old which sounds bad for someone dealing with statistics & probability, but his uncanny luck applies there — his guesses are usually correct even when presented with equations he shouldn’t know the answer to.

• Things he did learn on Sigonia: Hunting, gathering, cleaning & curing meats, identifying herbs / fruits / fungus that are safe for consumption, using all parts of an animal so nothing is wasted including using bones to make soup, toys, ornaments, utensils, cups, etc. learning to turn hide into leather. Woodworking. Milking camels / sheep / goats. Sewing. Navigating the land by using the stars & cardinal directions. Pottery. Gardening. How to build shelters out of whatever you can find. Identifying precious gemstones including turning the more fragile ones into jewellery, paint, ornaments & more. He can make healing creams & drawing salves / poultices out of plants & cook over an open fire, create a shelter, etc.

• Most Avgin did not wear wedding rings. For many, simply the act of agreeing to spend the rest of their lives together was a marital agreement, & an exchange of vows in itself. It depended on the family & their personal beliefs but two Avgin deciding to move out together & live on their own were considered married, & the next step was to have a family of their own. Arranged marriages were a thing but, with decreasing population, it wasn’t forced by any means. Young adults who married had typically known each other most of their lives before agreeing to wed. The ones who did wear rings wore them on their right ring finger, & the left ring finger was used only by widows / widowers as a way to convey that their partner had passed on. Wearing a wedding ring on your left ring finger when your spouse is still alive is considered to be highly unlucky.

• Aventurine was born on May 6th. In Avgin culture, this day marks the beginning of the ‘new year’, & it is the most sacred day of all for them. May 6th is called the Kakava, & symbolizes the death of Gaiathra Triclops, also known as Fenge Biyos, the Mother Goddess & Kakava. On this day, Her divine essence ascends as a resplendent aurora in the night sky & is reborn in the following day.

• Because of his frustrating tendency to win every single wager, bet or game he plays including ones he doesn’t even know the rules too ( see: Chess ), he often throws games if he’s going against someone for fun & they’re a bit on the soft side, or a child. If there’s nothing serious at stake he doesn’t mind ‘losing’, he’s not out here trying to make little kids cry.

• By popular terminology, he’d be Bisexual, but he doesn’t really think of himself that way. There were gay people, lesbians, trans folks etc on Sigonia but they didn’t have specifically defined categories for them like the rest of the universe. They were still people loved by Gaiathra, they were just different. Bisexuals & Pansexuals for example would have simply referred to themselves as ‘lovers of many’ or ‘lovers of all’, even if they were monogamous, as a way of explaining their attraction. He’s never come out, because it wasn’t something he was ever taught needed to be said out loud.

• Divination features heavily in Avgin culture, particularly for women, but they do not believe in contacting the dead, for those who have passed on are with Fenge Biyos & are slumbering in Her arms eternally. You can speak to them, but trying to contact them is viewed as selfish. The dead have done their duties, let them sleep.

• Despite his name, Aventurine’s wardrobe consists of a lot of black, gold, & turquoise ( blue-green ) colours rather than the dark green that comes to mind with his gem’s association. This is because turquoise ( sometimes called ‘plavo’ which translates to blue, gray, azure, etc . ) is the sacred mineral of the Avgin people. They view it as the only stone that outshines the beauty of Gaiathra Triclops. Turquoise represents Her heavenly body, while the gold symbolizes the sands of their home world & black the colour of the night sky. Hence, these colours feature heavily in Avgin culture & Aventurine has a fondness for them.

• He hates the cold. HATES it. He grew up in the desert! Imagine growing up in Texas, Las Vegas or Arizona & moving to like… Moscow, Russia. He will whine if you make him go out in anything below 10 degrees Celsius okay. If you invite him somewhere cold you’d better be prepared to hug him & share body heat or at least buy him a hot drink because he WILL bitch about it.

More to be added later I’m sure!

#♠️ — EVERY NIGHT I’M LIVING LIKE THERE’S NO TOMORROW { HEADCANON }#♠️ — MY VICTORY WASN’T JUST A STROKE OF LUCK; I’VE NEVER BEEN DEFEATED { SKILLSET }#♠️ — I’VE GOT MORE SKELETONS THAN CEMETERIES HOLD‚ THAT MADE JUST LIVING LIFE FEEL LIKE A FUNERAL { PAST }

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thesmutalorian · 6 months

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Yeah they made the feral predator way too hot. The credits came on and I immediately went to Ao3 like “let’s see what the girlies have to say about thissssss” 🤭 I saw the original predator almost a decade ago and as much as I liked it, never would of guessed I’d be here now 🙂

the ooman shit kills me, like why do they have these scary ass aliens saying such silly shit I’m gonna die.

Turns ouuuuut, I actually have more to sayyyyy, but you don’t have to respond: I feel bad bc I don’t have an Ao3 account so I can never comment, but Gorl if I did, id have a whole essay for every chapter, including reaction images 😤. Ik you aren’t currently writing from Ta'Kesh’s POV (which is perfectly fine lol), but I really appreciated how you did so. The predator POV is so fun to read, they’re just so damn cold and pragmatic and just ALIEN yk? (Ta’kesh makes me laugh bc he’s such a lil psycho lol). At least when done right I think. The dynamic you have set up is really interesting, like I love a good slow burn enemies to friends to lovers, but the cultural differences and species hierarchy sets it up for some really fascinating (JUICY) interactions/character development. I was unfortunate enough to come upon your story very early, there aren’t many other fics that hold up to the standard you set! (Have you read The Devil You Know? One of the only other quality fics I’ve found that seems to accurately portray that sort of dynamic- 10/10 recommend).

But anyway, the arrogance, the entitlement, just the cold bluntness makes predator fic so engaging to me. When you take a person with that deeply ingrained of a mindset (that’s another aspect I love, the question of whether or not yautjas are innately “predatory” or if it’s largely due to cultural upbringing) and force them to interact with with someone they deem inferior in a way they never have had to before (and there was only ONE BED heheh) I’m eating that shit up with 2 hands like GOOD SOUP!!😤😤😤

I appreciate it even more with a quality OC and I like Charlie a lot. I really struggle with reader/you fics bc beyond me just being like “lol I would not do that”, I like having an established character to root for :). She has an interesting past that you’ve managed to portray in an appealing and unostentatious way. Reminds me of Rust cohle from True Detective. I like that she’s very brave, but not to the point of ridiculousness lol. She has her moments where she’s able to act courageously in order to try to survive, but still gets intimidated/scared (extremely valid) sometimes with the big ass scary aliens. Do you have anyone in mind for how she looks?

Some highlights so far:

Greatly enjoyed ta’kesh’s cringe fail lake venture where Charlie showed his ass up while he fucking stands in the background looking like a drowned ass rat ahahah but watching her Commit Violence like 👀

Idk why but aliens using bidets is so fucking funny to me

Kinda living for ta’kesh being a dork and talking to his cat all the time hehe

let me see what the girlies have to sayyyyy 👏🏼 absolutely the correct response. my friend and I stand by that alien v predator could've been entirely more romantic if they were brave enough but 🤪 no cause literallyyyyy when I read ooman I hear it in a baby voice and I canNOT take it seriously, like bless those authors truly but whoever started the ooman precedent.... I just wanna talk 🧍🏻‍♀️ and girly pop ofc I'm gonna respond you took the time to let me know how you feel and I /love/ interaction okay (I think there's a way to comment anon on ao3 with like a guest account or name or something but maybe I'm wrong idk) but either way you take the time I want to show my appreciation

I stopped his POV just cause I felt like I was backtracking and I'm already so slow (rip sorry) but I really do want to come back to it in the future just to have fun revealing his inner workings (cause sometimes I be writing things and giggling like pookie is such a brat and then I remember y'all can't hear the goofy ass voices in my head and you only know the story I show you) but yes yes their differences are gonna play out in so many ways that I just can't wait for 😇 AND YES IVE READ FRIGGY one of the few I made it all the way through and then had to literally have a whole moment to process that there wasn't a second part 😗😗 sick I tell you, sick,, but I completely understand the not being able to read FPOV or self insert because of the "ummm I would never" --- because that's EXACTLY how I started writing 💀😭 I was chatting w my friend and we were like ok but isn't it kinda weird how fast some of these fmc just like... accept the whole ass murder crab men? also--- how do they survive well in space and from there Charlie was born ahahahHA I was like ok but what if I made it realistic for bits (as realistic as scifi can be) and then asked people to suspend their disbelief for the fun bits like the space pond and the tail n shit 🤭🤭

I have a whole board of art for ta'kesh but I've never really stopped to think about Charlie 🧐🧐

YES DROWNED RAT IS SOOOOO RIGHT mans really does have an ego, which, like rightfully earned? but also... must be checked whenever author feels he needs it (all the time 😇)

the bidet was me being like what is something that isn't necessarily commonplace, but feels bougie enough that an advanced society would have it regularly around.... ah yes.... Bidet.

ta'kesh is a cat girl, confirmed

I promise to bring you more good soup in the future 🍲

#ao3 #yautja #answered #close quarters #fanfic

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avaantares · 1 year

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(yet another) rant: Please stop with the frivolous Trigger Warnings

(Note: If you want to skip the recipe blog intro and get to the actual important stuff, scroll down to the header that says, "Which Warning to Use on Your Post")

Sooo I made a text post that had a few words in capital letters mixed in for effect (the rest of the text was in standard formatting). Someone reblogged it with the tags "tw: all caps" and "tw: capital letters."

The existence of these tags, specifically in the form of a trigger warning, struck me as weird. I mean, I can see why someone might be uncomfortable with an all-caps text block, if they've dealt with abusive/angry capslocked emails or something, and I can see how large blocks of capitalized text could be difficult to read, and some users might prefer to avoid them. But...

Limited capitalization as emphasis (e.g. dropping OH WAIT in the middle of otherwise lower-case text to indicate a shift in tone) does not present the same issues as a solid block of capslocked text;

I have not encountered this tag in the plethora of posts that employ the meme/joke format of subverting standard case usage or alternating case (yes, the SpongeBob meme is a thing with an actual academic definition, and it also predates the existence of SpongeBob by some decades); and

Most importantly, while formatting definitely affects user experience and can be worth tagging for that reason, I wouldn't have escalated it to the level of a trigger, which is a term with a pretty specific definition:

The concept of ‘triggering’ describes the re-experiencing of unpleasant PTSD symptoms such as intrusive thoughts being evoked by exposure to materials which spark traumatic memories. Hence, content warnings have a long presence in psychiatric literature. [source: Typology of content warnings and trigger warnings: Systematic review]

(Full disclosure for anyone who hasn't already learned from reading my rants: I have a background in behavior science, so I'm all about scientific definitions and correct application of same.)

But I thought that maybe I was misinterpreting what was being tagged, and I like learning what I should tag in future posts, so I thought I'd look deeper into those tags and see if I was missing something.

Welp. It sure was educational.

Turns out there are established "trigger warnings" on Tumblr for all of the following (not a comprehensive list; these are just the ones I also saw when scrolling through the caps tags, since many of those posts had more than one thing tagged):

any text with two or more capital letters in sequence

any text in italics

any text underlined

any text in boldface

any text in a font other than the default

any text in a color other than the default (as well as tags for each individual color)

images in black and white

images in color (how dare color exist)

images with... subjectively brighter? colors

images without ALT text

posts containing emoji

and my favorite entry, which for obvious reasons I can't describe by the content it's supposedly protecting us from:

"tw just in case"

O_o

So... where to even begin.

I guess I'll get the promised rant out of the way (for those of you who prefer to stay positive, skip ahead two paragraphs): It's no wonder that much of society mocks the very concept of trigger warnings, when they're used this... I have to come right out and say frivolously. Heck, even I'm having trouble taking the greater Tumblr community seriously right in this moment, and I've been part of it for *mumble* years and practically live here. Who in the academic/corporate/entertainment/quote-unquote real world is going to honor a request for content warnings when they see that the """kids these days""" consider italicized text a psychological trigger they need to be protected from? And you can just imagine some dudebro saying, "Wow, these special snowflakes are so fragile they're even traumatized by seeing color, lulz. We should see what really freaks them out!" ...and that won't end well.

The obvious rebuttal to that point is to argue that these tags aren't intended for use by the outside world, most of which already thinks Tumblr died years ago. Not that this has ever stopped Twitter and Reddit and Facebook users from screenshotting Tumblr posts to claim ownership of mock before, but honestly the extra-Tumblr world is the less important concern here, so I won't labor that point. The more immediate issue is how this affects Tumblr users, the Tumblr community, and the experience we're all so proud of being able to curate for ourselves.

The critical point is this: Tags exist for Tumblr users to find things of interest and avoid things they don't want to see. Warnings exist for Tumblr users to protect themselves. Conflating the two can cause not only confusion, but the opposite of the desired effect of being able to curate your experience.

Please note that it is not wrong to tag any of the things listed above. By all means, tag everything in your post! Tag away! Tag your text formatting and images and colors! Use that whole tag space so people can find/not find your content as desired! But none of these things should be categorized as trigger warnings. Trigger warnings, content warnings, and tags are all separate things, and should be used appropriately so people know what to look for/avoid in a post.

Now, you may well ask: Why do the semantics matter? If something's tagged, why does it matter how it's tagged? Isn't it better to warn people about anything and everything that they might possibly not like?

For those affected by PTSD, trauma, phobias, anxiety, psychosis, optically-sensitive medical conditions, etc., being able to trust tags -- and the community's overall reliability where they are concerned -- can be critical to their health and well-being. When the community's tags become imprecise, sloppy, or unspecified -- for example, when people start throwing tags like "tw just in case" on their posts instead of actually describing what is in the post -- it becomes unpleasant or even dangerous for those people to exist in that community. And although doubtless well-intentioned, the kind of overzealous helicopter tagging that labels things like text formatting or the presence of emoji as a trigger does two things: First, it can confuse filters and sandbag search results (for search purposes, tags are treated like a word bank, rather than individual line items). Second, it fosters a general lack of regard for real, life-threatening triggers. If Tumblr users get used to seeing every tiny little thing called out as a "trigger" -- trigger warning, there's a picture of a bird in this post! trigger warning, I can't spell so there's probably a word misspelled in this post! trigger warning, someone used a heart emoji in this post! trigger warning, here's a photo with the color orange in it! trigger warning, there's a banana in this post! Self image trigger warning, I'm having the worst hair day, lol! j/k! -- then subconsciously, "trigger warning" becomes synonymous with "lots of things random people find mildly annoying, so tag stuff if you happen to think of it" instead of "a few important things we should be diligent about tagging because someone's life might quite literally depend on it."

I know categorizing tags can be confusing, and in recent years there hasn't been much consistency in usage on Tumblr, so here's a cheat sheet to help you decide what warnings to use (and to be clear, I didn't make these up; these are sourced from academic literature and teaching guides, and were -- back in the Olden Days -- also more widely used on Tumblr.)

For a more thorough description of the most common types of content to post warnings about, see this PDF.

Which Warning to Use on Your Post:

Trigger warning (TW): Used to denote content that may trigger a PTSD episode, a severe psychological reaction, or a physiological reaction due to a medical condition (e.g. epilepsy). Broadly speaking, this warning is intended to mitigate risks that may exist because of a viewer's personal experience and/or medical status. Examples of things that should be tagged TW: sexual violence; child abuse; flashing gifs

Content warning (CW): Used to denote sensitive material that may make viewers uncomfortable or upset, or that some viewers may prefer not to see, but not necessarily invoke a traumatic personal experience. Broadly speaking, this warning is concerned with a viewer's comfort level. This can include general concepts (e.g. discussion of homophobia) as well as specific instances (e.g. use of homophobic language). Examples of things that should be tagged CW: racism; nudity; death

Descriptive tags (not warnings): Used to describe the content of a post, without value judgment, so that it is searchable and/or avoidable. (And also to write rambling comma-free essays, because Tumblr is just Like That. But that's a whole separate thing.) Examples of things that can be (generally) tagged: the themes or topics being discussed; black and white images; capitalized text; insects; the color green; memes; rainbows; digital art; literally anything else that appears in your post

Can people still dislike/be upset by things that aren't on a broadly-accepted TW/CW list? Absolutely. But that's not quite the same as a trigger, and that's why we also have general tags.

Here's an example of the difference between disliking or being triggered by content (source: "The right way to use a Trigger Warning," emphasis mine):

Trigger Warnings are here to prevent people who have experienced traumatic experiences to be exposed to something that might trigger a physical and/or mental reaction. Trigger is the key word here. “Trigger*” is used to talk about PTSD and mental illness. “Triggered” and “offended/upset” are not the same concept. I can be upset if I see a picture of a beautiful cake because I cannot bake, but it won’t trigger a post-traumatic reaction.

You aren't going to be able to anticipate every single person's likes and dislikes, phobias, emotional associations, and so on. There's a temptation to try to cover every base imaginable, but that's actually... less than helpful. Actively unhelpful, in some cases. In addition to the reasons I cited earlier, here's an example of how "I'll tag it just in case someone doesn't like a thing" warnings can be confusing:

Let's say I have two followers: WingHater96 has a deep phobia of butterflies, while ButterSuperFly78 adores butterflies. Tagging a post "butterflies" helps them both navigate my feed more efficiently: WingHater96 can block the entire "butterfly" tag, while ButterSuperFly78 can search for it.

However, let's say I tagged that post in the form of a warning like "tw: butterflies" and hid it below a Read More just in case someone following me didn't like butterflies. WingHater96 would still have that post blocked, because it contains the word "butterfly" in the tag. It would also still appear in ButterSuperFly78's search results for the same reason -- the presence of the warning doesn't affect search results at all. But when ButterSuperFly78 sees the warning tag, they might now be confused about whether the post is full of pretty butterfly photography (which they would like to see), or if maybe the reason I put a warning on it is because it's about butterflies being harmed, because why else would you warn someone about butterflies when they're the best things ever? But wait, does OP know that they're the best things ever? Is the warning there because OP secretly hates butterflies?? Do they need to unfollow OP now because they're a butterfly-hater??? and ButterSuperFly78 would not know whether to view the post or scroll past until they psychoanalyze me to determine my personal feelings on butterflies.

Adding the warning provided zero additional benefit for the person who already had the tagged thing blocked, but it caused additional problems for the person actively seeking out that thing.

Obviously this is a bit exaggerated (...though, speaking from experience, only a bit), but it's a lot more efficient to just list the things that are in a post in the tags without framing them as warnings. That way, people with different likes and dislikes can curate their own experience more easily, and know to take trigger and content warnings more seriously when they DO appear.

TL;DR Trigger warnings exist to help people avoid PTSD or adverse psychological/physiological reactions. Casually throwing the word "trigger" in front of things that are not triggers makes people stop taking the need for warnings seriously, and can confuse people trying to curate their Tumblr experience. Reserve TW and CW for actual triggers/sensitive content and use standard tags for other things.

#long post #tumblr tutorial #trigger warnings vs content warnings vs tags #frivolous use is one reason people are dismissive of the need for trigger/content warnings #tags already let people filter things they just don't like #not everything has to be a warning #ava rants about things #tumblr culture #(also this post contains all caps boldface italics colored text and font size changes if anyone is concerned with such things)

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firespirited · 1 year

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Vagueing here but the notes of the harry potter posts are using the same weird arguments for say, not giving up the n-word because it doesn’t affect structural change. Well you’re right: not saying any of the n-words* (even the academic ones I now censor because I was asked to) doesn’t change a thing to society.

The concept of the n-word exists from the moment someone calls about a black man minding his own business to the police grabbing him off the street for doing normal people stuff while black, to the courts who are stacked to view the black man as less important to his family and community, as less civilized and more disposable and with law written and unchanged since black people were considered property, to his time in jail forced into slavery to get basic necessities where the concept of the n-word is fully enacted on him again.

And yet, every time you mute yourself from singing the n-word and cut people out of your life for using it: you’re having to think. Maybe you don’t think about black people’s feelings at first because you just don’t want to lose non-black friends who do care, but the thought-seed is planted that maybe this actually hurts somebody... real friends wouldn’t drop you if it wasn’t serious right? And bit by bit, this tiny moment of mental “stop and think” translates to understanding that words carry history and ongoing suffering. You grapple with a non-black friend who believes free speech entitles him to use the words and realize you care quite a bit. You start noticing dog whistles and stereotypes: it’s not the n-word but it might as well be and isn’t that shifty and cruel?

So no it won’t change the world to not buy any more JKRowling related anything but it will slowly change you and your friends every time you stop and think about using a potter metaphor and switch to something else. Maybe you’ll start to question the groomer rhetoric and the tasteless predator jokes, the idea of gender performance and “failing” at gender, maybe you’ll even take the time to examine how you perform and enforce your gender in ways that might hurt you or your friends.

These ‘insignificant’ details matter because when we break thought patterns and bad habits we have to question and examine them. Most people don’t just stop smoking: it’s figuring out why you smoke, why you don’t want to smoke any more, how to replace it with something equally rewarding but healthy, slipping and learning from that. You take a small detail that’s been in our cultural background so long we use it as shorthand for personality types and villains... Well to remove the habit will require thinking about the habit and maybe instead of just worrying about losing “politically correct” friends, you’ll start to wonder why it’s serious enough to lose people’s respect and you’ll start thinking about trans people as people who deserve better than to be treated as monsters for existing.

So ok let’s say virtue signalling is a thing, I guess it’s signalling to your friends that you won’t drop them if they come out or date someone marginalized - It’s signalling that this particular discrimination isn’t ok so maybe people might think twice before talking about other bigotries, it’s signalling that you’re more likely to vote for candidates who are trawling trends and polls about issues people care about and that moves the needle a bit. Maybe the real virtue signalling is when you think it’s beneath you to make a tiny gesture of good will, when you say nothing because people will call you a spoil sport.

On the other hand, I am going to use cripple/crip for myself because it jolts people back into seeing the world as it treats me and not the magical happy post disability rights world people seem to think we live in. It’s a tiny act of rebellion and unity with others and it’s only very few words compared to the very many that we’re not reclaiming. You probably have your own slurs used against you and complex feelings about them: it’s how you know stuff is not your words to decide on: the people hurt by them get to choose what is and isn’t off limits or what they choose to reclaim.

*I’m using the most cross-culturally relevant example here, my unlearning journey has been hardest with concepts that would provoke serious wankery if this post ever escaped containment.

#saf #longpost #long post #unlearning habits #why the little things matter #It's literally giving a thought a fraction of caring about someone else #And it snowballs and that's beautiful #Currently struggling with it gender. If xianity which matters so much to my loved ones is inherently antisemitic. Medically 'cured' aces.#As well as dying with dignity for people who aren't terminal. Who decides when a mentally diabled person is allowed to be sexually active.#I'm terrified of inv conf to psych ward but had to briefly consider it for suicidal dad. Kanye brings that guilt back when he trends #I don't know how to explain to you why you should care about other people but I can tell you how easy it is to start small #Reblogs fine replies welcome

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youarejesting · 3 years

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Sly like a... ? Part 2

[Master list] [Sly Master List] Beta: n/a (at the moment) Rating: All Pairing: Hybrid!BTS x FailedHybrid!Reader Genre: Hybrid au, fluff, action, adventure, angst, drama, slice of life. Some marked chapters will contain mature/smut scenes, BUT they will not have plot in those scenes and are 100% skippable without losing your place in the story. Words: 2.1k

Summary: Human’s strive to be better, faster and stronger looking to animal DNA. Thus Hybrids are born. As the rise for designer and Pedigree Hybrids increase, so do the failed attempts. There is one species scientists are unsuccessful in creating, but, folklore says they have been here all along, hiding and blending in with the humans for many millennia. How clever they are.

[First] [Next]

It was your dream to convert a large warehouse on the outskirts of town into a home and education center for Hybrids. Somewhere they could learn to be self-sufficient. You would have professors and volunteers, teaching and fundraising, all for the day you could buy another warehouse on the other side of town. You wanted it to become the norm that these Hybrid facilities would build and grow in every city. Allowing the Hybrids to become an independent race no longer looked down upon by society.

You were on the last day of your heat and craving something savory. As it was late your best option was the convenience store that was always open late.

Things were falling into place as you received an email earlier that day confirming that all the items you had requested were acquired. That meant school books, equipment, and more. You were also granted the first loan for the Hybrids, a loan you would receive every term. The board wanted no less than five and no more than ten participants for an adequate examination of results.

You assumed for the program to be officially approved, you would have to show successful results from Hybrids with different backgrounds during this trial. That meant different ages and different upbringings. Wondering if it was worth visiting the adoption agency or perhaps a Hybrid store, it wouldn’t hurt for more variables.

Shaken from your thoughts by a shadowed figure rustling through the garbage, in a dark alley between the antiques and postal office. Your ears picked up the sound easily, feet scuffing to a halt on the pavement catching the Hybrid’s attention. Their eyes searched the dark for any sign of threat before falling upon you, a deep growl resonating on the wind. It was best to not get involved with stray Hybrids, they tended to be more violent. This is what you were doing the program for, to stop Hybrids from ending up homeless and on the streets. To prove that they aren’t dangerous and are capable of learning.

Struck by an idea, if you could get a Hybrid from the street to join the trial program, you could prove they weren’t violent and show that given the opportunity they could all learn and grow into members of society.

“Can I buy you dinner?” You called out, voice cracking from the cold. Your breath puffed out like smoke visible between you both. The night brought you more energy, it made you feel alive.

Cars passed, their headlights illuminating the entire alleyway and reflecting in his eyes a blood-red. He stalked forward, his body moving gracefully but you could see he was hurt, his shirt ripped and there was a strong scent of blood in the breeze. That was a downside to having heightened senses. You tried to control the disgusted look on your face, “I will pay and there is nothing else to it, just sit and have dinner with me, so I don’t look like a woman in her mid to late twenties eating alone at a convenience store”

He looked you up and down, it was then you noticed his features, he was a feline, not a common house cat. No, he was a big predator.

“Do I look like some charity case? Some pathetic creature who needs help from a human?” His words rumbled from his chest in a growl. You wanted to correct him that you weren’t exactly human yourself but decided against it. Stuck somewhere between Hybrid and human you didn’t fit in either category.

“What’s it to you? My reason is my reason, just take the free meal. Hell! Exploit me for a free meal, anything you want, go crazy.” You shrugged, trying desperately to charm him. He seemed to contemplate his choices for a moment before turning to walk away. You scrambled for your wallet and grabbed out twenty dollars, holding it out to him.

“Wait! At least take this; if you don’t want to eat with me, get something warm, and here is my card if ever you need help.”

He eyed the money but didn’t move to take it. Hoping he wouldn’t rip your arm off, you grabbed his hand. You knew it was risky. His fingers were cold, but you didn’t want to linger and make him mad, quickly placing the money on his palm with your business card.

“Have a good night, mister,” He nodded confused about the whole encounter, before shoving his hands in his pockets and leaving. It seemed even if you tried your best, it wouldn’t be enough to persuade him. He was too defensive, the best you could hope for was that he would stay safe in the cold.

What trials and tribulations must you go through to have these Hybrids trust and confide in you? Hopefully, it wouldn’t be this hard to get through to the group of Hybrids you were soon to obtain.

This was going to be a rather difficult experiment and you weren’t sure if it was going to go well but you hoped with every fiber of your being that you would see this through for the sake of the Hybrids.

That night you dreamed about the group of participants being hostile and unresponsive to the program, it did little to soothe your nerves the next morning. When you received an email about the new house. Jimin would have the key and would meet you outside later that day with the other Hybrids. No matter who they were, you were going to make sure they were achieving the best result they could.

The government had registered two Hybrids in your name, their files attached to the confirmation email. The two participants were so contrasting, Hoseok was a deer Hybrid, from a small farming family. The other was a Lion Hybrid by the name of Namjoon. He was from New Zealand and had participated in another government program regarding genius Hybrids.

Altogether, there were four: Namjoon the genius, Hoseok the country bumpkin, Taehyung, and Jimin. You decided to look for possible participants within the Hybrid store, and rehoming center. That would give you a wide variety of variables for the experiment; each would have a different background and would require different tools to help them.

You started at the nearest Hybrid shop. There were several rooms each with an observation window, a photo card, and a brief description of the Hybrid sitting, reading or playing video games inside. It was such a small space, how could they live in these tiny rooms every day until someone adopted them. Reading their descriptions by the windows you analyzed each of them, your attention caught by one playing video games. He had dark ears that stuck out from his dark hair. He seemed fun and you thought it would be easy to connect with him.

Hello, My name is Jungkook, I am twenty-three and I am a fully vaccinated Melanistic Jaguar.

You didn’t bother reading the rest, thinking you would like to learn about him properly, “Sir, I would like to adopt this Hybrid,” You declared, whilst walking towards the counter to begin the paperwork. Once everything was signed the young Jaguar boy was led from his small room. He looked nervous holding a small store backpack filled with all his essential items.

On the drive to the next location, you were the one doing most of the talking, receiving quiet one-word answers and small fidgets. He seemed excited when you finally parked the car, you guessed he was eager to see his new home.

However, as you walked towards the menacing rehoming center, he grew quieter and quieter, slowing to a stop before the entrance. Looking at his feet crying profusely, you realized how this must look. He must have thought he had done something wrong, how could he think you would buy him and rehome him on the same day.

“Jungkook, I am not abandoning you, I am picking up a brother for you to play with.” It took a few moments to console the young man. Wiping his tears and giving him a few pats on the head careful of his ears.

Deciding anyone younger than Jungkook would be too much to handle. “You have to help me find a big brother, someone you think will be really nice and that you like to play with, what do you think? Can you do that for me?”

Jungkook nodded, sniffing and wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “Okay, I can do that,”

The inside of the rehoming center smelt like disinfectant, you explained you were looking for another Hybrid and were led to a large room. There were Hybrids of all ages all playing and entertaining themselves with different activities.

It was overwhelming even for you, so you grasped Jungkook’s hand and encouraged him to look around, “Hey, what about ping pong?” You grinned at Jungkook who smiled playing a few rounds with you, the two of you giggling.

“Have I told you I am the ping pong master,” an older Hybrid grinned, he had a striped tail. You handed over the paddle and stood near Jungkook. “Do you want to play a game?”

Jungkook nodded, was this boy unable to say no. Either way, the two were getting along quickly, the older Hybrid was very playful and funny, even as he lost you were holding your sides from the laughter and Jungkook seemed to grow really comfortable with him.

Talking to one of the volunteers she explained that Seokjin was a raccoon hybrid and the oldest in the center. She explained that he often took the younger hybrids under his wing. It was an easy decision to adopt him. While you were filling out the paperwork, Jungkook was telling you all about his match with Seokjin.

“And I got the winning shot,” He grinned, swinging his arm like he was hitting an invisible ping pong ball.

“He seems really fun, would he make a good big brother?” It was cute how he nodded wholeheartedly. “Jungkook why don’t you go tell him that he is coming home with us?”

He grew embarrassed again, his dark ears twitching but followed the volunteer nonetheless. You were quick to finish up the last of the paperwork before the two came back laughing volunteer in tow.

“Unbelie-Bubble” Seokjin said before squeaking in laughter. He had all of his things and like Jungkook was nervous, but he showed it through talking.

You felt good with your selection, there was a Hybrid for every walk of life and socio-economic background. This would be perfect for the trial. They all seemed like lovely young Hybrids and you could already see them forming friendships.

It was on your way out that you saw a familiar face struggling against Hybrid control. “This is your last time, you know what happens to strays.”

“Wait!” You shouted, everyone in the lobby froze turning to look at you, the cold room felt quite warm with all of the attention “He is mine”

They froze looking between you and the hybrid before letting him go curiously. The injured Hybrid staggered over to you, knowing this was his best chance at survival, “why didn’t you tell them my name?” you asked him curiously but he kept his head down.

“This white tiger Hybrid is yours?” The handler spoke in disbelief, practically accusing you of lying. “why is he not microchipped, or registered in our system?”

“I was supposed to register him last week when I got him but I had been busy with work, I would like to properly register him under my name today,” You didn’t break under this man's pressure, you could notice the more he held eye contact the more he seemed to falter himself. “so that you will stop taking him in when he is harmlessly walking the streets”

The man opened his mouth to argue but you blinked up at him, watching him lower his hand.

“I am so sorry miss, we didn't mean to cause you trouble?” It wasn’t exactly odd behavior, you often found your arguments nullifying this way. You liked to think that your self-confident stare was what made people give in.

“Miss we have just noticed some suspicious activity in your account it says you have adopted four Hybrids today,” The woman behind the desk said, “We are legally required to ask your intentions or we can detain the Hybrids from you”

Almost questioning her, you remembered the government was placing two Hybrids in your name; they would be arriving today as well. With a smile you removed a folder from your bag, “I have a grant from the government.” You said brandishing the signed document, “I will be placing these Hybrids in my care”

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embrassemoi · 3 years

Text

Surrounded by the Moon and Stars • 06

Pairings: Sirius Black x [F]Reader, Remus Lupin x [F]Reader Content: Language, possible errors, music snob!Remus, Author’s notes: song used: Come Together by The Beatles

BTW: I always try to use little to no physical descriptions for the reader insert but I did add that the reader has some sort of hair. I didn't mention hair texture or length (Sorry if ur bald). My taller readers, I only mentioned that you were shorter than Remus (no height was given)

Masterlist: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter 6: ABBA vs. The Beatles

❉───────•~❉•᯽•❉~•───────❉

“Merlin’s beard! Binns is a sadist; torturing students must be his only pastime,” James yawned, taking his glasses off to rub his eyes.

Nothing could ever compare to the History of Magic. Today, lessons were dreadful and muddy. Professor Binns’ monotone voice filtered throughout the class, rambling on and on about various dates in history. Hardly anyone paid attention before he started calling on students. Annoyed, Binns would continue to reiterate his inquiry until the student(s) got the correct answer, no matter how long it took.

A sadist indeed.

Although Binns wasn’t the sole reason why the class was pathetic, but rather the lack of any practical work was simply a joke. The class only reminded Y/N of her short time in public school. Geometry? Utterly useless for any daily life interactions. To make matters worse, Binns surprised the class with a pop-quiz and two chapters of reading. Luckily, he had an ounce of mercy in his ghostly body and dismissed the class early for lunch.

James continued, “I would rather fight a dragon than — Woah! Your hair! “

She glanced to look at herself through the reflection in James’ glasses. Her hair, which originally was emerald green, was now turning into a golden yellow. The different colours clashed together boldly.

“You look like the banner for the Holyhead Harpies,” Peter said, striding up to James’ side.

“The Holyhead Harpies,” James said dreamily, “They’re probably one of my favourite teams.

Remus, who had been trailing behind Peter jumps in, “You only like them because they’re all women, you wanker.” He turns to Peter, his hand shooting up to the side of his head, massaging small circles into his temples, “Why’d you get him going?”

James became insufferable whenever someone or something mentioned Quidditch. Not only would he boast about his abilities as a Chaser, but he seemingly was a never-ending encyclopedia about Quidditch. It only worsened as November neared, the start of the new Quidditch season was approaching.

One time Y/N found herself stuck listening to him babble about Ireland winning the world cup for about thirty minutes. She didn’t have the heart to stop him, though. Nobody listened to his rants and he could hardly contain his excitement. How could she tell him she wasn’t interested?

A monstrous smirk etched its way onto his face, “Caught me.”

“Be anymore of a predator would ya, Prongs?”

“Hey! That’s not the only reason why I like them. Did you forget their victory in 1953 against the Heidelberg Harriers? Their strategy was blood-fucking-brilliant. They’re legendary! My father was there to see it in person. Lucky bastard. He told me…”

His voice fades into the background as Y/N catches Remus’ eyes. A glint of mischief shined through them before he forced a fake pitiful smile. He mouthed a quick ‘sorry’ to her before looping his arm around Peter’s shoulder, discreetly leaving James’ side and out of the classroom.

That sly, slippery bastard.

"— and did I mention that their seeker was one of the most sought out —”

“Wait, James.”

He abruptly pauses, waiting patiently for her to continue. She leads them out into the corridor and towards the great hall. “Sorry, didn’t mean to cut you off like that, but when is my hair going back to normal?”

Y/N instantly regretted mentioning her hair. There was no trace of a smile on James. His shoulders slumped a bit and his walking even staggered. “Godric, I know, I know and I’m sorry. I thought it would have returned back to normal by now. I’ve been creating reversal spells — even started asking Moony to help.”

“Moony?”

“Remus.”

“Another one of your nicknames?”

“It’s not a nickname! It’s a brotherhood — a pack!”

“Oh, sorry Prongs,” she drawled, a sarcastic smile on her face, “If I didn’t know you I would assume you were an asshole.”

“What? How?!”

“You go around calling yourself a marauder, the king of Quidditch and now Prongs. Seems pretty assholely.”

James’ mouth opens before closing again, repeating the process several times.

“Plus, you pull silly pranks every day.”

He chuckles, “Oi! You helped us with that itching idea!”

Her eyebrows raised in acknowledgement, “Touché.”

To this, James shakes his head, directing the conversation back to the Holyhead Harpies. Inwardly, Y/N wanted to whack him with a broomstick.

They were among the first students to reach the Great Hall, aside from students who had a free or were excused early by Professor Binns. None of the girls were there yet. Unfortunately, Marlene was held back by Binns, so Y/N was left to sit beside James who sat opposite to Remus, Peter and Sirius.

She had been trying her best to avoid Sirius whenever she could. It was clear he didn’t like her. He never laughed whenever she made a joke, he hardly noticed her, he never praised her, even if she tried to compliment him. He was just rude for no apparent reason. The rest of the marauders and girls knew this, although they preferred not to comment about the obvious, strained relationship (which they didn’t even know the reason for. Granted, Y/N wasn't quite sure herself. Was it the rejection, he just didn't like her or is just an ass?).

Although, ignoring and avoiding him proved to be extremely challenging. Y/N was glued to Lily’s hip ever since the Sorting Ceremony. It also didn’t help that if you were with one marauder, another one was sure to follow. She and James started to spend more time with each other, and by extension, she was obligated to be around at least one other marauder. With the addition of study sessions with Remus, it was inevitable.

Surprisingly, Sirius hadn’t made any snarky remarks, excluding dirty looks, he was being… nice — nicer to her. The action was a stark contrast from his previous behaviour and she speculated a few reasons why:

Most likely, James or Lily, she assumed the former, said something to him. Since his little spat with James at breakfast a few weeks ago, Sirius was tight-lipped ever since.

Maybe he was done being a prick, deciding to stop by himself after realizing he was a prick.

Went through something personal, it stopped, and his behaviour improved.

Minutes after the bell rang, students began to trickle in for lunch. The comfortable chatter rose as Y/N finished eating an apple. Everyone seemed pleased when James’ Quidditch lecture was interrupted as hundreds of owls streamed in, packages and letters dropping into the laps of students. She hadn’t expected anything considering her owl, Celeste, didn’t drop anything off since the first week of October. However, today she fluttered down between the bread and fruit bowls, dropping off several letters and a small parcel onto Y/N’s plate, pecking at the bread crumbs on the table. She tore the letter open, inside it said:

Dear Y/N,

Are you still having a hard time with Charms? If so, perhaps I find some textbooks and send them over.

Don’t slack off this year. Send me a letter whenever you have the chance. (Make sure to tell Celeste to be quieter next time. You know I can, and never will get used to the owls.)

Mom

Her mother finally wrote to her. A sense of joy flooded her body as she placed the letter back down on the oak table. A part of her wondered if Celeste was dropping off her letters to the wrong house, the one back in Toronto as her mother never wrote back. She opened the next letter, immediately recognizing the messy scrawl:

October 19, 1975

Y/N! I thought you replaced me with one of your brits, but a false alarm, your letters just take a while to arrive. Must be tiring for Celeste to travel to and from Scotland then America and back. You know, whenever people see her fly in, they still recognize her.

Are you doing anything for Halloween? We’re throwing another dance. Going to be alone this year now that I can’t force you to come. I guess I’ll just watch half the school dry hump each other while I smuggle in firewhiskey.

How’s it going over there? I heard from a few students, even read in the papers about the war. It’s getting pretty crazy over here. Teachers have been meeting and trying to prevent students and parents from losing their shit. My mom has been worried too, writing to me like a lunatic and I’m not even in the UK. The MACUSA have been keeping quiet but they were caught having meetings with counsellors from the Ministry of Magic. Even heard that Jenkins is stepping down. If it keeps getting out of hand here, I can’t imagine what it must be like at Hogwarts. I truly thought the war was dying down, I was wrong. Keep your wand close. Surely, you’ll get away with a hex or two.

Until next time

Matthew G.

So engrossed in her new environment, her old life slipped to the back of her mind. There was a detachment from her reality compared to the one at home. A pang of guilt hit her, swallowing her up from the inside out until another pang hit, loneliness. If she easily forgot everyone, would anyone remember her? None of her old friends, apart from Matthew, had made a move to contact her since she left.

Often thinking about writing them first, she had to remind herself if they wanted to, they would. Especially with the knowledge that people still recognized Celeste.

Was she forgettable and if so, was it karma for forgetting too?

It put a mechanical vice grip on her heart, applying just enough pressure to be a constant reminder. With every beat, it tightened more and more.

Looking around the table, she saw her peers huddle in groups, familiar laughter ringing throughout. So noisy, so taunting. She may have been friends with Lily, Dorcas, James or even Marlene, but they had their own friends. Friendships that had years to develop before she came. She had only known them for less than two months.

Forgettable.

How hilarious, she thought.

“Hey,” a gentle voice cooed into her ear, “Are you okay?”

She hummed back absentmindedly.

James wore a concerned expression, his eyes knitted together, one raised higher than the other like it always does when he was worried. The look he shot her suggested he wasn’t convinced, although he didn’t press; instead opting to stir the conversation. “So, who wrote to you?”

“A friend and my mom —”

A snort so loud that it caused the rest of the marauders, random onlookers and even Lily (who had a look of pure disgust on her face) turned towards them. “What did you say?”

“I got a few letters?”

“No!” He bellowed, “Who sent you them?”

“My friend and my mom —”

Nearly choking on his sandwich, James clutched his stomach laughing. Laughing so hard he has to grip the table to prevent falling off the hall bench. "Haha! Mom?! MOM?” He mocked in a poor American accent, “What the fuck is mom? It’s MUM. Bollocks!”

“We say vitamin.”

“It’s VIT-A-MIN! Who says VIGHT-A-MIN?” Without a pause, James presses his entire body onto her shoulder, smushing her before grabbing the letter her mother sent her. His eyes scanned across the pages before hitting a certain word. “Back home? Maple trees? Where did you use to live exactly?”

“Canada.”

“Canada?! You don’t mean those snowy gits?” At this, Peter and Remus snort under their breaths. Even Lily had to force down a smile.

Staring deadpanned at him, in an unamused voice, “Really?”

“You are a bundle of surprises! I thought you lived… I’m not sure. I assumed somewhere like New Hork.”

“York,” Lily corrects.

“Tomato, tomato,” he jokes, playfully batting his eyes at Lily before biting into his sandwich, “You do live in London, right?”

“Right.”

James takes a moment, letting the conversation die down before he quickly glances at Y/N again. An undecipherable expression crosses his face before it’s promptly replaced with elation, “I take back anything negative I’ve said about Canada. They have an amazing Quidditch rooster. Have you gone to any of their games?”

A low grumble of sighs follows at the mention of Quidditch from James. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Remus shake his head and sighed dejectedly.

“Nah, I’m a New-Maj, remember? My mom — “

“Mum —”

“ — sorry, Mum — hardly understands the wizarding world, let alone what Quidditch is.”

His eyes were wide, whimsical, as a hand flew to his chest dramatically, “Rubbish! Bloody ridiculous! You’ve never seen a real Quidditch game? One day, I swear I’ll bring you to one! Or you can bring me to Canada one day and we can watch a home game!”

As James continued to rant, Y/N’s mind slowly drifted back to the bitterness in her chest. Trying to distract herself, she borrowed Lily’s quill and a few sheets of parchment, scribbling down letters in response.

Mom,

I’m fine with Charms, you don’t need to send anything. And don’t worry, I’ve been studying for my OWLs.

Love you, write soon.

The next letter was addressed to Matthew:

Matty Matt,

Of course, I didn’t replace you… yet.

Another dance? You would think the students’ protest last year would have influenced the professors this time. I guess it’s time for you to get wasted. I didn’t tell you last time but I think I’m going to a party. A friend of mine is throwing it and I know he’s going to force me to come no matter what. He briefly mentioned costumes and drinks. Plus, there’s going to be some kind of prank that I may or may have not been a part of? Sounds cool right?

Yeah, I’d say it’s been bad up here. I don’t know much about what's going on outside of school, though. The professors are hiding it well. I didn’t even hear about Jenkins stepping down. Keep me updated.

Until next time

She sealed the letters before sending Celeste off again, “Be quieter when you drop off the letters, yeah?”

❉───────•~❉•᯽•❉~•───────❉

It must be her lucky day.

The ringing of the bell went off, signalling the end of class. Professor Flitwick asked the students to stay behind so he could hand out quizzes the students completed on Monday in preparation for their upcoming test on Growth and Reductor charms the following Tuesday.

It was never a good sign when a professor flips your test over to prevent other students from seeing their mark. Flipping it over at a downwards angle, Flitwick handed Y/N her quiz.

Turning it over nervously, a tight coil formed in the pit of her stomach. A large P was plastered on the top right corner in bold red ink. She studied hard for this too. Angrily, she shoved her work into her bag and left the class. This was the third poor she'd gotten in a row. She should have told her mother she needed those Charm books.

“I swear I’m going mad! Her brother is a complete cow! He even — are you listening?”

She looks at the girl beside her, Marlene. Her glossed over, doe eyes must have served as an answer before the blonde shook her head.

“Sorry, distracted,” she mumbles, before forcing out a fake-happy tone, “Continue your story! I wanna hear!”

“Hey,” Marlene says in a softer voice, “If something’s bothering you, you can talk about it.”

“No, it’s okay,” she replies instinctively. She felt bad spacing out during Marlene’s story but her mind was running through and under hoops. The last thing any fifth year student needed was to fall behind in their classes, let alone feeling like nobody cared about them.

At that moment, she wished she was wrapped away in red and gold blankets to wallow in her self-pity party, away from prying eyes. She could feel the burning sensations of tears building up.

Dammit.

Y/N looked out the window to her left. The sky was melting with the warm hues of reds and yellows while the other half was being slowly engulfed into a cloak of twilight. Even from here, she could feel the cool air seeping in from the windows making her tug on the sleeves of her robes.

She continued, “I’m just tired — been a long day. I’m going to take a nap before dinner. See you.”

Judging by the look on Marlene and Lily’s face, guilt riddles her body. They both look sympathetic. The pity only made Y/N feel disgusting. In all honesty, Y/N will care later. Right now wasn’t the time and she desperately needed some shut-eye.

Before she left the room, she overheard them talking.

“What’s up with her?”

“Dunno.”

Great.

❉───────•~❉•᯽•❉~•───────❉

Sleep did little to ease her thoughts.

The same uneasiness she felt on the train ride to Hogwarts settled deep into her bones again. She thought she was past this. The worrying about friends, missing home, feeling alone, failing class, stressing about her future. The rational part of her brain knew it was just one silly quiz (and old shitty friends), but knowing herself, if she were to continue to have this mindset, she would only fail in the end.

Dinner ended and Y/N belligerently climbed up the stairs towards the library to attend today’s study session. The Charms quiz threw her into a loop and it was better not to dwell on it, opting to rather use her time for something useful.

Her marks improved significantly since she attended her first session two weeks ago. The last couple of assignments and quizzes she handed in that she worked on during the groups were some of her best work, ever. Additionally, her ability to retain information was improving at astonishing rates and she found herself participating in lessons more often. Unfortunately, she started to doubt her abilities again.

There weren’t as many students as usual. Perhaps it was because of the Quidditch meeting for all teams tonight, or because nobody wanted to spend their time in a library Friday night. She assumed it was the latter.

Although, the same student with black hair from Slytherin was there; tucked away in his usual corner. He was always there. Whether it was the study sessions, another OWL or NEWT student or he simply just enjoyed the library, Y/N could always rely on him sitting there in his little nook.

In the far back, surrounded by tall bookshelves sat Remus. Another student, a first or second year, judging by their height, seemed to be asking him a question, rapidly writing down something on a piece of parchment whilst they walked away. Remus leaned back in the brown chair, his right leg was folded over the other as he stretched.

She spent over twelve hours minimum with Remus directly since the first session, minus the time he was around James and the girls. Perhaps she only started to notice afterwards but she swore Remus wasn’t around this much before. Now, he was everywhere.

In the past couple of weeks she’d gotten to know him, she made a mental list in her head of him:

1. Remus loves sweaters. They weren’t flashy, seemingly preferring to wear ones with small designs, stripes or a solid colour. He wore green the most. He also wore cardigans. Two, in particular, he wore the most; one was white and the other was a muted brown. They were big and hung off his loose frame, the pockets were often stuffed with books, rumpled parchment and his wand.

2. He’s a coffee addict. He drank it in the morning, the afternoon, at the study session and sometimes with meals at dinner. He loved to dump pounds of sugar, so if he only drank black coffee, it usually meant he was in a bad mood. James even joked that he became Sirius whenever he drank black coffee, because haha! Get it? It’s BLACK coffee!

3. He frequented the library whenever he wasn’t with the rest of the marauders. He enjoyed poetry, wrote post-it notes after post-it notes to annotate his favourite parts. He even slept there from time to time, not without having to persuade Pince to not give him detention.

As if Remus magically sensed her, he took a large inhale before he stopped stretching, opening his eyes to look at her. A small smile was plastered on each other’s faces. He stuck up a few fingers to wave at her, motioning her to come over.

“Hi Y/N. I thought you didn’t come on Fridays?”

“I don’t but I have a test, Charms, Tuesday.”

“Oh, well I’m happy to help.”

“Thanks for the offer, Professor Lupin, but just being down here will help me focus.”

A scarlet blush settled on his face at the mention of his tutoring. “Well come sit with me then.”

Pushing the chair out of the way, she sat down beside him, pulling out her cassette player and earbuds along with her notes. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Remus staring at the player curiously.

“Do you want to listen?”

“If you don't mind. I didn’t know you could use these here.” Picking it up, he turned the rectangular device.

“If record players work here, why not this?”

She hands him an earbud, alongside a small collection of other tapes she had on hand.

“Choose whatever you want to listen to.”

Without much thought, he pressed the play button. The upbeat tune of Waterloo by ABBA trickled into their ears. Y/N bobbed her head up and down before the song was suddenly stopped.

A sour grimace sat on Remus’ face before their eyes met, his nose upturned slightly.

“Why’d you stop it?”

“I hate ABBA.”

“What!?”

“I just don’t like their cheesy disco-pop-esk sound. They sound generic and random words are thrown in when they don’t add to the song.”

“Jeez— never met anyone who hated them that much.”

A ghost of a smile appeared before he flicked through her collection of tapes. He picked up Abbey Road by The Beatles. Opening the player up, he slid out Waterloo. With a click and the press of a button, Come Together played.

“So you hate ABBA but not The Beatles? Benny and Bjorn said they were influenced by them!”

“Keyword: Influenced; which is just another word for a shitty knock-off version.”

4. Remus Lupin is apparently a music snob.

“Well, I think both are good.”

“Respectfully, I disagree with you.”

“Whatever you say, professor.”

"I've been thinking a bit, why did you come to Hogwarts? Why not just stay at your old school?"

The sudden switch of topics threw her into a loop. “Wasn’t by choice. My mom’s a doctor and got a position here. It was too good to turn down. But it’s not bad. There’s less wizarding laws.”

He nods his head, "I'm assuming you have dual citizenship?"

"Mhm."

About a half an hour passed as she sighed for the umpteenth time before putting down her quill. Her chair scraped back noisily as Y/N’s hand balled up into a tight fist, feeling her fingernails bite into her palm. She’d been flicking through her notes, the words all blended.

At this rate, if History of Magic didn’t exist, Charms would surely be her least favourite class.

“Are you sure you don’t need help?”

She was at a loss, this was the third time Remus had offered to help and he was persistent. She felt horrible that she was taking up his time to help her on a stupid Charms test.

He continued, “If you think bothering me is an issue, it’s not. I run the sessions on Friday. It’s my job.”

“Fine, but there has to be something I can do in return.”

“Hmm,” Remus pondered for a second, “How about this, I tutor you in Charms and in return you give me your Potions notes? I'm dreadful at it.”

“Deal.”

“Great. Before we start, is there anything in particular that you have questions on?”

Silently tapping on the quiz she received today, Remus snatched it and quickly scanned over her answers and Professor Flitwick’s notes.

“I see what happened. You know, the curriculum taught at Ilvermorny is different. That’s probably why you can’t understand some of this shit.” He cleared his throat, “So as we know, the growth charm increases the size of your intended target…”

His voice, like a light switch, changed instantly. Instead of his softer deep, raspier voice, it became commanding and steady. He never stumbled over his words and articulated his points elegantly. She found herself enraptured by him, understanding why he was in charge of the study groups.

Eventually, Remus takes a pause, “Does that make sense?”

“Yes. You know, you’re really good at this. No matter how much I asked Flitwick or even Lily I could never get it.”

A large blush bloomed on the apples of his cheeks before he shyly rubbed the back of his neck, averting his eyes. “I’m not that good.”

“No time for modesty, Professor Lupin!”

“Okay, okay! So here, do you see what went wrong? There would be a reaction with those two spells if —”

A boy, small, most likely a second year, stood at the foot of the shared table holding a large red and gold book. His hair, dark ginger, similar to Lily’s, was cut short. He fiddled with his fingers as he continued to stare at the two.

“... Um, hi. You're Remus — right?”

“Yup. Did you need help with something?”

“Yes! I’m having trouble with the Transfiguration spell, beetle into button.”

A look of understanding passed through his face before Remus turns to look at her, “Duty calls. It’ll be quick.”

“Of course, take your time.”

It was not quick. Understandably, very few were successful at the ginger’s age to perform the spell, but thirty minutes passed and the second year still didn’t understand the basic concepts. No matter how many times Remus had reiterated his point differently, the boy couldn’t retain it.

“I just don’t get it.”

“You learned this last year, it's a quick revision. I’m not sure what part you’re talking about. Look, do not wiggle or twirl your wand left, direct it towards the right. You have to picture the spell in your head before saying the incantation.”

He guided the boy's hand steadily before performing the spell himself.

“I don’t understand!” The boy whined.

He sighed, “Then we keep trying —”

“It’s too hard. Why are they teaching this crap anyway?”

“Could you stop complaining?” He snapped, closing his eyes before he realized what he’d just done. “I’m sorry about that. I’m… just tired. I can’t help you anymore, though. You should ask someone else,” Remus said brusquely, his eyes unnerving as he stared at the child. As a result, he yelped out a ‘thank you,’ rushing off in the opposite direction.

The muscles in his jaw tensed under the soft glow of the table lamps. There was a pale red tint rimming his eyes and he looked visibly paler than normal. Irritated, he bounced his knee rapidly, up and down, before looking out the large window beside them. The sky was mostly cloudy. Only the peak of the silvery moon appeared. A sliver was missing before it was fully complete.

He closed his eyes, before breathing in. His posture once stiffened, completely relaxed before a flimsy smile reappeared on his face, returning his attention to Y/N.

“Let’s continue, shall we?”

“If you’re tired we can stop.”

“No, s’okay. I’m fine — really.”

She chewed the inside of her cheek, adding to her list:

5. Remus was always so hard to read.

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spookyceph · 3 years

Text

Pull Test

Summary: Shigaraki and Kurogiri meet with the League of Villain's newest candidate.

Rating: Gen Fic, SFW

Relationships: Shigaraki & Magne

Characters: Shigaraki Tomura, Magne, Kurogiri, Giran, mentioned Dabi, mentioned Toga Himiko

Words: 2,732

Warnings: Implied/Referenced transphobia and deadnaming when Magne's background is mentioned, swearing

The manila folder dropped from the air like a dead bird, hitting the bar top with a slap. Tomura jerked back, stool wobbling beneath him, and grit his teeth as he heard the staccato sounds of his fighter taking damage in his game. Recovering balance, he hit the pause button before glaring at the warp gate that swirled into being across the way.

“Another one already?” he snapped the moment the tall figure of his caretaker stepped out of the darkness.

Kurogiri straightened both his tie and metal gorget. “I was quite impressed myself. Giran is proving to be as professional and efficient as advertised.” He motioned to the folder he’d air dropped in. “Shall we consider this new candidate together, Shigaraki Tomura?”

Tomura wasn’t in the mood to consider shit. He hadn’t been hanging around the bar for going on two hours hoping for work to come along. One of his hands strayed to his pocket. He touched the lump that was the jar of salve he’d taken to carrying at all times. The serpentine ridge of a friendship bracelet (I used red, white, and black string so it would match you, Tomura-kun!) had joined it a week ago. Of course, he’d die before admitting to lurking just to catch a glimpse of Dabi. Or that he’d agreed to let Toga show him her favorite otome games as soon as she came back from her shopping trip. He definitelycouldn’t tell the smug old ink splatter to fuck off and let him get back to his goal of a high score—not without having how wrong he’d been about those same two people rubbed in his face.

That left being a responsible leader as the only option.

Tomura growled and set his game aside. He flicked the folder open. “Fine. What’s this new asshole’s name?” Giving in didn’t require him to be gracious about it.

“Ah. About that. I believe there’s a conflicting issue in her files about that point. Her family name is Hikiishi, however, her given one, or both, may require an update.”

A look at the top of the file filled in the blanks. The picture Giran had included showed the candidate flashing a bold smile at the camera. Shoulder-length auburn hair framed prominent cheekbones. Slightly darker fuzz lined her jaw and chin. Tomura couldn’t tell what color her eyes were behind her sunglasses, but they locked with his through lenses and stock paper alike. Hikiishi Kenji, read the first line of information on the page beneath the photo. A police report, by the looks of it.

“I see. Well, for now let’s just call Hikiishi by her alias until she confirms with us.” Tomura skimmed through the info again. “Magne, right? Related to her quirk, I assume.”

The currents of Kurogiri’s mist slowed and relaxed into looser coils. “Correct.”

Tomura frowned. “What? Did you think I’d have some sort of problem with the name thing?”

“After the misunderstanding with Dabi—”

“Dabi and I talked.”

The yellow eyes glowing within the darkness widened. “Did you now?”

Fuck, he wasn’t turning red, was he? Was he? “We’re adults. We worked shit out, okay? Not everybody has a stick up their ass about being polite all the time.” He scooped up his game, more than ready to retreat into something he could control. “When are we expecting Magne?”

“Giran can bring her by tomorrow evening.”

“Fine. Let’s get the stupid meet and greet crap over with.” When only silence followed, Tomura raised his gaze from the screen to glare at Kurogiri. “What?”

The wisps curling from the smoggy bastard’s head looked suspiciously like smiles. “Nothing, Shigaraki Tomura. Nothing at all.”

Taptaptap.

Tomura’s finger rose and fell on the bartop fast enough to give a sewing machine needle a run for its money. The ball of his right foot bounced on the stool’s crossbar in time with it.

Taptaptap.

Giran had promised he’d be there between 9:00 and 10:00. The clock by the door pointed to 9:51.

Taptaptap.

Lots of people would be riding the trains on a Friday night. Or roaming the streets, looking for food and alcohol, karaoke, strangers to stave off loneliness. Heroes would be out in force as a result, watching for any predators stalking the herds of humanity. Tomura didn’t know how to calculate exact probability rates for shit hitting the fan, but he got the sense they were on the higher end under such conditions.

Taptaptap.

Why couldn’t he just run into party members along the way as needed, like in games? Each one would specialize in a skill, forming a well-rounded team. Everyone would follow him to the bitter end because they believed in him and not some ass goblin named Stain. Why they believed in Tomura wouldn’t matter, though money would be a reasonable guess. Idealism didn’t pay much from what he could tell.

Taptap—

“Be calm, Shigaraki Tomura. This meeting will go well.”

He bared teeth at Kurogiri. “There has to be a meeting for it to go a certain way. And I am calm, damn it.”

“So I see.” He finished wiping down the glass he held before setting it on the bar and grabbing another. “My apologies.”

Tomura twisted on the stool to give the smart ass shadow a piece of his overthinking mind.

Knock, knock, knock.

Without missing a beat, Kurogiri stuck his free hand through a small warp gate and turned the handle of the door across the room. He went back to polishing as two figures entered the bar.

For someone who charged such high fees, Giran went out of his way to look cheap and kitschy. Little round tinted lenses pinched to the bridge of his nose. A scrunched scarf like someone’s guts slung around his neck. One front tooth missing in his low-key sleazy smile. The woman following right behind him and surveying her new surroundings made for a more welcome sight. Sunglasses (her and Giran both, for fucks’ sake) hid her eyes just like in her picture, but her lips held a hint of a smile.

The essence of good manners, Kurogiri bowed to their guests. “Good evening. Welcome to our humble home.”

Tomura, to balance the scales, snorted and folded his arms across his chest. “Took you long enough.”

Giran shrugged and twirled his hand, leaving behind a smoke spiral from the tip of the cigarette between his fingers. “Our train was delayed by some prankster threatening to blow up the tracks.”

“Doesn’t sound like a prank.”

“It wouldn’t have been if the lazy bastard hadn’t been trying to pass off children’s clay as plastic explosive. One of the cops noticed the stuff was bright yellow and they rushed him. They didn’t even call in a hero.” The broker shook his head. “What’s this world coming to? People can’t be bothered to find and pay for real weapons anymore. It offends my pride as a businessman.”

Behind Father, Tomura grimaced. His short-lived venture with Stain had indeed moved people to lash out at society. The problem was most of them were fucking morons. He doubted any decent candidates the League managed to net would make up for all the secondhand embarrassment he’d suffered in the past couple of weeks from watching the news.

“Oh, I don’t know,” the woman said, tapping her chin. “I felt kinda bad for the poor guy. He looked like your average office wage-slave. I thought he was going to break down in tears when they hauled him off.”

“Serves him right for cutting corners. No conviction, no integrity these days I tell you.”

She hid a grin behind her hand. “You’re heartless, Giran.”

The broker snorted smoke from his nostrils like an exasperated dragon. “I’m practical.”

“And yet you still haven’t introduced me.”

Posture straightening, Giran tugged at his weirdly anatomical scarf. “Sorry, got sidetracked. Magne, Shigaraki Tomura and Kurogiri of the League of Villains.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Slipping off his stool, Tomura gave her a short bow. The way Kurogiri swayed slightly, as if he’d swoon from shock, made the display worth it.

“I take it I’ve earned my fee?” chimed in Giran.

Kurogiri’s misty form shuddered as he roused himself. “Of course. We’ll hear from you again soon?”

“I’ve got a few candidates lined up.” The broker sketched them a mock salute before turning and closing the door behind him.

“Please, have a seat.” Tomura motioned to the row of barstools beside him.

“Thank you. Don’t mind if I do.”

While Magne approached, he studied her movements. She strode across the hardwood floor, work boots making minimal noise with each step. Grace as well as power. She knew how to use the muscle under her shirt’s rolled up sleeves rather than relying on pure size. Although, that didn’t hurt either—Tomura put her at over ten centimeters his own height at least, and she definitely outclassed him by weight. He wondered whether she had speed to go along with strength. She slid into the next seat over and rested her chin in her hands.

“Would you care for something to drink, Miss Magne?” Kurogiri asked, jumping at the chance to play host.

“Oh, my. So formal. Sure, I’ll have whatever you recommend.”

Tomura waited until a small glass of something amber-colored had been set in front of them both (ginger ale for him) and she’d taken an approving sip before getting things rolling.

“You have quite a record, Magne.” Though he’d already memorized the relevant bits, he flipped open the folder container her information.

She glanced over, shades slipping down her nose as she scanned the first page of the police report. “Twenty-nine attempted murders, huh? Is that what they’re calling those? I’m surprised you guys bothered having me come in after reading that garbage.”

“Why?”

Like a small bird, Tomura’s stomach dipped and fluttered when Magne looked at him over the edge of her glasses. Not quite in the same way it did when he caught Dabi watching him from across the room, but close enough to classify the sensation as pleasant. Her irises shone like polished agates, made up of rich layers of browns from a starburst of mahogany around her pupils to flecks of burnished copper. Tomura suddenly understood her hiding them behind lenses. Such a beautiful detail would stick in anyone’s memory.

“Somebody who tried and failed to kill that many people would look pretty incompetent, right?” she replied. “Or like they chickened out at the last second. I don’t enjoy killing. I’ll tell you that up front. But…I didn’t hesitate with the three I did put down, let’s just say that.”

Tomura, a multiple murderer himself, examined the square set of her shoulders, the twist of scorn to her mouth towards her accusers, and found no reason to doubt her. He nodded.

“The so-called attempts were from the robberies you pulled off then?”

“Mostly, though I’m sure a few of the bullies I smacked around exaggerated just to prove what big, strong men they are.” She harumphed and took another sip from her drink.

“And the actual murders?”

Her lips puckered, as if she tasted something more bitter than whatever alcohol Kurogiri had given her. “Personal matters.”

“I see.” Tomura turned the page and ran his finger further down the information. “Your quirk has some unique parameters.”

The lines of Magne’s face eased into a smile. “Oh, the gender thing? A theory really. I haven’t had much opportunity to test it seriously. It might be nothing but my own perception…but I guess that doesn’t make it any less real, does it?” She lifted a hand from her glass and reached halfway toward him. “Care for a demonstration?”

Tomura caught himself drawing away from her, his nails latching onto the sides of his neck. Cowering—great way to display his leadership skills. “What’re you going to do?”

“Oh, just tug on your arm a little. Go ahead and put it down by your side for me.”

Resisting the urge to look to Kurogiri for reassurance, he did as asked. For safety’s sake he curled his fingers into a fist.

Magne smiled. “Ready?”

According to the knot in his stomach, no, but he nodded anyway. His arm jerked and leapt up as if it were tied by a string. Tomura gasped, almost slipping off his seat. Magne caught and steadied him.

“Sorry, honey! Got so excited to show off I put a bit too much oomph into it.” She patted his shoulder as if there weren’t dead, gray hands clutching it.

“’S’alright,” he mumbled. And it was—his skin showed no marks, his muscles and joints registered no pain. He readjusted the delicate hand decorating his wrist. Cold, waxy, and pliant. Nothing like Magne.

“So, can you manipulate people’s movements? Turn them into your puppets?”

She hummed and pushed her sunglasses back into their proper place. “Not really. I can move someone with the proper amount of push versus pull, but it’s such delicate work that they could break free pretty easily. Hold out your arm and I’ll show you what I mean.”

Still making a fist, Tomura followed her suggestion. Magne positioned her hands on either side of his forearm, spread about half a meter apart. Concentration dug a V between her brows. A thrum jolted through Tomura’s bones. He startled at the rush of tingles in his elbow and shoulder but kept his balance. Something like a low electrical current pulsed along his arm, raising its pale little hairs. Eyes wide, he watched as the limb drifted from one side to the other, then up, down—anywhere the poles of Magne’s palms guided it. He could even see, feel his skin being tugged and pressed by her quirk. Taking a deep breath, Tomura drew his fist back. He met some resistance, but didn’t have to put up any real struggle.

“Weird.” He shook his buzzing fingers out. “But kinda nice. Tingly. Like an electrical field.”

Magne tilted her head and smirked. “Oh? That’s a new one. Then again, maybe I’d have heard it before if I used my quirk for something besides bashing jerks.”

What would he have done without Father hiding the fact he blushed at the slightest fucking thing? He’d never get used to talking to people at this rate.

“Your skills would be a great asset to the League, Miss Magne,” Kurogiri said, saving Tomura from having to pretend he could be witty. “I presume Giran discussed the expenses we cover? Upon joining, you would also be welcome to claim a room upstairs, should you wish.”

Magne went still. Even her breathing stopped for a moment. “You’d let me stay here?”

Tomura knew right then he’d never live down being wrong about not letting League members move into the hideout. Kurogiri would never be crass enough to say it out loud, of course. He didn’t have to. Tomura sighed, accepting his fate.

“Two members live here already, including another woman. We can introduce you to them both before you decide.”

Gaze aimed at the ceiling, Magne touched fingers to her pursed lips. “I’ve already made up my mind.” She met Tomura’s eyes, a smile lighting up her face. “Sign me up.”

Well. He had no clue whatso-fucking-ever how they’d convinced her, but results were results. Besides, she hadn’t mentioned Stain once. She deserved free room and board for that alone.

“Ah, wonderful. We’re so delighted to have you, Miss Magne.” Kurogiri steepled his fingers. “Please let me know if you require any assistance in moving your belongings. I can warp them to whichever room you choose.”

A soft laugh huffed out of her. “No need, honey. I travel light these days. Would tomorrow evening be too soon?”

Tomura shrugged. “That’s fine. I’ll make sure Toga and Dabi are around so you can meet them.” Even if he had to staple the latter to a chair to make him comply.

“Sounds like a plan.” Magne raised her glass. “To new friends then?”

There was that word again. Offered with the same ease Toga had shown. And Dabi…he’d never said it maybe but his gift had implied…well, something. Tomura touched his pocket. The weight and shapes of the items inside it. With the same hand, he picked up his own glass and clinked it against Magne’s.

“Sure. I’ll drink to that.”

#big sis magne #bnha magne #mha magne #magne #shigaraki fic #league of villains fanfiction #league of villains fanfic #lov fanfiction #lov #league of villains #fic series #shigaraki tomura #shigaraki #kurogiri #giran #bnha giran

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imagine-darksiders · 4 years

Text

Homesick - Chapter 2

Behind the door.

Warnings: implied child abuse, abusive parents, blood, nosebleeds, angst, themes of childhood trauma, ptsd

Tags: Darksiders, DeathxAzrael, hurt/comfort, angst, Reader, Found family, Reader needs a hug

Chapter 1

---

“What lays beyond that door?”

Azrael's innocent question causes you to stiffen and your steps falter on the landing, knowing precisely to which door he's referring, but unwilling to even spare it a backwards glance.

The momentary delay hardly lasts for more than a second and goes seemingly unnoticed by the angel, whose gaze appears too focused on the locked, mahogany door that stands quiet and guiltless at the furthest end of your landing. Hanging back near the top of the staircase however, with eyes sharp and turned just enough in your direction that they catch the hitching of your chest, Death does notice.

Then, he blinks, and you're suddenly twisting your head over a shoulder to look beyond Azrael at the door in question, a smile on your lips but not in your eyes.

“Oh, that's just a storage cupboard,” you say casually, waving a dismissive hand through the air and continuing your journey to the opposite side of the house, “I've been in and out of there all week stacking boxes of junk up to the ceiling. Now, come this way, all the best human-y stuff is stock-piled in my bedroom.”

You're too quick to disregard the door, too eager in turning to walk towards your room on stiff legs and Death wishes the angel would turn to look at you so he might also see what the Horseman sees, if only to confirm that he isn't imagining things.

Alas, letting out an intrigued little hum, Azrael clasps his hands loosely behind his back and sweeps after you, all the while pivoting his head this way and that to take in everything your humble home has to offer.

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

You had so nearly forgotten what the joy of discovery looks like in another person. To see the eyes of someone else grow wide and bright with unbridled wonder at a world you've long since lost a taste for.

Azrael's fascination at the most mundane of human objects manages to put a genuine smile on your face, though the ensuing pain still throbs like the beat of an insistent drum every time your cheeks press against your bruised eye.

Luckily, the angel appears to have missed your subtle wince.

After first having dragged him away from your television, you've managed to introduce him to many of humanity's other wonders that lay dotted around your bedroom.

Before long, Death had even slunk inside to join you both, taking up the mantle of an uninterested observer and absently perusing your book collection in the corner whilst keeping a surreptitious eye on the goings on of his companions.

You've perched yourself comfortably in a bean bag, content to simply sit back and observe whilst Azrael explores your room, his wide, white wings folded neatly against his back in order to spare some of your ornaments from being knocked off their shelves.

“This... ursine mammal,” he says, pausing beside your bed and poking a finger into the fur of an old, stuffed bear sitting atop your pillow, “Does it serve some purpose?”

You're too preoccupied with fighting back a laugh to answer him right away, and by the time you realise he's watching you expectantly, Death pipes up in your stead, cutting off any explanation you might have offered.

“I imagine it's only there for decoration,” he muses, casting a critical eye over your bookcase and the dozens of unread stories scattered about on the shelves, “But then, I have to wonder if half the things in this room aren't just ornamentation.”

Knowing what he's implying, you spare the back of his head a scowl. It isn't as though you've had a lot of time to read those books he gave you, not between rebuilding your own home and helping humanity come to terms with life post-apocalypse.

“Ah!” Azrael's head shoots up and he tears his eyes from the bear, glancing towards you instead. “It is symbolic, no? In resembling a most ferocious predator, this bear represents the perfect guard for your home.”

He looks so damn pleased with himself, you almost don't bother to correct him, instead wrestling your grin into a pensive frown and nodding slowly.

“Uh, sure! That is a pretty... exciting way to look at teddy bears.” Hopping to your feet, you make your way over to the bed and sweep a few of Azrael's primary feathers aside, picking up the toy bear and squeezing it to your chest. “But mostly humans use these for comfort at night, when we sleep. We usually get given them as children. And, as we grow older, I... guess we just get too attached to get rid of them. Most humans keep their childhood toys long into adulthood.”

“Why am I not surprised,” Death huffs, shaking his head with a smile hidden beneath the bone-mask, “You humans will get attached to anything that sits still for long enough.”

Azrael, on the other hand, looks as though you've just revealed to him one of humanity's greatest secrets. Rubbing his chin in thought, he says, “Remarkable! I've heard that humans are rather famous for the bonds they forge with other species, yet I never imagined that could extend to inanimate objects as well.”

“Yeah, you'd better believe it,” you smirk, placing the bear down on your pillow once more, “Someday I'll have to tell you about the woman who married the Eiffel Tower.”

At once, the Archangel blinks hard, eyebrows nearly disappearing into his hair line. “A tower? Surely that’s a jape?”

So perplexed is his expression, you throw back your head and let out a bark of delighted laughter. “What are you, Shakespeare? Nobody says ‘jape’ anymore, Azrael!”

Off on his own side of your little bedroom, Death's neck twists around slightly to regard both you and the angel as you engage in a light-hearted back and forth about the use of archaic vocabulary. He doesn't even realise that one corner of his mouth has begun lifting at the sight.

There is a truth about the Horseman that even he is reluctant to acknowledge, and that is that the constant slew of bad things happening in the Universe is... wearing. It’s wearing. To be on a constant path that always seems to lead towards battle or tragedy? Sometimes it feels as though his entire existence has merely consisted of one battle after another.

He saves one world, only for another to be torn apart, he destroys a species, and another asks him to fight their war for them, he helps the makers but in doing so, inadvertently kills their elder. Century after century - a millennia of bloody battles and terrible sacrifices and trying to keep his siblings safe - If he ever stopped to think about it...

Death’s eyes slip slowly shut.

He has worked... so hard, hasn’t he? Is it really so wrong if he enjoys these moments of fleeting repose?

All of a sudden, a strangled sound leaves Azrael's throat and Death is yanked from his peaceful reverie. “Y/n!?” the angel exclaims, his expression shifting to horrified in less than a second, “You're bleeding!”

Apparently, mentioning your name and blood in the same sentence is enough to get Death's voice to crack as he whips around properly and barks, “What!?”

Baffled, you raise a hand to your nose, dabbing at a sticky wetness gathered there whilst the taste of salty liquid drips onto your upper lip. “Oh, so I am,” you observe casually, only to have a pair of chilly hands curl unexpectedly around your forearms.

Without warning, the terrifying visage of the Horseman is looming mere inches from your face and in another instant, one of his hands presses itself to your forehead and firmly – albeit gently – tips it backwards.

“Um... Death, we've talked about this. Personal space, remember?”

The Horseman remains eerily silent as he stares transfixed at the blood oozing from your nose and you squirm uncomfortably when the grip he has on your arm begins to grow even tighter. Meanwhile, his wordlessness allows Azrael to fret aloud in the background.

“I knew this was a bad idea,” the angel mutters, pacing back and forth behind Death, never tearing his eyes from the red straining your face, “You shouldn't be having all this excitement. You should be resting.”

It's difficult to hold back your groan of exasperation as you lift your arms and knock Death's hands aside, stepping out of his reach.

“Oh for - It's just a nosebleed! Honestly, what has gotten into you two?” With a hefty sigh, you skirt around the rigid Nephilim, dodge one of Azrael's wings as it tries to curl instinctively around you and march into your ensuite bathroom.

Almost immediately, the angel tries to follow, but he swiftly has the door pushed shut in his face before he can enter and soon, they hear your voice filtering out to them from the other side. “I'm not a baby, guys! Nosebleeds are no big deal, it's just happening because of... well, you know.”

Azrael's stomach twists itself into knots at the sight of yet another locked door standing between himself and his human friend. He's about to call out for you to let him see the damage when an icy chill sweeps across the room and he turns, his mouth falling open slightly at the sight of Death staring at him through unseeing eyes.

The old Nephilim's body has gone completely still and there's a haunted look about him, as though he's lost, or perhaps trapped in another time, another place.

“Horseman?” Azrael murmurs uncertainly, feeling the cold prickle at the hairs on the base of his neck. Seconds pass and he receives no answer. Hesitant now, the archangel reaches towards Death's shoulder and, when he isn't immediately shoved away, places a hand on the frigid, solid muscle that bunches under his gentle touch. “Death,” he tries again, and this time the Horseman's head snaps up to stare at him, as if only just realising he's there.

The angel ducks his head to better catch Death's eye, his voice soft enough that only the two of them can hear it. “Are you alright, old friend?”

A long silence stretches between them with only the faint sound of running water from your bathroom tap to fill it.

Then, giving a start, Death roughly shrugs the comforting hand off his shoulder and stalks past the angel towards your window, leaning his elbows heavily against the sill and stubbornly refusing to acknowledge Azrael's concern. He doesn't think the archangel has ever been that close to him before, close enough that the subtle scent of old books and clean linen invaded his nose and chased away the awful stench of your blood, effectively leaving his mind clear once again.

'Idiot,' he chastises himself, eyes still wide behind the bone mask. How could he have frozen like that? In front of Azrael no less. Creator, he'd never live that one down. He had – for lack of a better word – panicked, and it's as embarrassing to admit to himself as it is to have been caught panicking. But...

The sight of your blood... The smell of it, sweet and strong enough that it even settled on his tastebuds...

It's pathetic, really. He is Death. He's seen and caused far more bloodshed than arguably any being in any realm. So why then does your spilled blood hold his dead heart in such a cruel and unforgivably tight chokehold?

The redundancy of taking a calming breath isn't lost on him, yet he does it anyway, tipping his head up to peer out of your window, chest rising and falling with motions he could only have picked up after spending so much time around you.

It's begun to rain, he notes idly. Tiny droplets of water patter down onto the dusty window panes and Death follows the path of one until it merges with several others and is lost in the fray.

Down in the streets below, many passers-by have dived for shelter, yet there are still two figures who remain. One is an angel, whose golden complexion shimmers when raindrops trickle steadily down his face. He's standing in the shadow of a water-logged bus stop and beside him, leaning just a little too close, is a serpentine demon, scales black and glittering like obsidian. The odd pair rest almost shoulder to shoulder underneath the bus stop's awning, each sharing a brief respite from the rain with what was once a well-loathed enemy.

Death blinks upon seeing that their hands are intertwined. Dainty, golden fingers curl loosely around clumsier claws and suddenly, the Horseman feels as though he's intruding on their secret moment, so he turns back to face your room.

Azrael has drifted closer once again and there's a knowing expression on his face that causes Death to frown. Sure enough, the archangel spares your bathroom door a hasty glance before he looks at the Horseman once more. “...Death,” he says slowly, “It's... all right, you know. If seeing Y/n’s blood upset you-”

Hackles are raised in half a second, a set of sharp teeth clack together and Death hisses, “You think I'm upset?”

Judging by the flat look he receives, that is precisely what the archangel thinks.

Despite the obvious vehemence behind Death's tone, he's careful to keep his voice down, ever mindful that you're only a room over. Perhaps getting defensive isn't the best idea.

“There is no shame in it, Horseman,” the angel coaxes softly, “Y/n is my friend as well. There has already been far too much human blood spilled this century.” He casts another, baleful glance towards your bathroom, quietly adding, “I didn't think I would be seeing it again, not this soon. And especially not from our human.”

...Our human.

Death is unnerved by how natural that sounds coming off Azrael's tongue.

Expertly, the Horseman wills his shoulders to slump and his muscles to relax, then, with an unmistakable air of indifference, he folds his arms across his broad chest and turns himself deliberately away from the archangel, glowering at your bedroom wall.

And Azrael, wise enough to read the standoffish behaviour for what it is, allows his mouth to fall shut because he knows that, as far as Death is concerned, the conversation is over.

He has a care not to release a weary sigh. But with you shutting him out physically and the Horseman shutting him out verbally, it's difficult for even the composed archangel to keep exasperation at bay.

Just then, your voice calls out to them from the other side of the door. “Ugh, sorry about this guys. It's slowing down, but it hasn't stopped yet. I'll just be a minute!”

“So long as you're all right,” Azrael replies.

When he receives no response from you and no further input from Death, he lets his head drop into a disappointed nod, pressing his lips together. Suddenly, his presence feels a little too big for the space he's occupying. He needs to think.

Azrael leaves your bedroom with a far heavier heart than he'd gone in with, raking his fingers through fine, white hair and expelling a soft breath from his lungs, as if that might alleviate the weight settling across his chest.

So far, this first visit to your home has not gone as he'd hoped it would. Through no fault of your own, mind. But trying to focus on taking in everything you show him whilst he knows you're in more pain than you're letting on is woefully distracting. That's without even mentioning the creeping sense of unease that has been hanging over him ever since he first stepped foot through your front door.

Briefly, Azrael wonders if Death had noticed the way your breath hitched slightly and your reply had an almost imperceptible, underlying tremor when he asked you what lay beyond the door at the end of your landing. He'd have to ask the Horseman about that later, when he's in a more talkative mood.

Already, the archangel can feel the beginnings of a frown forging crevasses down the centre of his forehead. He composes himself in another breath and finally lifts his eyes from the carpet, only to stop in his tracks.

That door – that unassuming door to your cupboard lays ahead of him, quiet and solid as all doors should be, just sitting there under a flickering light bulb, as though it had been patiently waiting for him to notice it.

And notice it, he does, because something about the door has changed since he saw it last, something so obvious, yet also entirely unsettling.

Where it had once been shut tight, now it stands ever so slightly ajar.

Despite everything in him screaming that he must respect the privacy of his host, Azrael's curiosity grows too bold and he finds himself treading silently down your landing, his shoes making no sound on the grubby, cream carpet. Drawing to a halt, the angel's keen gaze sweeps over the wooden door, taking in hairline cracks and mottled rot that a hundred years has left upon it like battle scars on a warrior's face. Slowly, he roves his eyes down to the dull, brass door handle and he immediately falters, doing a double-take.

Sitting atop the handle is a very noticeable, very thick layer of dust.

His brows knit together until they nearly touch and he reaches out to swipe a finger delicately along the brass. When he pulls away, he lifts his hand for an inspection and, sure enough, the pad of his forefinger is now sporting the same, grey substance.

'Why would a door you claimed to use recently have so much dust upon the handle?' The feeling of unease that had been stealthily keeping to the back of his mind now pokes its head out a little more, creeping forwards, daring him to acknowledge it.

'Something's wrong...' a quiet voice tells him.

Azrael's hand reaches out once more, except this time, it curls around the handle entirely and rests there for a moment as the angel's mind starts to race. 'Y/n.... Are you hiding something from us?'

As soon as the thought enters his head, he can't shake it loose.

Yes - he trusts you - he knows you'd have no reason to lie to him, and especially not to the Horseman. And yet... Clearly there is something beyond this door that you're trying to divert their attention from and whatever it is has you spooked.

Feeling more and more like a common criminal, Azrael keeps one ear on the room behind him and slowly begins to twist the door handle, wincing when its rusty springs catch and squeak in protest.

His wings shiver with anticipation as he pushes the door open.

What awaits him on the other side is decidedly not a storage cupboard...

“A... bedchamber?” he murmurs to himself.

Within an instant, he's hit by an oppressive wave of must and wood rot. The smell spills like liquid from the room and seeps into your hallway, causing the archangel's lips to curl, though he's quick to smooth his expression out again because there's something far worse lingering below the initial stench, something that – even after a hundred years – still clings to the peeling wallpaper and broken, dust-choked bed in the corner of the room.

It isn't quite magic, more like the residue of a dark and terrible memory. Azrael knows as well as any angel that memories can be immensely powerful things and capable of haunting a place long after the living are dead and gone. Hesitating, he takes a moment to steel himself before stepping over the threshold and entering that old, foreboding bedroom.

At once, he notices that, as with the door's handle, absolutely everything is covered in a thick layer of grime and dust, the television on the wall, the various, glass bottles that stand on a table at the room's centre, amidst which sits a single, yellowing glass.

Against the wishes of his own nose, Azrael takes a brief sniff at the air and grimaces.

Alcohol.

Even the most pious of angels would recognise it.

He dismissively turns his attention from the bottles and glides over towards a worn dresser that stands to the left of the bed, a bed that stinks of an odour he desperately tries to ignore. Upon the dresser are a vast array of what you;d once called 'photographs,' all of which sit inside basic, wooden frames. Inquisitive, Azrael bends down and peers at them, a soft smile worming across his face when he sees a familiar human grinning back up at him.

You couldn't be much older than four or five, but he'd recognise you at any age. It seems even as a child, you possessed that same, mischievous spark in your eyes.

You're standing alone, and in spite of a clear gap where a tooth has fallen out, you're beaming up at the camera so hard, he imagines your cheeks had to have hurt. In fact, the more Azrael inspects the photo, the more he thinks your expression most resembles a grimace, not a smile. He shrugs it off however, and moves on. After all, the facial structure of humans is such that they're capable of expressions far more complex than those of angels or demons. Perhaps he’s only misreading it.

The next picture sees you looking a few years older, sitting in the lap of a tall, angular man wearing a white shirt that looks to have been frequently stained by all manner of substances whilst his face is stretched into a grin that makes Azrael's skin crawl. Captured in stillness, it looks menacing and shark-like. Worse still is the large hand that seems to have secured itself like a vice around your thigh, squeezing noticeably into the little, blue leggings you'd worn that day.

You aren't smiling as widely in this photograph....

The archangel's face begins to fall as well.

Humming, he moves on to the next picture and in an instant, that creeping unease suddenly rings in his head like an alarm bell.

Again, you're older here, perhaps early into your adolescence, and the smile you'd sported before is barely there at all. The same man is standing behind you this time, and his long, gangly fingers are clamped down over your too-small shoulders, fingernails digging so hard into the bare skin, the resulting indents are even picked up by the camera.

Your lopsided wince that could be mistaken for a smile at a glance shows off one side of your mouth and in it, Azrael can clearly see that you're missing a tooth.

He may not be the most well-versed on human biology, but he's definitely heard that children only lose the same tooth once. And that the process is a natural one.

Through the lense of the camera, your younger counterpart seems to peer up past the glass frame, past the fabric of time and space and straight into Azrael's misty, pale eyes, a silent yet clear plea in the tilt of your brows and the whites of your knuckles.

'Help me.'

All at once, the archangel feels sick. He staggers backwards, away from the dresser and doesn't even notice the golden halo on his back is thrumming with protective magics, pushing them outwards to envelope your entire house.

He doesn't need Jamaerah's second sight to know that you were afraid of that man who's eyes are stained the same colour as yours. Hazarding a guess as to why you were afraid causes Azrael's throat to tighten.

Swallowing hard, he tries to regain his composure. The archangel has always considered rationality to be one of the greatest weapons in his arsenal and if there was ever a time to use it, that time is now.

'Perhaps... I am mistaken,' he reassures himself, 'I don’t know human customs nearly as well as I-’

“Azrael?”

The angel gives a start and jerks his head around to face the door, only to find Death eclipsing it, his eyes blazing like twin fires.

Stepping forwards into the room, he hisses, “What are you doing in here?”

The Horseman is quite certain he's never seen Azrael look so guilty.

Instead of giving him an answer though, the angel slowly breathes, “Where is Y/n?” Soon, he droops in relief when Death throws a thumb over his shoulder and replies, “Still in the bathing room, tending to a bloody nose... You didn't answer my question.”

Beckoning the Horseman closer, Azrael keeps his voice to a hushed whisper and holds the last photograph up in front of him.

“What do you make of this?”

Azrael's behaviour strikes him as so uncharacteristically odd and secretive, Death actually hurries over to him and snatches the picture frame from his hands, making an effort not to appear curious about the room he's never been inside. The angel watches raptly as Death scans the photographs with his luminous, orange eyes. Then, all of a sudden, the Horseman's fingers tighten around the little, wooden frame, hard enough to make it splinter and Azrael knows his worst fears are being realised. He hadn't imagined it.

Death sees it too.

“You guys shouldn't be in here.”

A tiny voice, low and trembling calls from the doorway and the angel's gaze snaps up. Death, in the meantime, remains too fixated on the photograph to bother acknowledging your presence.

Azrael drifts towards you cautiously, as though you'll bolt at any second. He tries to decide whether it would be better to apologise for invading your privacy or ask you why you look so terrified.

“Y/n,” he starts, paying attention to the way your hands turn over one another incessantly, “We were only-”

“... How... How did you get in? The door was - it was locked! You can't be in here... Get out!” Your voice raises in pitch. There are tears leaking from your bruised eye, swiftly turning the skin underneath it slick and shiny and there’s still a trace of blood underneath your nose.

Death finally lowers his gaze from the photograph and holds you captive under a wide and menacing stare. “A storage room, was it?” he asks curtly, showing you the picture clutched between his ever-tightening fingers.

The moment you lay eyes on it, your back goes rigid and all the blood drains from your face. “Put that down!” you demand and lift your foot as if to take a step inside the room, but as soon as you cross over the threshold, you seem to remember something, and quickly jerk yourself backwards, stumbling into the hallway again and sucking down a ragged gasp, blurting, “Just – Just don't touch it!”

“Why not?” Death drawls and tilts his head to one side, calculating, “It can't be that important to you. You've had it locked in this storage cupboard for these past two years.”

He's pushing you, Azrael realises with a sinking feeling, he's trying to provoke you into an honest reaction, no doubt. The archangel doesn't like it, but he likes the look of that man in the photograph even less.

“That's none of your business!” you snap, heart pounding like a jackhammer against your ribs. Unfortunately, your response only seems to stir something in the Horseman, who draws his head back as though you'd struck him a physical blow and he growls, “I hate to disappoint you, but it is my business where your welfare is concerned.”

“My welfare stopped being your concern about two years ago!”

Death falls silent, jaw clenching.

He'd be remiss to say that your comment hadn't struck at a place he guards jealously. He's painfully aware of the angel's eyes burning a hole into the side of his head and he nearly squirms at the pitying look he's receiving.

It would seem that Azrael knows him a little too well.

“You never once stopped being my concern...” the Horseman mumbles, his gaze moving down to the image in his hand. A younger, smaller you peers back at him with woe caught like sleep-dust behind your eyelashes. Death's eyes shoot back up to you again, the softness gone from his voice when he growls, “Why did you lie to me?”

Tensions are high enough that Azrael doesn't think it prudent to mention you'd lied to him as well.

Apparently, a direct confrontation was not the best way to deal with this delicate situation, a fact that becomes clear when you cinch your jaw shut for a moment, gaze flickering to and fro between the angel and the Horseman.

Seeing two of your most trusted friends standing in his bedroom with a symbol of your shame and your trauma held quite literally in Death's grasp sends your heart rate skyrocketing, fear like poison dripping down into your stomach. You can hardly believe they'd invade your privacy like this. Death especially, who knows better than anyone the necessity for keeping some secrets buried.

He doesn't need to learn about that part of your history - neither of them do. You don't want to have them worrying. And God forbid they should pity you.

Squaring your shoulders, you spin about on a heel and begin to march purposefully down your landing to the stairs.

“Where do you think you're going?!” Death barks after you.

Chest heaving, you pause on the first step and cast a heavy frown over your shoulder at the Horseman, matching his ferocious gaze without a single blink. “If you won't leave that room,” you tell him, “then I'll leave this house. And I'll thank you both to be gone by the time I get back.”

And just like that, you continue to descend your staircase and disappear below the wooden balustrades. Seconds later and there's an almighty 'slam' that signals you've had an altercation with the front door before leaving through it.

For some time, the house is weighed down under a blanket of silence as the pair of unearthly beings are left to stand in the aftershocks of their actions.

“Oh dear..” Azrael's stare is vacant, worried, and he has several fingertips pressed to his lips. “I fear I've reopened an old wound..”

“No. This... isn't your fault,” the Horseman sighs, “I should have addressed this sooner. I've known for some time there was something Y/n didn't want me to know. And, I suppose, I'd always suspected that this room might lead to some answers.”

Taken aback, Azrael turns a mystified look onto the Nephilim. He'd expected Death to lay the blame upon his feathery shoulders, after all, he was the one who first ventured into this so called 'storage cupboard' and upset the proverbial applecart. Still, he finds it somewhat odd that the Horseman – a nosy creature if ever one walked the nine realms – hasn't ever tried to see for himself what lay beyond the door. Tilting his head, the angel asks, “You never thought to investigate?”

At the question, Death averts his gaze and shrugs one of his pale shoulders. “Admittedly, no, I did not.”

“Well... Why?” Azrael presses, though he already has an inkling.

After a moment of frowning pensively at the photo in his hands, the Horseman turns to look at him and he's once again thrown off by the level of emotion in those wild, striking eyes. Death really has grown since knowing you.

“I never brought it up because....”

“.... You didn't want to jeopardise your friendship,” Azrael finishes for him softly, and Death is only grateful that he didn't have to say it himself out loud.

At the same time, the two of them peer back at the photograph and the archangel is surprised at himself for the anger that boils in his lungs at the sight of that man’s hands on you. Death however, isn’t in the least bit surprised at the presence of his own rage.

“Horseman...,” Azrael says, his voice eerily calm, “You don’t supposed.... Y/n might be trying to hide something else, do you?”

"The bruise...”

Furious, orange eyes meet cool and misty white.

“It isn’t out of the question,” Azrael breathes, “A random attack from human zealots? Or-”

“- Or something a bit closer to home,” Death finishes as he tosses the photo onto the nearby bed and turns to face the door.

Outside, rain continues to hammer relentlessly on the house whilst a streak of lightening illuminates the bedroom and the two, imposing beings inside, one with dark magics crackling at his fingertips, and the other with a halo of solid gold on his back that thrums with violent energy as the glyphs on his wings begin to glow electric blue.

Without a word, the Angel of Death and the Grim Reaper slip from your house and stride out into the coming storm, their ancient minds focused solely on tracking down their human.

#darksiders #darksiders 2 #darksiders 3 #Azrael #Death #Reader #abuse #child abuse #angst #Angel #Nephilim #Horseman of the Apocalypse #Hurt/comfort #found family #demon #guardian angels

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grim-on-the-darkside · 3 years

Text

The Latest Information on Lucas’s Sequel Trilogy he wrote in 2011. Also some information from Star Wars Archives: Episodes I-III: 1999–2005, author Paul Duncan interviewed George Lucas his ideas of a Sequel Trilogy.

Firstly, some of the things Pablo Hidalgo has stated about Lucas’s sequel trilogy that he has access to and spoke to Lucas directly about.

We know Lucas never considered the EU canon or a part of his Star Wars universe so it is not surprising his Sequel Trilogy was of his own creation.

........

"Fast forward to 2012, when we hear George is looking to make SW movies again, I though I thought 'I wonder what next Mon Calamari's gonna be. And it turns out, the Mon Calamari this time was huge swaths of the EU. There was no Jacen, no Jaina. No new Jedi Order. Chewie lived. Not surprising, but there it was."

~ Pablo Hidalgo, 2016

https://ibb.co/nmjWcBM

[Regarding Lucas Sequel Trilogy Treatments he wrote in 2011 and sold to Disney]

Comment - "What are you talking about? J.J. threw out His story treatments and he [George Lucas] has no imput at all anymore."

Pablo Hidalgo Response - "Not entirely true. But the treatments as they were pretty much disregarded the EU, which was to be expected.”

~ 2018

https://ibb.co/Dz7qhTB

........

Commentor - 'Thank You for the clarification, might I ask if you ever recieved any direction that George Lucas with the number of children the Solos had as depicted in the EU?'

Pablo Hidalgo - "All I meant is his starting point for this Trilogy didn't have Jacen, Jaina, and/or Anakin."

Commentor - 'Was there Ben Skywalker?'

Pablo Hidalgo - "There was not."

https://ibb.co/JH2Y8tg

.................

Question - "My question is, *what did George's treatments for 7 look like? I would love to see if they fit the EU."

Answer [Pablo Hidalgo]- "They did not. For instance, there was no Jaina, Jacen, or Anakin." ~ 2017

https://ibb.co/N7HKCsF

................

Pablo Hidalgo - "Jacen and Jaina never existed in George's storytelling, even in treatment form."

Comment Response - "And about Mara Jade?"

Pablo Hidalgo - "No. George never thought of Mara as being part of his universe either."

~ 2016 https://ibb.co/YLHk6Ft

.......

From Star Wars Insider

"There was no Ben Skywalker in George's Universe. He came from the NJO team." ~ Pablo Hidalgo 2016

https://ibb.co/HDtXh6D

................

"Question from Today, but I thought this was pretty well known. George Lucas never considered Jacen, Jaina, or Mara Jade as part of his universe."

~ Pablo Hidalgo May 2016 https://ibb.co/VDX2qvY

....

"But anyway Luke in exile predates TLJ by a long time and came from someone who can very happily and rightly supersede anyone's feedback :)"

~ Pablo Hidalgo https://ibb.co/sKZnWKk

[Luke was in something of a self imposed exile on an Island in Lucas Sequel Trilogy which is something that Disney ripped off from Lucas’s Sequel Trilogy. Pablo is referring to Lucas in this quote.]

"Luke was training a new generation of Jedi, it all went wrong because of 1 boy, and he's the 'Jedi killer' - that's the source.”

~ Pablo Hidalgo, 2016 https://ibb.co/JjYtGtf

[The source being George Lucas sequel trilogy treatments he made in 2011 and ended up selling to Disney later. Something else Disney ripped off from Lucas’s Sequel trilogy.] ..

Pablo Hidalgo - "George's starting point for 7 had no Jaina, Jacen, Anakin and Chewie never died. So yeah."

[Reply] - "Could we please send this to every EU purist we know?"

[Other replyer] "They wont care."

[First Replyer] "They will after what Hidalgo just said after this."

[Pablo Hidalgo] - "No, they won't. You can't correct the internet.The info's out there. They've made up their minds."

https://ibb.co/mXGX0Qn

Pablo Hidalgo - "But there was no sequel trilogy at that time."

Commenter 1 -

'Also, Lucas' Treatment of EP VII did not have the twins born in the Thrawn Trilogy'.

Pablo Hidalgo - "It didn't have twins."

Commenter 2 -

'You're referring to the treatment Lucas sold Disney in 2012. I guess plans changed.'

Pablo Hidalgo - "Or were defined. Jacen and Jaina were never part of George's story. They were Tim's [Zahn] invention."

~ Pablo Hidalgo Q&A

https://ibb.co/VQ5Zrr0

Here’s what George said about them during an interview with James Cameron for his The Story of Science Fiction project.

“Back in the day, I used to say ultimately what this means is we’re just cars, vehicles, for the Whills to travel around in…. We’re vessels for them. And the conduit is the midi-chlorians. The midi-chlorians are the ones that communicate with the Whills. The Whills, in a general sense, they are the Force.

All the way back to — with the Jedi and the Force and everything — the whole concept of how things happen was laid out completely from [the beginning] to the end. But I never got to finish. I never got to tell people about it.

If I’d held onto the company I could have done it, and then it would have been done. Of course, a lot of the fans would have hated it, just like they did Phantom Menace and everything, but at least the whole story from beginning to end would be told.”

~ George Lucas

https://www.indiewire.com/2018/06/george-lucas-episode-vii-episode-ix-1201974276/

As part of the book Star Wars Archives: Episodes I-III: 1999–2005, author Paul Duncan interviewed George Lucas. During this interview, George talked more about his plans for the sequel trilogy.

Paul Duncan: What about the stormtroopers? They look robotic, but they’re not.

George Lucas: How do you know what they are?

Paul Duncan: Did you have a different idea of what they were?

George Lucas: Yeah, they started out as clones. Once all the clones were killed, the Empire picked up recruits, like militia. They fought, but they weren’t very good at what they did.

Paul Duncan: That’s why they kept missing.

George Lucas: That’s why they kept missing. Then after the Rebels won, there were no more stormtroopers in my version of the third trilogy.

I had planned for the first trilogy to be about the father, the second trilogy to be about the son, and the third trilogy to be about the daughter and the grandchildren. [There was only one, Ben Solo, another Disney rip off.]

Episode VII, VIII, and IX would take ideas from what happened after the Iraq War. “Okay, you fought the war, you killed everybody, now what are you going to do?” Rebuilding afterwards is harder than starting a rebellion or fighting the war. When you win the war and you disband the opposing army, what do they do? The stormtroopers would be like Saddam Hussein’s Ba’athist fighters that joined ISIS and kept on fighting. The stormtroopers refuse to give up when the Republic win.

They want to be stormtroopers forever, so they go to a far corner of the galaxy, start their own country and their own rebellion.

There’s a power vacuum so gangsters, like the Hutts, are taking advantage of the situation, and there is chaos. The key person is Darth Maul, who had been resurrected in The Clone Wars cartoons — he brings all the gangs together.

Paul Duncan: Was Darth Maul the main villain?

George Lucas: Yeah, but he’s very old, and we have two versions of him. One is with a set of cybernetic legs like a spider, and then later on he has metal legs and he was a little bit bigger, more of a superhero. We did all this in the animated series, he was in a bunch of episodes.

Darth Maul trained a girl, Darth Talon [The only thing from the EU in Lucas’s Trilogy, but it wasn’t even really her, just had the same look and name, completely different background. She wasn’t even born yet at that time frame in the comics]., who was in the comic books as his apprentice. She was the new Darth Vader, and most of the action was with her. So these were the two main villains of the trilogy. Maul eventually becomes the godfather of crime in the universe because, as the Empire falls, he takes over.

The movies are about how Leia — I mean, who else is going to be the leader? — is trying to build the Republic. They still have the apparatus of the Republic but they have to get it under control from the gangsters. That was the main story.

It starts out a few years after Return of the Jedi and we establish pretty quickly that there’s this underworld, there are these offshoot stormtroopers who started their own planets, and that Luke is trying to restart the Jedi. He puts the word out, so out of 100,000 Jedi, maybe 50 or 100 are left. The Jedi have to grow again from scratch, so Luke has to find two- and three-year-olds, and train them. It’ll be 20 years before you have a new generation of Jedi.

By the end of the trilogy Luke would have rebuilt much of the Jedi, and we would have the renewal of the New Republic, with Leia, Senator Organa, becoming the Supreme Chancellor in charge of everything. So she ended up being the Chosen One.”

George also expanded on Midi-chlorians:

“This is the cosmology. The Force is the energy, the fuel, and without it everything would fall apart. The Force is a metaphor for God, and God is essentially unknowable. But behind it is another metaphor, which fits so well into the movie that I couldn’t resist it.

Midi-chlorians are the equivalent of mitochondria in living organisms and photosynthesis in plants — I simply combined them for easier consumption by the viewer. Mitochondria create the chemical energy that turns one cell into two cells.

I like to think that there is a unified reality to life and that it exists everywhere in the universe and that it controls things, but you can also control it. That’s why I split it into the Personal Force and the Cosmic Force. The Personal Force is the energy field created by our cells interacting and doing things while we are alive. When we die, we lose our persona and our energy is assimilated into the Cosmic Force.

If we have enough Midi-chlorians in our body, we can have a certain amount of control over our Personal Force and learn how to use it, like the Buddhist practive of being able to walk on hot coals.”

And the Whills:

“The Whills are a microscopic, single-celled lifeform like amoeba, fungi, and bacteria. There’s something like 100,000 times more Whills than there are Midi-chlorians, and there are about 10,000 times more Midi-chlorians than there are human cells.

The only microscopic entities that can go into the human cells are the Midi-chlorians. They are born in the cells. The Midi-chlorians provide the energy for human cells to split and create life. The Whills are single-celled animals that feed on the Force. The more of the Force there is, the better off they are. So they have a very intense symbiotic relationship with the Midi-chlorians and the Midi-chlorians effectively work for the Whills.

It is estimated that we have 100 trillion microbes in our body and we are made up of about 90% bacteria and 10% human cells. So who is in service to whom? I know this is the kind of thing that fans just go berserk over because they say, “We want it to be mysterious and magical”, and “You’re just doing science.” Well, this isn’t science.

This is just as mythological as anything else in Star Wars. It sounds more scientific, but it’s a fiction.

It’s saying there is a big symbiotic relationship to create life, and to create the Force, but if you look at all the life-forms in the universe, most of them are one-celled organisms. I think of one-celled organisms as an advanced form of life because they’ve been able to travel through the universe. They have their own spaceships — those meteorites that we get every once in a while. They’ve been living on those things for thousands of years, they’ve been frozen, unfrozen, and can survive almost anything.

The one-celled organisms have to have a balance. You have to have good ones and bad ones otherwise it would extinguish life. And if they go out of balance, the dark side takes over.”

..................................................................................................................

Obviously there is the older information that’s already been out there, I just wanted to share some of the newer information that has come to light. I’m sure in time we will learn more.

#LucasIsTheCanon

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adorabledonutunicorn · 3 years

Text

New Eyes

CW: Some internalized homophobia

Warning: This is 15 pages on Google Docs so it’s long. This is a combination of poems I’ve written over the past year or so (if my timeline is correct) about realizing and processing through some of my past crushes. It took me til version 4 to shift my perspective and not be ashamed of how I felt about these people. It’s kind of depressing to think that it took me no less than 4 years to get rid of the shame surrounding my sexuality, and even still I have my days, but in this case it makes for a nice arc that comes to accept everything by the end. In case you’re interested here’s a brief background on each person. I’m gonna go off since it’s already the length of a chapter of a book lmao.

1. She is literally the reasons for all of this. She was someone who I’ve known since middle school because we were in the “accelerated math group” together. She was always popular, but something always struck me differently about her. During our sr year of high school I sent her a message on Facebook and we had a few conversations on there. We were the only girls in our math class by this time and tbh we had more conversations online than we ever did in-person...we even sat next to each other in class omfg.

2. This one is about a friend I met in college. She was pretty, full of joy, and has a nice smile so I’m a very simple person when it comes to being attracted to people lol. I forced myself to get over it quickly and I’m thankful we still talk sometimes despite never really hanging out outside of the Christian group we were in lol.

3. Damn, this one’s about the friend referenced in “To see her smile again”. She’s literally just too perfect and the day I realized I got butterflies when she walked into the room was the day I fully realized/accepted that okay there’s more to me than being straight. I still don’t know how or why she loved me so well.

4. This one is about a friend I met in college, literally on the first day I was there. We were both in the same orientation group and were both so awkward we somehow stuck around together all 4 years lmao. Idk if she’s just awkward around me only or everyone, but by the end I could feel some kind of unspoken tension between us, especially after we went to see a play for the theatre class we took that was about Stonewall lol. A part of me wanted to say something but another part of me thought that maybe she was in a different place in the same journey of discovering her sexuality. The funniest part is that on Valentine’s Day I think a year ago we DM’ed on Instagram for 5 hours str8 (gay).

5. Aah yes, just another one of my Twitter crushes. Jk the first Twitter crush oooh! It took me like a good 6 months to fully accept said crush and like another 6 months to fully get over it. Truly I wish her all the best and all the healing.

V1.0

Once upon a time, These eyes grazed the truth

They saw the surface They saw someone With so much purpose

A life with a heart Transcending barriers and A mind with the ability To achieve great things

A person so pure Hiding their true self within Yet solid and confident in Serving

It was this willingness Intelligence Freedom To get lost in music and dance Goodness Integrity That led me to believe You were one of the most beautiful people I had ever seen.

And this, Is the truth that these eyes Could see

Objectively, Honestly, Truthfully, As transparently as Any teacher Any observer Any friend Knew you to be.

Yet still, My mind seems To have forsaken me.

What I know now Is what I failed to admit then What I replay in my head Is what I am slowly learning To accept within

It brings me shame To let these emotions Finally come in

And it brings me pain, Because that's not how I want to remember How and why This was perhaps, the "best" end.

I want to remember The objective observations The person we all saw, Not just me

I want to remember Rightfully, The words you said to me

I want to remember How I tried to look inside you So deeply

And how you gracefully Eloquently Opened up to me.

All I hope Is that these memories mean At least half of what they do to you As they do to me.

Even if I Can now look in this mirror And see, Say these words to myself Breathe And let them be,

I will never forget What you meant To everyone You met.

But because I tried To look so deep Because I tried To love you as you were, As you are I ended up finding something Only these eyes now Could see.

I cannot say That I fell in love With a fantasy

Because love Is so vast and deep

But there was A new feeling inside of me An emotion I would hide Because I never wanted it to be Outside For anyone To see.

I look back at these moments That replay inside my mind From every bathroom anxious tear I cried Unknowingly Became the catalyst For this "why"

Why was I so anxious And afraid? But that won't explain Why did I even feel The way that I did?

I didn't want to I pushed it down So easily It took me almost 5 years To finally accept This story That lingered inside of me.

Once I see A heart, soul, human life To love, I jump in wholeheartedly

Because I guess That is just who I am, Who I was made to be.

But I didn't expect That I'd be here Confronting these Treacherous conflicting feelings That to the casual observer Make it seem like It was all for me, Self-motivated Self-intentioned Just to set my eyes on something I could not define At the time.

If not me If I can't believe it, I hope you know Remember And see That regardless of what I felt The words we never said Still give you more Than a thousand reasons To keep on breathing And to keep on being The beautiful person We all knew You'd grow to be.

V2.0

Imagine What this heart can do Imagine What this heart can feel What these eyes Can see inside Before the mind Redraws the lines.

Imagine God's truth Willfully entering the soul Revealing more

Than I could ever know But all that I feel Is beyond words.

Imagine That what is beyond words Is not beyond shame

In fact, Shame has now met these emotions And tainted this love, The love the Lord has given To this heart of mine

This love that was pure Of good intention Is now questioned, Because of the reality, My reality, The way my mind sees

I can only perceive What these eyes gaze upon And the brain processes, filters, Through its many recognized colors

I cannot see What was not meant for me And what is Beyond me.

With these eyes, Imperfect and perhaps blind, They let me look upon a face Labeling it within me as shame Instead of grace

I used to be able to see, What I thought so innocently, Now a darkened fiend Of what was made A friend

What has now surfaced Became lies What has harbored Is judgment Internally, And nocturnal I have become

This is merely Not what I wanted to see But rather A predator where it meets its prey Onlooking the target Ready to strip Its life away

But here, This life is dignity Of the soul across the room Once the prime and primitive Instincts and defense mechanisms activate, There is no more reason, No way That words will ever be able To explain.

This Feels lost Feels lonely Like no one but me Will understand clearly That I love Deeply Wholly I dare say beautifully Whether or not these feelings Are just my feelings Or beyond Only my reality.

Because reality Is subjective Different between both you and me But somehow still We may find common ground Where the images our minds outline Overlap and see the same

It is here, where more than I Can finally understand. It is here, Where words are no longer the enemy But the potion and antidote To this shame

For this shame Has met humility Vulnerability The courage To be me

Even if The whole world will never know I know the whole world Will never understand, I still stand With my heart tall Convicted with truth Rooted in the Lord's Truth That you are so beyond and Better than beautiful It fills me With awe.

V3.0

These new eyes that have seen Change unfolding Have also seen Love unraveling.

From all the sweetness And fondness Of pure untarnished memories, To what I don't know if I know How to see,

This is me Raw and untouched Naked and ashamed To have loved The friend who was Never meant For me.

Blessed was I To have found one So faithful and kind For once not out of reach But yet still Out of my league With all the riches Of intelligence to joy And of course A smile that was not For the faint of heart to see

I have loved before, For it was here I found love In the purest form First, foremost, Of friendship

It was here Where every good thing That resonated inside me Grew tenfold With this unknown blessing That I had fathomed to know Beyond blessings ever received.

Yet, Little did I know, It took courage To love this way. Selfless Never ill-intentioned I tried to be Until the end.

It was generously That she gave me And so kindly Yet humbly I tried to give back Never feeling like What I gave was enough, As she so gracefully Accepted everything Speaking to me without words It was more than enough.

There is not a single soul That I have met Who could ever be Her Anything like her, Who could also be Or will likely ever be My friend.

It was on the days We left, Where our presences departed Where I had no regrets

But it was then When I realized The sadness and grief Was yet the loss Of love, Including the Lord's Love.

It was she, Who lamentably taught me How butterflies felt Inside me All the way To fear and shame Of this very discovery

As well as The best hugs Any person may probably ever give me.

There is no one like her, And there is no one better for her Than her husband, And this I know, It is he who I know To be faithful, kind, Courageous, righteous, Steadfast and Unconditionally loving

But somehow, I ask the Holy Spirit Did you bring her Here To teach me About love, faithfulness, and joy? Did you bring her Here To show me light in the world Once more? Did you bring her here To have a friend for once, To give me courage to speak, To love a friend deeply? And did you bring her here So that I could love so deeply That I found this part of me?

I can still say To this day That I have No regrets About anything I Have written or said To this friend, The greatest gift, A catalyst For this journey, And the one who gives The best hugs With the sweetest smiles I’ll ever be blessed to receive.

V4.0

Once where A new era began, A seed was planted In the mere probability of our existence

We did not find each other We stumbled upon one another In a way where awkwardness Was the main contributor To our similarities

Yet you stayed And I of course, stayed Somehow we relished In a relieving familiarity

Perhaps, It brought us together For that reason.

But what we had And what we have Has grown from a seed,

Watered, waiting We are here Where I never thought we would be: Friends now far away, Yet still able to relate

But even then What does it mean? It may not mean much of anything.

For a fleeting feeling Lines the nerves of my being Extremities tense While the rest of me at peace

For this is the only awkwardness We have known to overcome, Time and time again, —I never know Where your thoughts go

There is so much to be learned So much we will never know But in each other, We have still grown.

Maybe this is the best feeling I would never have known If I were not able To express it freely

Maybe one day Our lives not our hearts Will collide Telling the same story Of who we were always meant to be.

V5.0

To Jade, A jewel of always Every color but green,

Your story is a wonderful epic, Tales of travels That never grow old

They write an unapologetic narrative Of every highest mountain top And every lowest valley

You have climbed as high Just as much as you Have fallen down and cried

And I, I so wished to see and to learn Of every broken piece to your life That you thought you needed to earn

But I, Even with good intentions Fell into a hole I could not climb

I embraced every part At the expense of my joy Only adding To my despair

But you taught me What strength and courage Could be

To say it is easy To wake up every day Without the one Who loved you most Is irreparable As much as he was irreplaceable

To say the scars it leaves behind Are mere wounds of the flesh to be tended to Would simply be a lie

But still I Fell in love with What it could look like To see you wake up every morning And choose life

For there is nothing more brave As the story you write And continue to write.

I still stand by And wish to look upon your life To see how far you've come

But at least I've passed beyond The emotions I feared would last forever

Back then I was confused Back then I was still learning And I thank you for helping me Find who I am

Even if I can never say I fell as deep for love's sake, If I ever find you Stumble upon Or see you I will find the reddest rose And gift it to you

For the honor and memory of your brother And for the honor and memory of you Because sometimes words Will never be enough To describe what will always Be blooming in you (And how you've allowed me To blossom too).

Conclusion / V1.5

Without what happened that night These essays would never have turned to poems

Without the words we never said I wouldn’t have these reasons why I write

You are still as beautiful as the day I met you And the day I left you when I accepted You will remain a memory, not a friend meant for forever Or even for a second

But still, I do not hesitate To smile and be embarrassed Knowing now all That I did not know then That brings clarity, closure, and an end.

I never loved you But I definitely liked you Enough to zone in on Every beat of your heart

Enough to make you see Who you were always made to be And how worthy you are To be you, To be everything you are.

And so here I remain, Content and at peace Knowing I am allowed To never-more be ashamed.

#new eyes #shame #bisexuality #questioning #unrequited love #peace #joy #crushes #poem #poetry of tumblr #pride month #pride poetry #this one is long #don't waste your time unless you want to know the story of my life

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heat-riser · 3 years

Text

Some weird analysis of when you knew me.

I’ve thought about doing this for a while. One part screaming into the void, one part for anyone who was on tumblr in it’s heyday and watched me be strange and into- frankly- the worst characters and really terrible ships. I’m 26 now and understand a bit more about myself after finally finding a good therapist who specialized in sexual trauma and delving into the deepest darkest parts. Maybe it’s part insight for people who were friends with my at the time- and by ‘at that time’, I guess I mean any point in my life up until a couple years ago. From around 5 years on- I was in a constant state of incredibly deep sadness and anxiety but was too numb to even really consciously feel it. I learned some of the worst things about people and became acquainted with some of the worst things a person can feel at 5, and then again multiple times around 9 due to rape by two different boys. The first, my family and people around me knew about pretty immediately. The second was completely unknown to people until recently. It’s not an easy thing telling your parents another neighbor boy who was a ‘friend’ raped you too. I can’t really explain properly how deeply this effects a person and how people don’t really understand it. Things as little as not being able to be outside my house without a jacket and full pants to cover my whole body because I internalized that showing your body is vulnerability opened up the possibility of sexualization and therefore- attack. All the way to now with everything being resurfaced and having nearly no sex drive and being unable to feel arousal without more anxiety coming in and overpowering the arousal feeling. It was recently recommended to me by my therapist to not play horror games because the feelings of arousal and fear are so tightly linked. I’ve been with the therapist for three years and anticipate at very least another 3-5 and she has clients who have been seeing her 10+ years for having experienced childhood sexual abuse. I can’t remember if I’ve talked publicly here about any of that but most of my friends are aware of the first one (it’s not really something I want to throw out there randomly and conversations in covid time are strange). I was only aware of the first one up until a couple years back. When talking about buried memories, how they come up, how to tell if they’re legit, I halfway thought “what if there was more” and felt sick to my stomach. One of the sure signs of a memory being true is an emotional response. I’m in the process of reclaiming the memories of the events involving the second neighbor boy. But point being- I learned the world was awful very early on and it became the background for all future development (sexual, social, self, etc. etc.). I began to numb myself after the first event and went through half of elementary school and middle school angry, sad, and hateful- I especially hated men, but also just the world at large. By high school, I had learned to shove all of that down. I can’t really recall feeling much of anything in high school. So the people that knew me at the time really only knew a weird ghost of a person. Then there’s this thing called trauma reenactment- where victims are drawn to things relating to the trauma situation. So this is what takes me to explaining the characters I was interested in. 1- Adachi. I now see as little more than a sad incel but it does say a lot about where I was at the time to be so fascinated with him. He shared my resentment towards the world, the idea that anyone who wasn’t depressed simply didn’t understand, and saw more of a problem with the world than his current state of being. Of course that was relatable. I very clearly remember in middle school believing people that weren’t depressed simply had no idea what was going on around them. Of course I thought that and still struggle with that mentality. All I had really known was deep despair and numbing myself from the world. I didn’t understand how other people didn’t realize that but now know what the emotional world I was living in was not typical of children. So here was someone that knew how bad everything around was and how bad the world felt and I clung onto him the same way I did my own idealizations. With what I’ve been processing more recently, the dude needed therapy and to unlearn that depression was cool and correct but had shown multiple times he was unwilling to challenge any of his issues and just started killing people. There were a lot of favorite characters through this but one that sticks out as another really fucked up example of where I was was Damon Gant. I look back at liking him as the ultimate symbol of trauma reenactment. He’s older, he had power, he was creepy, intimidating, unsettling, and controlling. Everything my predators had been to me at the time. So- all of those things were in a way intertwined with my own sexuality as they’re what I first learned with anything ‘sexual’. Some of my favorite ships are due to the same reasoning. Gant and Lana- again, kind of inherently controlling, imbalance of power, and ends horribly and tragically. I always found something intriguing and beautiful about the most horrific and sad feelings. And I’ll touch on it just for the record. Cyrus is big fucked up- but I think he is, though maybe incorrect, well intentioned with his main goal being what he believes will actually be better for everyone cause of his projection of the awful things he feels on everyone. He doesn’t go out of his way to hurt anyone and certainly doesn’t enjoy other people’s pain but rather wants to eliminate what he sees as the reason for people hurting others with and end justifies the means mindset. His numbing/attempts to numb, hatred of emotion, and hatred of people inflicting pain on others is all incredibly familiar and I’m certain a part of me in middle school knew that when picking him as a fave. As I progress, I’m more interested his potential to relearn people and start opening up to feeling. (Pokemon Master’s definitely more than hinted at him changing and I’m hoping that means they’ll go that route with remakes.) I should note that during my most ‘numb’ parts would sneak out and I would be very- and increasingly over time starting with 6th grade- suicidal and became addicted to cutting and self harm (which I realize now are both just further numbing techniques). I described the feeling at the time as a parasite controlling your brain and a part of yourself knowing you had to fight against it. There was a period I was certain of how I would die, it was just when I would finally snap. I should also say how much people are able to numb themselves. I can remember getting so anxious that my heart would race and the world felt fast- I would get to the point of gagging but can’t remember ‘feeling’ any ounce of anxiety consciously. When first becoming sexually active, I had extended, horrific anxiety that would have hospitalized me for a couple weeks if not for my mom being able to stay home with me (also out of work for a couple months and left addicted to xanax for a bit). And still didn’t quite believe her all the way when she suggested it was anxiety. And I sure as hell didn’t make any connections to any possible mental issues around sex. So I’ve ranted enough but saved this bit for the end cause it hits kinda hard. People tend to feel the same things they felt in locations. Curiosity got the best of me and I drove around parts of my childhood I spend a lot of time at and specific routes I would take. (It’s called state dependent memory if anyone’s interested). I’m learning just how much I was numb to everything and wondering just what it was I was covering up my whole life. This isn’t easy to really type out cause of how fucked it is with the realization that I didn’t really experience childhood to a degree. During my drive, past my high school, up near my friends houses, the route I would take coming back from college- I was deeply, and very profoundly sad in my core. Nothing near what a person should have felt through their childhood. I missed so much. And I’m sorry to my friends at the time who only got to know a strange, numb, trauma reenacting, ghost of myself. I’m not going to be able to relive those times in a better light but I can at very least do some work to prevent a future spent numb and profoundly sad. But my brain is finally allowing me to remember some things because it’s deemed that I can handle it, I’m learning more about myself and my past, learning how to listen to what my brain and body are telling me and why, and getting better at expressing grief and real, raw, sadness and a touch of deep-seated anger so I think I might be starting to turn this around.

#TW: rape #TW: self harm #TW: suicidal ideation #some explanation of why I liked the characters I liked #This was meant to be focused on the character thing but went all over the place

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welcometothepenumbra · 5 years

Text

JUNO STEEL AND THE TIME GONE BY (PART ONE)

SOUND: WIND BLOWING. FOOTSTEPS.

THEIA: Caution: radiation detected at. Fatal levels. Turn back. Turn back.

User safety tip: this is. A very bad idea. Suggestion: activate Theia Global Map. To search for shelter.

Caution: I cannot act without user permissions. User permissions are needed. Awaiting user permissions.

JUNO: (GRUNTS)

SOUND: PUNCH.

THEIA: You appear. To be punching your own face. Would you like. Some help with that?

JUNO: Just… shut up… (SIGHS)

SOUND: RUSTLING, THUMP.

THEIA: For your safety. I do not recommend. You lie down. In this location.

THEIA: Reporting potential threats active as of last user scan. Threat one: a massive sandstorm. Threat two: fatal radiation. Threat three: this area of the desert is recognized by the Martian Wildlife Foundation as a protected breeding ground for. Peepers.

JUNO: I said shut up!

SOUND: CHIRPS.

THEIA: Playing previously-downloaded information on peepers.

JUNO: (GROWLS)

THEIA: Native only to the northern deserts of Mars, peepers went uncaptured and unresearched for several centuries after their discovery.

SOUND: MORE CHRIPS.

Above ground, peepers resemble colonies of small, tunneling creatures. Which pop into and out of the ground and make a noise not unlike Earth’s groundhogs or meerkats.

SOUND: MORE CHRIPS.

Researchers assumed these creatures to be individual organisms until three hundred years ago. When the first peeper was successfully brought into captivity. And those small rodent-like structures were discovered to be the sensory organs of a much larger subterranean predator.

SOUND: CRUMBLING, DEEP ROAR.

JUNO: Enh, took you long enough.

SOUND: ROAR, BLASTER SHOT, SQUEAL. QUICK FOOTSTEPS DEPARTING. WIND BLOWING, FOOTSTEPS APPROACHING.

VOICE 1: Hey. Hey, you.

JUNO: Go away, I’m busy.

VOICE 1: Hmph.

SOUND: FABRIC RUSTLING.

JUNO: Hey– hey, what the hell are you doing? Put me down, you– what the hell? I-I know you.

VOICE 1: A correction: I know you. I have been told it is important to speak accurately when beginning a business transaction.

JUNO (NARRATOR): Brown jacket; tough skin, broad shoulders; dark, hard eyes that looked like they’d draw blood if you got too close. This guy had been stalking me since what felt like a lifetime ago, back in Hyperion – and if I’d been scared of him then, seeing him up close only made it clearer how easily those big, scarred hands could snap my neck.

My name’s Juno Steel. And I’m… (SIGHS) just a guy who wanders into near-certain death in the desert and then gives the glad eye to his probable killer.

Y’know, saying that out loud, a lot of criticisms I’ve taken over the years suddenly make a lot more sense.

VOICE 1 [BROWN JACKET]: My hovercycle’s radiation shield is only active when the engine is running. Which means I’m going to go now, and you’re going to come with me.

JUNO: You were watching me… before the museum, and b– and before the subway, you were watch—

No. No, look, I’m done. If you want to spy on me that’s fine, but I don’t care. I’m doin’ this on my own.

JACKET: Dying?

JUNO: That’s… not necessarily the plan, but if that’s the last move I can make solo, then sure, that.

JACKET: (AFTER A PAUSE) He’ll find you, you know.

JUNO: What?

JACKET: The one who gave you that eye. Have you activated it recently?

JUNO: Not for a few hours, but—

JACKET: Then he has your location. He will find you – and whatever’s left of your mind, once the radiation’s done with it.

Unless you come with me.

JUNO: Yeah? Why should I?

JACKET: I know how to remove that cyber-eye from your head. I know how to set you free.

You can get in the sidecar when you’re ready.

SOUND: FOOTSTEPS DEPARTING.

JUNO: (GROWLS)

JACKET: Good. Be sure to strap in.

JUNO: Not until you tell me where we’re going.

SOUND: RUSTLING.

Of course! Another man of mystery. Listen, I’ve really had enough of these, so if you can’t even tell me where we’re going I’ll– oof!

SOUND: THUD.

JACKET: I’ll tell you. I was just looking for a helmet in your size.

JUNO: What the… how many helmets do you keep in this bag?

JACKET: Bike safety is important.

SOUND: ZIP.

We’re going to see someone about a job.

JUNO: Very specific, thanks. (HUFFS) Where?

JACKET: Where all of the most important jobs on Mars happen. The Cerberus Province.

SOUND: WHOOSH. ENGINE STARTS.

MUSIC: STARTS.

JUNO (NARRATOR): To be honest, I still wasn’t convinced my mind hadn’t gotten roasted. They say after one hour uncovered from the radioactive sun you start hallucinating, and after five it’s time to say bye-bye to a good chunk of your brain. I’d been out there… well, somewhere between those two options. My watch said it had only been ninety minutes, but on the other hand I wasn’t wearing a watch.

JACKET: So. Do you have a good reason for walking out in the desert? Besides your death wish.

JUNO: Besides my what?

JACKET: It’s well-documented.

JUNO: Documented where?

How long have you been watching me? Is that how you found me out here?

Hello?

JACKET: Hello.

JUNO: (SLOWLY) How long have you been—

JACKET: We are almost at the Cerberus Province. Buddy will answer your questions when you speak with her. If this job is not to your liking, well… back into the desert with you, and you die a free man.

JUNO (NARRATOR): So it was out of the frying pan, into the biggest hideout of thieves and murderers and outlaws in the solar system, I guess.

(SIGHS) We saw the volcanoes first. A ring of ‘em, dusty and dormant. And then, at the center of that ring…

JACKET: The lighthouse.

JUNO: What?

JACKET: The lighthouse activates at night, to guide ships to the spaceport beneath it. I hear before it was installed more ships landed inside volcanoes than was acceptable.

JUNO: So, like… one ship?

THEIA: Would you like to research the number of ships—

JUNO: (MUTTERING) Shut up.

JACKET: I will not. Are you done throwing up, now? It cannot be helping your radiation sickness to stay out here.

JUNO: I think—

JACKET: And if you vomit on my hovercycle I cannot be held responsible for what happens to you next.

JUNO: (SPITS) I think I’m good.

JACKET: Get on, then.

MUSIC: ENDS.

SOUND: WHOOSH. ENGINE RUMBLES.

JUNO (NARRATOR): The lighthouse was huge; an intricate crossing of plates and pipes that looked like somebody had spun a spiderweb from gold, then grabbed its center and pulled it up to scratch the clouds. It was even beautiful, for a minute. Then I wondered if you could see the Piranha’s body from up there, and it just made me feel sick.

The lighthouse wasn’t what I expected from the myths about some ramshackle pirate hideout hidden underneath the desert. According to the stories, the Cerberus Province was more meeting place than city – a non-stop crime convention to trade business cards and thermonuclear weaponry. It didn’t have a Dome, after all. Living there long-term would’ve been suicide.

But the lighthouse didn’t line up with the stories. Neither did the Cerberus Province itself, once we slipped underground to see it.

JUNO: What the hell are all those?

JACKET: Do you mean the buildings, or the tents?

JUNO: I-I don’t know, both?

JACKET: Well. Some are buildings, and some are tents.

JUNO: I-I know that! I mea—

Look, that lady’s drying sheets on a balcony. That’s a grocery stand in a brick house. That guy’s taking his clothes out of a laundromat!

JACKET: It is very dusty on Mars.

JUNO: Wh-why do they live down here? Nobody lives down here. Nobody.

JACKET: Not by choice. When we land it is imperative that you stay close to me and not look too long at anyone else’s property.

SOUND: ENGINE STOPS. CROWD NOISE, MUSIC FADES IN.

JUNO (NARRATOR): When he was done parking we walked out into the street. The buildings and tents I’d seen from above were thick here, people packed elbow to elbow, vendors shouting into the streets.

CROWD VOICES (IN BACKGROUND): Peepers! Getcha pickled peepers over here! Plutonian candy! Delicious Plutonian candy, Plutonium extra!

JUNO (NARRATOR): You get so lost in a place like that you forget you’re part of it, until it reaches out and grabs you.

VOICE 2: Please.

JUNO: Ah!

VOICE 2: Please, you will help me. You will help me. The teecket they give me, the teecket, it is false!

JUNO: Uh-uh, ticket? I-I-I don’t—

VOICE 2: I have moneys. On Susano-o I am doctor, do you know this place? Bank account, years, interest thirty, I have… I have… Please, please, Tammono, you will help me, you will help me!

JUNO (NARRATOR): The woman was wearing a mask, but I’d knocked it crooked in my surprise, and… underneath…

Her skin, it… (SIGHS) God, it looked so painful. Big plates of cracking charcoal crust on a plane of soft, raw, red and gray. She looked burned, or… melting, or both. Long-term radiation damage. The kind of stuff they showed us in old academy videos and promised we’d never actually see. Th-that you’d have to be crazy to stay outside a Dome long enough to get it.

All of a sudden I noticed there were people all over the street wearing masks like that, people by the dozens that must’ve been covered in those burns, and if that many people needed those masks, maybe crazy wasn’t the problem.

Then Brown Jacket grabbed me by the shoulder and kept me moving.

JACKET: Juno. We have to leave now.

VOICE 2: Moneys I have, sir! Please, your vehicle, your vehicle!

JUNO: …What?

JACKET: I told you not to look too long at anyone else’s property.

JUNO: P-property?

JACKET: That bulge beneath that woman’s sleeve? A blood filtration bracelet – what some call a debtor’s tag. She is serving an indentured servitude to pay for her healthcare. If you attempt to do as she says, her treatment will end, and she will die.

JUNO: But… you’re just gonna let that—

JACKET: I have no choice. That woman is finished. She took an illegal ride to the Solar planets, became ill, and sold herself to live a few years longer. It is a common mistake.

JUNO: But her skin… how long has she been paying?

JACKET: I have seen similar surface-level symptoms manifest within two years.

JUNO: Surface-level. Yeah, sure, that sounds great.

JACKET: Not five hours ago getting too involved in a city’s politics nearly killed you. Do you really want to make the same mistake so soon?

JUNO: I…

No. No, I guess not.

JACKET: Good.

Now please. Get in this dumpster.

JUNO: What?

JACKET: I’m afraid I must insist.

JUNO: H-hey, put me down—

SOUND: THUD. PLASTIC RUSTLING, BOTTLES CLINKING.

Ah! What the hell was that for?!

JACKET: Have you used any of your eye’s special functions since we entered the Cerberus Province?

JUNO: What? I ha– I haven’t—

JACKET: In the interest of fairness, I should tell you that if you have, I will be forced to crush your head with this dumpster lid.

JUNO: How is that any fairer— whoa, whoa, whoa, there! No, I-I haven’t used it. You said that’s how Ramses is gonna track me, right?

JACKET: That is good. And yet we are being followed.

JUNO: What?

JACKET: Quiet. Listen. There is a figure behind me, slight, wearing a black hood. Do you see their face?

JUNO: No, it’s… covered by a scarf. They could’ve just come in from outside. They’ve got sand all over—

JACKET: Their clothes have sand – but not their boots. It’s a disguise. We may have to relocate our meeting.

I am going to step into this shop and buy a large decaffeinated Jovian tea with two sugars. You will stay here and watch to see what they do.

JUNO: Wait, is th– is the tea some kind of code? What does it mean?

JACKET: It means I am thirsty. It is large because I am very thirsty, and decaffeinated because I have a predisposition to addictive—

JUNO: Okay, yeah, I get it. Just go get your stupid tea, I’ll watch the road.

JACKET: Thank you.

SOUND: FOOTSTEPS.

JUNO (NARRATOR): I had to hand it to Brown Jacket: he was right. As soon as we stopped moving our hooded tagalong stopped, too.

SOUND: BELL JINGLES.

She sat at a roadside stand and looked over the menu, flipping pages too quickly to read ‘em. I knew a tail when I saw one.

Jacket came back out a minute later sucking down something that smelled like gasoline with two sugars.

SOUND: BELL JINGLES. FOOTSTEPS.

JACKET: The deed is done.

JUNO: What deed?

SOUND: SMALL EXPLOSION.

CROWD VOICES: (YELLS) Sintoloo ga voo?! The hell?

VOICE 3: Baweebis! Baweebis!

VOICE 4: What the hell are they trying to say?

VOICE 5: They’re saying hood, hood! I think they saw whoever planted the bomb!

VOICE 3: Gawoosh! Baweebis, baweebis!

VOICE 4: Is that them? Is that the low-life that blew up my store?

VOICE 3: Baweeeeeeeeeeebis!

VOICE 4: Outer Rim bum! Learn to talk right!

Hey, she’s getting away! Get her!

JUNO: …Wow.

Did you pay them to say that?

JACKET: No. I paid the other customer to translate anything they said as ‘hood.’

JUNO: But if this place has so many people from the Outer Rim—

JACKET: There are too many languages spoken on the Outer Rim to keep up with. We have large communities from Balder. Yama.

JUNO: Susano-o.

JACKET: Indeed. And besides: they lost. Now take these.

SOUND: KEYS JINGLING.

JUNO: Keys?

JACKET: When the commotion settles, you will remove yourself from the garbage, go down this alley, and take your second left. You will look for the analog lock that matches this key, and you will wait for me there – at the lighthouse.

JUNO: The lighthouse? Really? You have the key to that big tower—

SOUND: FOOTSTEPS DEPARTING.

Hey! Hey, where the hell are you goin’?

JACKET: (FADING) To ensure the area is secure. Now be silent. Dumpsters cannot speak in the Cerberus Province.

JUNO (NARRATOR): I did what the big guy told me to do. Waited a few minutes for the dust to settle, and when I was pretty sure nobody was watching me I went down the alley.

The lighthouse was on the edge of town, and the closer I got the more radiation-ravaged the place looked. But there were no warning signs, no public health notices, just an advertisement:

VOICE 6 (FROM SPEAKER): Feeling itchy? Hearing things? Gamma rays got you down? Visit the Cerberus Board of Fresh Starts for your Blood Filtration Bracelet today! No down payment required!

JUNO (NARRATOR): The, uh… lighthouse came soon after.

SOUND: KEYS JINGLE. DOOR CREAKS.

The inside was a bar: dark wood, plush cushions. Even the dust looked nice, which was good, because there was a hell of a lot of it. I helped myself to an unmarked, extremely potent-looking bottle behind the bar and took a seat to examine it more closely with my eyes, mouth, and liver.

JUNO: Here’s lookin’ at you, lighthouse. Seems like both of us are back from the grave.

SOUND: ICE CUBES CLINK.

VOICE 7: If you keep stealing my wares, darling—

JUNO: (CHOKES)

VOICE 7: —I’ll return you to that grave myself.

SOUND: CLUNK.

That’s ten thousand creds of fine liquor you’ve just spilled. A life like yours, I’d think you’d be a little more careful about putting yourself into debt with a stranger.

SOUND: MECHANICAL WHIR.

MUSIC: STARTS.

JUNO: (CHOKING) Who the hell are you?

VOICE 7: The person you’re here to meet. Now go get yourself a drink. I’ll be taking this one.

JUNO: Hey, that was mine—

VOICE 7: And now it isn’t.

SOUND: ICE CUBES CLINKING.

It’s nothing personal, darling; I just have a natural tendency towards envy and I’ve always believed in doing what feels natural. Like now, for example: it feels natural for me to say I’ll pay you the ten thousand creds you owe me if you shut up and get yourself a drink.

JUNO (NARRATOR): The woman who’d just taken my drink was a bombshell. By which I mean she looked extremely dangerous and made a hell of an entrance. She had big plumes of flame-red hair trailing over her neck and half her face, and a dress so avant-garde I would’ve believed her if she said she got it next year. The first thing she did when she sat down was put a blaster on the table in front of her and, in the process, reveal she had another one, two knives, and what looked like a grenade strapped to her leg.

She looked ready for a war. Hell, she looked ready to fight on both sides.

SOUND: BOTTLE UNCORKS.

JUNO: So you’re the big guy’s buddy?

SOUND: CLUNK. LIQUID POURING.

VOICE 7: That’s what he called me? His buddy?

JUNO: I’m sure he’ll be disappointed to hear you disagree.

SOUND: CLUNK.

VOICE 7: I don’t. It’s just funny of him. Fine, you can call me the same. Buddy.

JUNO: Seems a little early for that.

VOICE 7 [BUDDY]: I’m friendly.

JUNO: And him?

BUDDY: He’s not interested.

JUNO: No, I mean, what’s his—

BUDDY: Besides, we aren’t here to talk about him; we’re here to talk about you. Juno Steel: ex-cop, ex-patsy for Ramses O’Flaherty, currently extremely unemployed and not taking it very well. You’ve got an eye problem, and I don’t mean like glaucoma. You’ve just spent a few months being someone else’s stooge – or thirty-eight years, depending on how you count it – and you’re just about ready to stooge stag. That’s where we come in.

What’s the matter? Did I get any of that wrong?

JUNO: No. That’s what’s the matter.

BUDDY: Oh, I’m sorry. Why don’t you pour us both a drink and I’ll try not to upset you so much, darling? What’s the danger in just… sitting and listening?

JUNO: No, you know what? I’m tired of listening. It’s someone else’s turn to listen. Got it? The second it looks like you’re trying to get me to do something I don’t like, I’m walking out into the desert with a beach towel and no sunscreen. The second. ‘Cause I am not trading one smooth psychopath for another, you got me, I am not—

BUDDY: I hear you. I’m stubborn, not deaf. Sit.

SOUND: CREAK.

JUNO: Hmph.

BUDDY: There. Doesn’t this feel so much more civilized?

JUNO: Gotta say, Buddy, I kinda walked into the desert to get away from civilized.

BUDDY: I know. And that was a very big move. Made me act faster than I planned to, but… you got lucky, and a position opened up a little earlier than expected.

JUNO: Position? That’s why you’ve been watching me.

BUDDY: Gainful employment. A lot to gain, too.

JUNO: I’m not walkin’ into any more bad contracts or big debts.

BUDDY: And you don’t have to. Like I said, I always keep my business partners happy, Juno. And unlike your two-bit former employer over at the Vixen Valley, I know that doesn’t come by force. Father always said, there are only two ways to keep the chickens in the coop: either build a big wall, or make them never want to leave.

JUNO: Didn’t think there were many farmers on Mars.

BUDDY: He was a prison warden, actually. Incredibly popular with his inmates. A bit less popular with Dark Matters.

JUNO: Rest in peace.

BUDDY: Yes, I would assume the rest of him is in one piece, but we never found it. Regardless, Juno, my point: scouting the talent I want is something I take very seriously, and you are only one name on a very, very long list. If you do not want this job, don’t waste my time. The only reason you’re here now is because I need three people, my third missed his flight to Mars, and you happened to be available.

JUNO: Wow, you sure do know how to make a lady feel special.

BUDDY: I know how to make a special lady feel special. Maybe if you’re very good that’ll be you.

Now, a toast. To a new, and brighter, future—no, no. (CHUCKLES) I’m guessing we’ve both had entirely too much of that. To… letting go. Moving on.

JUNO: Sure. To moving on.

SOUND: GLASS CLINKS.

BUDDY: Hm.

Now.

SOUND: MECHANICAL WHIR.

The job.

MUSIC: CHANGES.

As I think you’ve already gathered, our work isn’t exactly on the spotless side of the law. My friend and I work in the craft of what we call “relocation services.”

JUNO: Which I’m guessing means you relocate other people’s things to your pockets.

BUDDY: My, you are quick. They aren’t always things, but… spot-on.

JUNO: So is that what you need me for, some kind of heist? ‘Cause I—

BUDDY: No, no, the heist has been finished for weeks. It’s the sale, darling. We need you to help us with the sale.

JUNO: You… want me to work the cash register on your black market deal?

JACKET: The sale is the most dangerous part of any job in the Cerberus Province.

JUNO: Ah! Where the hell did you come from?!

JACKET: The door.

BUDDY: Do try and focus, Juno. Yes, the sale. This town is crawling with undercover law enforcement and people who expect you to do your work for free but don’t feel like telling you ahead of time, and neither sits particularly well with me. So, we’re going to make certain we get paid, or else we're not handing over anything.

JUNO: Yeah, okay. And speaking of which, what are we selling?

BUDDY: The sale’s in three hours, in this bar. We’ve agreed to meet somewhere public, which means within the next three hours we’ll have to make this place public. We’re opening it for business.

JUNO: We’re– wait. You own the lighthouse?

BUDDY: Just the first floor. I couldn’t sell it if I wanted to, honestly; too much radiation leaks in through the roof for anyone to want it. At any rate, once we open, my big friend is going to work the bar; you’re going to play sad drunk at one of those tables by the door.

JACKET: You will be drinking carbonated tea. Focus will be crucial.

JUNO: Sounds like a fun party.

BUDDY: While the buyer and I make the exchange, you will watch the crowd and contact me on covert comms if you notice anyone acting strangely. We take no chances here, do you understand? This is too important.

JUNO: Okay, but what are we sell—

BUDDY: Hopefully it all goes off without a hitch and you get paid for sitting around and enjoying some tea. Then we’ll show you how to remove that eye, and you can decide whether this kind of work interests you.

JUNO: I feel like I could answer that question a lot faster for you if I knew what we were selling.

BUDDY: There’s no need to get snippy, Juno. You only needed to ask. Show him.

SOUND: CLUNK.

We will be selling this briefcase.

JUNO: And… what’s inside the briefcase?

BUDDY: Oh, that’s none of your concern.

JUNO: Well, if I wasn’t concerned before, I sure as hell am now! Listen, I told you, if you make me do anything—

SOUND: THUD. GLASS CLINKS.

JACKET: You listen.

SOUND: MECHANICAL WHIR.

MUSIC: STOPS.

BUDDY: Thank you. I understand the word of an outlaw probably doesn’t mean much to you, Juno – but it will mean even less if you don’t let me finish a sentence.

JUNO: Hmph.

BUDDY: You can’t have it both ways. You can’t both know everything and live a life just for yourself. You understand that, don’t you?

SOUND: MECHANICAL WHIR.

MUSIC: STARTS.

If you aren’t sure you want to stay here? Then don’t stay. Don’t get involved. That’s how Hyperion hurt you, isn’t it? I don’t think that’s your fault, of course. That’s just what cities do. Once you get attached to somewhere or someone… you can’t break apart without leaving some of yourself behind.

JUNO: The hell is that sappy music coming from, anyways? It’s driving me nuts.

BUDDY: What mu– oh, that. Darling, would you?

JACKET: (GRUNTS)

SOUND: THUNK. MECHANICAL WHIR.

MUSIC: STOPS.

BUDDY: Thank you. Semi-Autonomous Music Machines. They’re all over the province and they all act like this. You’ll tune them out eventually.

JUNO: A-alright, so. You want me to watch the door while you make your trade-off. Keep an eye out for anything suspicious—

JACKET: Don’t use your eye.

JUNO: Yeah, thanks, I got that. Anything else?

BUDDY: Just one thing. Give him his weapon.

SOUND: CLANK.

JUNO: There’s… no stun on this.

JACKET: Laserproof vests are too common in these jobs. That will punch through them.

JUNO: So you just want me to kill someone? Just ‘cause you say so?

BUDDY: I assure you that if anything goes wrong, he’ll deserve it.

JUNO: But—

BUDDY: Then don’t. Use your last few hours of freedom and walk to an early death in the desert, based on the fear that something might go wrong, you might have to shoot, and the shot you fire might kill them. But those seem like silly odds to throw your life away on.

My business and my past are my concerns, Juno. Just do the job, and don’t get involved. Then, you go and do whatever it is you want to.

JUNO (NARRATOR): Don’t get involved.

I kept repeating that to myself for the next three hours, as we cleaned the place up and opened the doors and let the crowd filter in. The gun was heavy in my pocket. I wished I’d taken my blaster off the Piranha, but it was too late. She was gone. The whole life I’d known her in was gone.

And meanwhile, in this life, the sale was just a few minutes away. I sat at my table by the door and watched the crowd mob the bar, the big guy toss drinks, and Buddy schmooze like she knew everyone here personally.

SOUND: CROWD CHATTER IN BACKGROUND.

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): I’ve just received confirmation that he’ll be here shortly. Anything strange on either of your ends?

JUNO: Uh, yea– yeah, now that you mention it, I’ve been meaning to have a dermatologist take a—

JACKET (FROM COMMS): Do not complete this joke, Juno, or you will regret it.

JUNO: Oookay.

JACKET (FROM COMMS): There is nothing over here.

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): Juno?

JUNO (NARRATOR): I listened in to the crowd around me, all the faces and costumes of crime, and I didn’t hear anything weird about them – but plenty about Buddy.

CROWD VOICES: (OVERLAPPING) Buddy’s back! Buddy, sha, Buddy! The Lighthouse, open again! Has anyone seen Buddy? She was always the talk of the town, I hear… Buddy Aurinko, after all this time!

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): Juno?

JUNO: (QUIETLY) Buddy Aurinko…? (NORMAL VOLUME) Hang on, is your name actually Buddy?

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): That’s what I told you to call me, isn’t it?

JUNO: So, what, is his name actually The Big Guy?

JACKET (FROM COMMS): That would be absurd.

JUNO: Then what is it?

JACKET (FROM COMMS): We are not there yet.

JUNO: We’re not at names?

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): Quiet, you two! He’s just come in the door! Do you see him, Juno?

JUNO: Uh, little guy, gray monosuit, kinda looks like he’s allergic to light?

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): That’s the one.

JUNO: Doesn’t look like a crime boss. Too nervous.

JACKET (FROM COMMS): Not a good sign.

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): Experience suggests that that might just be his face, actually.

VOICE 8 (FROM COMMS): Eh… what was that?

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): Ah, there you are, Mister Rasbach. It’s been too long.

VOICE 8 [RASBACH] (FROM COMMS): We… spoke yesterday, I think?

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): Yes, but you are late, and that does mean it’s been too long, doesn’t it?

RASBACH (FROM COMMS): (NERVOUS LAUGH) Ah, I- uh, I see. You must excuse me, Miss Buddy, both my tardiness and my uncomprehending. Solar is not my… language initial.

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): I’m only razzing you, Razzy. You manage much better here than I would on Balder, I’m sure. Please, sit. Would you like a drink? Two drinks? You’ll have to forgive me for trying to upsell you, but, a small business owner has to keep her claws sharp.

RASBACH (FROM COMMS): It… does not appear you starve of the business. Yesterday this bar was not even in operation, and today—

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): I’ve been away a long time, and I’m impatient. Surely you know how that is. I imagine you must miss Balder terribly.

RASBACH (FROM COMMS): Is so… is so. (NERVOUS LAUGH) And yet, there are the creds to be made in these planets Solar, yes? A business top profitable. Do you know how it is to support a family, Miss Buddy?

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): I pick my own family, Raz, and the first thing I make sure of is that they can support themselves.

RASBACH (FROM COMMS): Perhaps is so, here, but on the Outer Rim, after the War? This is not always possible. My planetmen, they desperate, eh? They take the first ship from Balder they can find, they swallow the poisoning radiation, they need the healthcare to live. And so we give them this support… for the price. We support them, them support we – is cycle top beautiful, I think.

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): Do you mind if we get on with this? I have customers to attend to.

RASBACH (FROM COMMS): Of course.

(CLEARS THROAT) Shall we… ah, show the wares?

JACKET (FROM COMMS): Watch the crowd, Juno. This is the moment.

SOUND: CLICK, HISS.

JUNO (NARRATOR): I wanted to see what the hell was in that briefcase, but… I tried to remember what Buddy told me. It was none of my business. Don’t get involved.

So instead I scanned the crowd. And that’s when I saw her come in through the back door.

JUNO: Big guy, our friend with the hood from earlier just showed up. Didn’t you say you lost her?

JACKET (FROM COMMS): What is she doing?

JUNO: Nothin’ yet.

RASBACH (FROM COMMS): This is really… the Curemother. You have it!

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): Now. You pay me, you take this, and your group makes just oodles and oodles of money for you to send back to all the little orphans and victims and puppy-dogs on Balder, or whatever your story is today. Do you even have children, Razzy, or is it all just a story?

RASBACH (FROM COMMS): Does it affect our business, whether or not ‘tis so?

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): I suppose not.

RASBACH (FROM COMMS): Hm. Now, the transaction. We will be using my comms, as agreed.

SOUND: BEEPS.

Security transactional set to the audio, then the fingerprint.

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): Are we ready?

RASBACH (FROM COMMS): You read the bill of sale first, yes? Ensure is no confusion.

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): Alright…

JUNO: You see her, Buddy?

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): (UNDER HER BREATH) Ah, yes. Over by the music machine, not moving.

RASBACH (FROM COMMS): Ah, u-uh– what?

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): Oh, forgive me, Razzy. A Solar colloquialism: if something is ‘by the machine and not moving,’ that means it’s straightforward. The money is to be transferred directly from your account to mine, and the key to the Curemother’s briefcase from my account to yours.

RASBACH (FROM COMMS): Ah. I-I have not heard this expression before.

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): And you never will again. I, Buddy Aurinko, consent to this transaction. And the fingerprint…

SOUND: BEEP.

Your turn.

RASBACH (FROM COMMS): A-ah, thank you.

JUNO: She’s moving. Buddy, you’ve got someone coming right at you!

RASBACH (FROM COMMS): I, Rasbach the Eldest, Agent Acquisitional of the Cerberus Board of Fresh Starts—

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): What’s your game, Rasbach?

RASBACH (FROM COMMS): My name? Miss Buddy, I was just saying…

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): Finish it, then. Quickly.

RASBACH (FROM COMMS): I conzent to this transaction.

SOUND: BEEP.

There. Is done.

JUNO: He did it? Wait, really?

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): It appears so, yes.

RASBACH (FROM COMMS): Well. The business well done.

JUNO: Buddy, look out! She’s right on top of you!

RASBACH (FROM COMMS): Well, Miss Buddy. It has been a plea— (CHOKING)

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): Rasbach!

JUNO (NARRATOR): The hooded woman ran up behind Rasbach and without a sound a knife appeared in her hand. Then it disappeared again… into Rasbach’s back.

RASBACH (FROM COMMS): Who… who?

VOICE 9 (FROM COMMS): (GROWLS)

SOUND: THUNK.

You! Give me the briefcase.

JUNO: Stall her. We’re on our way.

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): Stay where you are, the both of you.

You don’t have the key to this. What do you plan to do? Break it open?

VOICE 9 (FROM COMMS): If you’re real, just give it. If not… get out!

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): You could damage what’s inside if you do, and then what use will it be? You– sound familiar. Do I know you?

VOICE 9 (FROM COMMS): I said get out! (GROWLS)

SOUND: METAL CLANGS.

JUNO (NARRATOR): Then they were really at it. Hood took quick jabs, lots of ‘em, but Buddy was quick too, working that briefcase like a shield too precious for her attacker to stab. It was a good defense, but Buddy’s back was almost to the wall, and it wasn’t gonna be good much longer.

So Buddy raised her gun to turn the tide, but, with her focus split for just that half-second, Hood slashed at her fingers with the knife. Some people would’ve kept the briefcase instead of their hand, I thought. But Buddy wasn’t one of ‘em. She let go, and Hood had it before it hit the ground.

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): She has the briefcase, but I can’t get a clear shot with all these people!

JACKET (FROM COMMS): She’s running towards you, Juno. You know what to do.

JUNO (NARRATOR): My stomach and shooting-hand hardened. Still the same old Juno Steel, I thought. The Proctor, Swift, Pollock, Pilot, the Piranha – someone says shoot, and I say who’s next?

The thought made me sick. I was tired. I was just so, so tired of making the same old mistakes, again and again.

SOUND: RUNNING FOOTSTEPS.

VOICE 9: Get out of my way!

JUNO (NARRATOR): So I made a new one instead.

VOICE 9: Move!

JUNO: No!

JUNO & VOICE 9: (GRUNTS)

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): What do you think you’re doing, Juno? Do you want her to stab you?

SOUND: BLADE CLANG.

JUNO: (PAINED) Too late.

VOICE 9: Move or I’ll kill you.

JUNO: Lady, if you knew the kinda week I’ve had you’d understand why that doesn’t scare me much.

SOUND: LOUD BLASTER SHOT. CROWD SCREAMS, RUNS OUT.

JACKET: This is an emergency situation. All customers must leave immediately.

SOUND: CLATTERING.

JUNO (NARRATOR): The diversion was just enough to distract her for a second, so I tried to take a swing at her. She was too fast for me and my fingers missed her face but grabbed her scarf, and she… did not like that.

VOICE 9: (HOWLS)

JUNO (NARRATOR): I could see why she’d covered herself, because she had a look too memorable for covert ops: bright green hair and bright, wild eyes. But, I didn’t know her.

Buddy did, though.

BUDDY: Vespa?!

JUNO (NARRATOR): Green hair looked back, panicked, her eyes darting. She pulled so hard her sleeve came up and I saw what was on her wrist.

A debtor’s tag, for indentured servants. Just like that Outer Rim woman in the market. And hers had something written on it: Vespa I., five.

Vespa was in a cold sweat. She looked like she was gonna be sick.

VOICE 9 [VESPA]: Not… real… you’re not… real!

BUDDY: Vespa, it’s you! I thought you were—

VESPA: You’re not real! Get out of my head! (FERAL GROWL)

JUNO: (PAINED GRUNT)

SOUND: RUNNING FOOTSTEPS DEPARTING.

BUDDY: Vespa! Come back!

JACKET: Buddy… she’s gone.

BUDDY: She can’t be gone. I saw her, I swear, I saw her!

JUNO: You’re gonna need to slow down a little for the murder victim by the door, Buddy. Who the hell is Vespa?

BUDDY: She’s… a dead woman. I saw her… die. But now she’s—

Vespa! Vespa?!

SOUND: RUNNING FOOTSTEPS DEPARTING.

JUNO: Should we follow them?

JACKET: That depends. Are you injured enough that running will cause your organs to fall out of your body?

JUNO: Uh, not that bad, but pretty—

JACKET: Then we hide the briefcase and Rasbach’s corpse in the back room first. Then we follow. Quickly.

ALL SOUNDS: FADE OUT.

***

SOUND: FOOTSTEPS.

JUNO (NARRATOR): We searched the streets for an hour, but Vespa was gone.

SOUND: KEYS JINGLE. DOOR CREAKS.

JUNO: Ow, ow… ow, ow.

JACKET: You make that noise a lot, don’t you.

JUNO: Ohhh, sorry, does it bother you? Don’t mind me, I’m just the guy who’s been playing peekaboo with his large intestine for the past hour— OW, ow, ow.

JACKET: You said your organs would not fall out.

JUNO: It was a joke! Do big caveman get joke?

JACKET: I do not know. I have never met one.

BUDDY: Stop it. Immediately.

SOUND: DOOR OPENS.

Where’s the briefcase?

JACKET: We left it in the back room.

BUDDY: I remember you saying that, but it isn’t here. And neither is Rasbach.

Well. It seems our sale was completed after all.

JACKET: He took the Curemother?

JUNO: He didn’t die?!

JACKET: But more importantly: we have the money?

BUDDY: He couldn’t take it even if he wanted to. Both of us would have to consent to another transaction. All sales final.

JUNO: So it-it’s done. The sale’s done. It sounds like it… worked out, right?

BUDDY: Do business with a glorified slave-trader once, then wash my hands of it for good. That was the plan. So yes, everything went according to plan. But… Vespa.

Karma comes in all shapes, doesn’t it?

JACKET: Buddy…

BUDDY: Her debtor’s tag, Juno. What number was on it?

JUNO: What?

BUDDY: I know she had one. I’ve been thinking about it for an hour and that’s the only option that makes sense. Just… tell me what it said.

MUSIC: STARTS.

JUNO: It-it was, uh… five.

BUDDY: Five?

Five years… I can’t…

Thank you for not shooting her, Juno. I’ve already lost her once. Losing her again… I think that would be the end of me.

(DEEP BREATH) The number on the debtor’s tag is the number of years they’ve been… owned. Vespa has been in the Cerberus Province without rest for five years. It’s a miracle that the radiation hasn’t killed her, unless… five years… Vespa, where have you been?

JUNO (NARRATOR): You could tell from the look in Buddy Aurinko’s eyes that the number of years wasn’t what bothered her. It could’ve been five months or five weeks or five minutes, and all it would’ve amounted to is the same thing: she felt hope, and she was terrified of it. The presumed-dead were walking in the Cerberus Province, and that was a nightmare. Because there’s peace when hope finally dies, when it stops moving and you can nail the coffin shut.

Buddy looked like she’d won that peace the hard way.

But there was movement in that coffin now, something pounding the lid from the inside, and if the old hope was so hard to bury the first time… who knew what kind of damage it could do the second.

MUSIC: ENDS.

***

SOUND: TRAIN MOVING, MUSIC.

CONDUCTOR: If you’ve enjoyed this tale, please consider donating to The Penumbra on Patreon. Our artists work tirelessly to bring you these stories, and if you have the means, we hope you will support our efforts. Every dollar helps. You can find that page at patreon.com/thepenumbrapodcast. If you support us on Patreon at the $10 level or higher, you’ll receive access to commentary tracks like this one, from actors Joshua Ilon, Sarah Gazdowicz, Alexander Stravinski, and co-creator Sophie Kaner:

SOUND: TRAIN STOPS, DOOR SLIDES OPEN, RAIN.

SARAH: Um, I would say that I pretty much went as straight as I could with—

SOPHIE: (LAUGHS)

SARAH: —the suggestion– okay. Okay, okay. OKAY.

SOPHIE & JOSHUA: (LAUGH)

SARAH: No, I-I think I was predominantly influenced by the, the note that I was given about the character, which was – oh, like a Katharine Hepburn being, like, a major influence or source for the- how the voice should sound. And then the struggle began with maintaining it, not making…

SOUND: DOOR SLIDES SHUT.

CONDUCTOR: Did you know that The Penumbra has merchandise for sale? It’s true! The Penumbra has partnered with DFTBA to bring you the posters, shirts, and pins your heart desires. Just go to dftba.com and search for The Penumbra Podcast.

We would like to give special thanks to all who support us on Patreon, but especially to Regan, Ko, KC, Atha Lang, Vron, Charlie Spiegel, Minchowski, Jaimie Gunter, and the Princess and the Scrivener for their incredibly generous contributions per episode. Thank you.

This tale, Juno Steel and the Time Gone By, was told by the following people: Joshua Ilon as Juno Steel, Alexander Stravinski as the Man in the Brown Jacket, Sarah Gazdowicz as Buddy Aurinko, William Schuller as Rasbach, and Chloe Cunha as Vespa.

The Penumbra is created and produced by Sophie Kaner and Kevin Vibert. If you wish to know more about our ever-expanding, infinitely-creative team of artists, musicians, editors, designers, and managers, you can read about them in the show notes of this episode.

I’m afraid this is the end of the line for today, dear Traveler. We hope you will ride with The Penumbra again soon.

ALL SOUNDS: FADE OUT.

#juno steel

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amm-loover · 6 years

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SUPER LONG KO/TKO CHARACTER ANALYSIS POST THAT NOBODY ASKED FOR (part 1)

Hey guys so can we talk about KO/TKO for a bit?

So remember when TKO first showed up in the appropriately titled episode TKO.

So in this episode, TKO is revealed to have always been a part of KO. He was just little blob of negative energy and even then he was in a cage.

Weather KO realizes it or not, he has been forcing his negative emotions deep down inside him for what we can assume is his whole life.

The fact the when KO was finally pushed to his breaking point by Shadowy Figure to the point where it manifested his negativity into an entirely separate being able to take control of the body speaks volumes to me.

But if we take a closer look at things, That means KO has been angry all this time and hasn’t had a healthy outlet for his frustration, all this time. Meaning, TKO hasn’t had a healthy outlet all this time, not to mention he was trapped in a cage like an animal on top of it all.

When TKO challenges Rad and Enid to a power battle, he states “I told you, it’s T.K.O.. And I’m a whole different animal now.“

Honestly, i think that line says more than what it sounds like. TKO has been trapped in that cage, like an animal, for so long, that he considers himself to be an animal, even when he is free, he still identifies as an animal, just an animal that is no longer caged.

Now before we talk about all the violent things TKO has done, let’s talk about the non violent things he has done.

In his debut episode, TKO finally came to be and is told to go show his friends his new power.

When he gets to the scene Enid and Rad are obviously in deep trouble.

TKO swoops in and saves the day, absolutely obliterating the huge Darrell.

Even if it was for the selfish purpose of showing off, I don’t think that’s all it was.

One of the things that caused TKO to even come out of KO’s mind was Rad, Enid, and Mr.Gar’s words.

“Power isn’t everything, at least you’re cute”

“Good hustle kid”

“You’ll catch up to us someday...or not”

Now with as angry as TKO gets later in the episode from simply being called cute by Enid again, why wasn’t he angry enough to attack them right there?

No seriouly. TKO was very mad and was told to go show his friends how powerful he’s always been. Not show them your power by saving them from Darrell.

Honestly if TKO is really so hostile and careless as he is shown to be later within the same episode, why didn’t he just attack Rad and Enid right there?

After he defeats Darrell and ushers his new name, TKO goes home. With his mom. Yet another person who triggered him to even manifest in the first place.

In KO/TKO’s words “Mom said hard work will make me strong, but it hasn’t!”

Meaning he is also mad at her for “wasting his time” Just as he is mad at Shadowy Figure for sort of doing the same thing, saying “You said getting mad at my friends would work, but it hasn’t!”

Like, KO/TKO was willing to believe in his mother’s advice, after all he went along with it for a while, but he became so impatient with his mother’s way of training that he was willing to get mad at his friends, which he clearly didn’t want to do in the freaking first place.

Now back to Carol, If TKO was ready to beat up his own mother at the plaza in the episode’s nearing climax, what the frick was keeping him so chill?

Like FOR A FULL DAY!?

TKO, an actual manifestation of negativity and anger decided against fighting his friends and mother so he could go home with his mom, presumably eat dinner with her, record a video on KO’s video channel (as shown in the episode KO’s Video Channel) go to sleep, and wake up the next morning and then the meanest thing he does then is take her eyeliner without asking. (and then he yelled at her when she was in the background of his video so i guess that’s pretty mean too)

And when Carol asks about it, TKO just calmly says “I don’t feel like talking right now” and casually turns up his metal music. And the Carol turns it down. Now you’d think TKO would get mad at that little action. Like “Ugh! MOM! I want to listen to my music louder!” But no, he just lets her turn it down and continues to look out the window while she drives him to work.

AND THAT’S ANOTHER THING!!! WHY THE HECK IS TKO EVEN BOTHERING TO GO TO WORK AT ALL?!

Like based on the personality we have been shown so far, why wouldn’t TKO wanna stay at home and be his edgy self, maybe re-record his video diary in privacy or do his nails and make-up and dress in black and listen to his music loud and break a few things. Why is he going to work?

And why is he like, for real doing the work? Albeit, haphazardly but doing it nonetheless.

And honestly, it super clear that TKO not only doesn’t want to be bothered but also doesn't really wanna bother others anyway. He ultimately just wants some space. Like any edgy child/teen.

I mean, he’s not even really mean to Enid and Rad. Maybe a little rude, but not really mean. He manages to hold a conversation with Enid, correcting her on his name, answering her question, and yeah he insults her by calling her a “wage slave” but he probably felt insulted since she called his answer to a question she asked “dramatic”. TKO was probably thinking: “You insult my world view, fine, I insult who you are.”

And yeah he ignores Rad, who is obviously trying to impress him, but TKO wasn’t impressed. If you think about it, TKO could have made fun of him or something but he didn’t he chose to ignore.

And like I said, TKO clearly had no intentions of doing anything particularly bad that day. It looks like he just wants to get through the day. That’s probably why he came to work, he just wants an excuse to fight another robot. Might as well occupy himself while he waits i guess.

I mean look at him. He is 100% chill and clearly wants to be left alone.

And then Rad and Enid come in and ruin his whole little mojo.

Now I know Enid and Rad are just trying to be good friends, they think KO is in some sort of Funk™ and they wanna cheer him up. And they do a sort of good job at trying, but during this, TKO is clearly struggling to get out of Rad’s arms. (honestly in my opinion, they should've took that as a hint and really leave him alone)

But that’s yet another thing! TKO, you know how strong you are. You DESTROYED the giant bomb Darrell bot in a single slash! And he was made of metal! Surely you know you are perfectly capable of getting out of Rad’s fleshy grip.

He does know. He is 1000% aware that he can get out of that grip. But he also knows that if he does, it will probably hurt Rad.

Remember, when he was talking about his metaphorical pizza worldview thing? He said “so called friends”

Guys, TKO identifies Rad and Enid as his friends, even if they laugh at him.

KO really doesn’t wanna do anything, the upcoming outburst that he is about to have wasn’t his intention.

Eventually he even stops struggling when Enid begins to shove nachos in his face. Almost as if he’s just gonna let them be annoying. But then Enid had to go and call him....

“Cute stuff...”

Alright, so we all know what happens from this point. Enid’s final “cute” is the final straw for TKO’s temper. He finally breaks free from Rad’s grip (without a single frame of struggle.) and challenges his friends to a power battle.

As the power battle continues, TKO becomes more and more aggressive and almost like he’s a predator after his prey. And notice how Enid is his target. Both times when Rad steps in to help Enid fight, TKO gets rid of him really quickly and begins focusing on Enid again.

When Enid tells on him to Carol, notice he doesn’t attack right away, he just scoffs/growls like an angsty child/teen.

He doesn’t even really target Carol of anyone, he just starts being destructive on things.

Then Gar show’s up and says “I love your mom”, which manages to catch TKO off guard.

He is genuinely confused and he almost seemed ready to hear Mr.Gar out on the sudden topic but when Gar goes and changes the subject and starts spouting compliments at him.

Now while his compliments arent really lies? You can hear in Gar’s voice that he doesn’t fully mean what he is saying and he is clearly only saying to try an calm him down.

And we all know when people are really angry, that last thing you want to tell them is to calm down.

So then TKO just snaps, he’s had absolutely enough!

There’s a blind rush going through him right now, he’s never had the chance to let out all this pent up rage. It feels great! All his life he’s been caged and now he’s out. Who care’s if someone gets hurt! letting out these years of rage, proving once and for all that I am strong, stronger than everyone! It feels great!

Who’s next!

“any last words”

Then the episode ends with TKO getting put back in the cage after KO save his mom. Not the best idea..

Now, im not trying to say TKO is justified for trying to punch his his own mother, he obviously never wanted to. I’m just saying he had a lot of pent up rage and frustration and he was just a ticking time bomb of destructive emotion that was waiting to explode, waiting for someone to push that last button.

AKA: Enid’s “cute stuff” comment and Mr. Gar’s somewhat “empty praise”

This whole thing, in my opinion, was just the result of KO holing in his anger and frustration for all those years. If you do that, you are bound to become a toxic version of yourself sooner or later. And sooner or later that means you will hurt those you hold dear to you.

This also lets us know a little something about TKO.

He’s a person. Yes, he is a manifestation of rage, but he has interests outside of that. He enjoys his music and dark make up and he likes making video diaries just as much as the original KO. TKO is a person and deserves to be treated like one, after all he’s been through. Yeesh...

Now let’s move on to TKO’s second major appearance:

COMING SOON IN A PART 2 POST (honestly i can’t put all my thoughts in one post)

#ok ko let's be heroes #ko #ok ko tko #tko #ok ko enid #radicles #ok ko rad #ok ko carol #character analysis #ok ko character analysis

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legobiwan · 6 years

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My incoherent thoughts after watching TLJ a second time

PREPARE THYSELVES I AM FEELING A BIT TALKATIVE

Okay, first off the bat, I’m going to try and list the call-back moments that weren’t as obvious and may or may not have been on purpose.

The bombs in Paige Tico’s ship? Straight out of the Blue Shadow Virus arc on TCW.

Uh...part of Phasma’s helmet coming off after a strike? Haven’t we seen that before? (OH GOD MY HEART)

The entire Kylo Ren TIE scene. (I’ll try spinning! That’s a good trick! “Follow my lead.”)

Luke BRUSHING OFF HIS DAMN CLOAK LIKE HIS FOREFATHERS BEFORE HIM?

Obviously the elevator scene with Kylo and Rey harkening back to ROTJ. (What is with this entire universe and elevators? honestly) And a lot of the throne room scene, as well.

Follow the spooky wolf animal to safety?

Okay, the whole Canto Bight scene. I LOVE that sequence. Canto Bight is kind of like an inverse Tatooine. Instead of being a wretched hive of scum and villainy, it’s a fancy hive of high-class scum and villainy. And did the Fathier race (space horses) not remind you a bit of a certain pod-racing sequence?

Okay, that was the fun part. (I’m sure I’m missing some but it’s late and whatevs) and now Luke. Ohhhhh Luke.

Rian Johnson did his homework. Luke’s whole reaction to the Jedi - Rian took into account the whole history - the Prequels, TCW, Rebels, the OT - and that all led to Luke sequestering himself on a remote island. In many ways, everything that came before the sequels was yes, the story of the Skywalker family, but also the story of the downfall of the Jedi Order. Luke says it himself when he says (I’m paraphrasing) that it was vanity of the Jedi to believe that if the Jedi went extinct, the Light (side of the Force) would be lost. I LOVE that line. I’m a hardcore Jedi defender, and yet he has it right.

But let’s step back here for a moment. Imagine you are Luke after ROTJ. You’ve defeated the big bad, this Palpatine guy (and remember, Luke probably only finds out about Sidious’s rise to power later). You’ve turned your evil dad back to the Light as he made one last heroic sacrifice. You are literally the last (semi)trained Jedi in the universe.

It’s a little lonely out there for Luke, especially for someone with his power. And he KNOWS his lineage, how that could go wrong.

So what does he do? Who does he consult? I mean, I guess he could ask ghost-dad, ghost-uncle, and creepy ghost-grandfather troll dude. But they are all from the old Jedi line, even Anakin. And something tells me they weren’t hanging around all that much. So Luke goes and consults some old Jedi texts, tries to rebuild the Jedi in the way that Anakin, and Yoda, and Obi-wan would have wanted him to.

And it fails disastrously. Because the Jedi of that time failed disastrously, and Luke was just repeating all their mistakes. (I mean, we don’t know anything about this academy, so this is my speculation as to how he got to where he was on Ach-to).

Of course, I can’t move forward without speaking about the Ben Solo almost-murder scene. Yes, maybe out of character. Maybe not. So Luke is half-assing this Jedi Academy thing because he feels it’s the right thing to do (not that Luke is incapable, but he didn’t have any formal Jedi training like Anakin or Obi-wan, and grew up on a backwater desert planet with what was probably not your typical educational system). AND, as an educator myself, let’s just say that DOING something well and TEACHING something well are two very different skills.

So Snoke is hiding out in Hondo Ohnaka’s old stronghold gathering his Forces and doing a spooky brain connecting thing with Kylo, corrupting him. (Okay, one part of the sentence is false and I won’t get into some of the other reasons Kylo turned due to his family and lineage and expectations because that’s been done to death.)

Luke’s probably a little overwhelmed and he’s been through some things, you know, with the dark side and his family and maybe feels a little self-conscious about this. And THEN let us not forget that BOTH Obi-wan and Yoda urged Luke to just outright kill Vader because he was evil. (I will come back to this point later.) So this idea of killing evil has already been implanted in Luke’s mind, even though he resisted it the first time.

But now? He’s older, he’s doing what he thinks is the correct Jedi way, and he knows that something is off with Ben Solo. And then he reaches out and there it is, his father all over again. And perhaps there are those voices of his mentors, telling him to kill. Would it happen again? Did he have the strength to fight the same battle again and again?

It’s Luke, though, so of course, it was only a half-second slip.

It was enough from Ben Solo/Kylo (and let’s also not forget that Ben was so dark at that point that his first reaction was to fight Luke and go on a killing spree.)

So Luke is guilty as hell and retreats. He realizes the faults of the Jedi Order, their mindset, their hypocrisy, and cuts himself off from the Force.

Here is what is interesting to me. You know who else thought the Jedi Order was full of hypocrites who couldn’t see beyond the Code?

Dooku.

But what did Dooku do? Join the Sith. (And look, I love Dooku as a character, but let’s be real here.)

What did Luke do? Isolate himself so he wouldn’t be a danger to others. And that, my friends, is a very Luke thing to do.

And in the end, when it came to fight (as many others have pointed out) - Luke never fought. Not really. He looked great with his father’s lightsaber, but never swung it at Kylo, just danced around. And oh yeah, he was a projection the entire time. The ultimate pacifist fighting (Satine Kryze would be so proud and offended at the oxymoron).

And the Jedi? Maybe that one Moff was right. They, in some ways, are an ancient religion, with all the issues that come with trying to preserve centuries-old social mores in a contemporary society. Obi-wan and Anakin/Vader’s fights were done in the context of the old. And Luke was that bridge between the old and the new (which we see in Rey and Kylo Ren and stable kid).

Off topic from the Jedi for a minute, but one of the things I loved about the Ach-to montage of green milk and large harpooning is that it showed Luke being Tatooine Luke - just in a different environment. You know he had to do similar things on Tatooine, and he just adjusted back to his farmstead life, to some degree. And his humor is not lost. Perhaps a little more wizened, but that happens to all of us as we age :)

Now about that failure thing. Let’s remember Yoda’s first famous phrase to Luke on Dagobah. “Do or do not, there is no try.” That’s a long ways away from “failure is a teacher.” And the thing is...both Yoda and Obi-wan failed (to a degree) with Luke. He ran off to Cloud City, got his hand chopped off, and things after ESB weren’t looking so hot. And that’s why I think it’s great for Yoda to come to this and bring it to Luke in TLJ, because it just shows how far the remaining (ghosts) of the Jedi Order have come to look past the attitudes that got them into the Darth Sidious mess to begin with.

And so, guys, that’s my reading into hermit Luke and why I actually think the entire thing is really cool and a great homage to the entire set of films and tv shows that predated this movie. Oh yeah, and the twin suns with the Force theme in the background nearly killed me WHY DOES EVERYTHING NAMED TWIN SUNS ELICIT THIS REACTION IN ME SERIOUSLY STAR WARS STOP IT

#GUYS I'M SORRY I'M SUPER TIRED AND THIS IS SUPER LONG #i just needed to vent #needless to say i enjoyed this movie yet again #and personally feel that rj really studied the fuck out of the pt and ot eras and i likethis #it's different and it totally subverts expectations but it's really good #tlj #tlj spoilers #luke's last scene was an emotional attack jeeze #leia had to have known #oh gods i should go to sleep #hello there #i am but a simple lego with some opinions #you can do what you want with this ;)#good night tumblr #*snore*

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frivery · 3 years

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I'm almost caught up on the birthday prompts! Today we are doing a two-for-one deal because Wrendal and Saranus both have a lot of stuff going on I want to hold onto for the moment. Wrendal's 2nd Birthday was on May the 5th, Saranus' 2nd Birthday was on May the 6th. Happy birthday to both of my dwarves! ^^

The exile picked at his hands as he gave a glare of warning to the mercenary group he had been paired with. He knew those looks, the questioning eyes, knew what they were thinking and he wasn’t interested in indulging them. Are you a Dwarf? They would ask, or What did you do to get exiled? Neither of those questions did he want to answer, so Wrendal ‘casually’ rested his hands on the hilt of his sword. A look of warning to all who dared to meet his gaze was enough to have them returning their interests to their own matters. He wasn’t a long-term partner with this company, he didn’t care what they thought of him.

“Excuse me, Wrendal was it?” the commanding but polite voice of the captain, she was an impressively built woman who was impossibly tall. Normally, when he saw a muscular and tall woman he assumed them to be orc but she was taller than anyone he had ever heard get called an orc and her skin had a deep purple undertone… not to mention the tail. He was pretty sure orcs didn’t have those but he could be wrong. She was almost as tall as a goliath, but he knew what those people looked like well enough to know that, whatever she was, she wasn’t that.

“Yes, that’s correct. Exile will also work just as well.” he responded in an almost agreeable manner, raising his head slightly to look up at the heavily armored woman. She was almost wearing as much armor as he was… almost.

“Am I to assume that you read the missive I had sent to you… or that you had someone read it to you?” Mallory continued, it was not an uncommon belief that exiles could not read their mercantile common. He could just fine but it wasn’t something he really went about advertising.

“Yes, I read it. To Great Honor or Death.”

“Good, while I have you for a moment I was wondering if I could ask you a question. I prefer to know the backgrounds of the people I am working with-”

“The crime I committed to be exiled was one of honor, I have less blood on my hands than the majority of the sellswords you currently have on the mission.” He hated that question, and he didn’t want to go into the details of what he had done to be cast out. To be stripped of his honor, his family, his right to be a Dwarf.

“I’ll admit, that is good to know, but I actually was wanting to get your insight about another Exile we have in our company.” Wrendal frowned at her words, crossing his arms over his heavy chest plate.

“There is another?”

“Yes, I should introduce the two of you. He’s… surprisingly popular.” with that, Mallory began to usher him through the various campsites of the collected mercenary companies that were waiting for the mission to start. He had been aware of them being there, of the multiple campsites, but he had been completely disinterested in visiting any of them. He had the company he was working with, he didn’t need to know the rest. Guided into a more worn camp, the green-exile glanced around the clearing.

“Oh, there he is now.” his bright eyes followed her gesture, allowing his gaze to fall upon a man standing in front of a bonfire and cracking jokes with the rest of the company. A ginger-haired dwarf with a thick brown wolf-hide cloak that was fastened around his armor at his neck, chest, and waist. Based upon how worn and weathered the armor looked he had to assume that even before his exile this man was a warrior, the scale mail an aged smooth shape. A black scarf wrapped around the man’s throat, pressing into his square jaw and showing off his short beard. Not like anything a dwarf would consider fashionable, it was what a human might call an overgrown goatee. The man’s family tattoos, as mostly hidden as they were, were bright and golden in color, leading him to believe that before this man had stained his family name that they had been a bloodline of great honor. A shame they ended up with such a man, so eager to ignore the intent of an exiling, to pretend to be human. Even his face tattoos were covered in war-paint, leaving the other remaining marks of family on the occasional glimpse of his neck and on the hand he was forced to keep bare.

Wrendal scowled, eyes narrowing and retracting away from the scene like he had just tasted something horribly foul. Eleven marks, deep and bright in color like a poisonous frog in warning. The movement of him pulling away from his inspection of the man seemed to have drawn his attention, the criminal raising his fire eyes from the group and spotting Wrendal and Mallory. The man quickly excused himself from the company around the pit, approaching the duo.

“Captain, everything alright? The boys and I were just, uh, taking bets as to who would impress you the most during our next hunt.” the overly casual, fake friendly, voice that this man had the gall to use disgusted the green-exile to no end. How dare he think he had the right to speak like that around him.

“Yes, I just wanted to introduce you to Wrendal. He is the trap specialist that I hired on to help us with this mission.”

“Wrendal, aye? Nice to, uh, meet you. Been a while since I’ve seen one of us around.” the man said in a conversational tone that did nothing to soften the glower on Wrendal’s face.

“One of us?” he repeated back, spitting poison on his voice at the implication that they were anything alike. “You and I have as much in common as a crow does with a putrid Bog fish.”

“Oh, okay, ouch, alright then. That’s how it’s gonna be, huh?” the ginger raised his hands in a placating manner, but his fire eyes were suddenly sharp and one side of his mouth twisted dangerous, like a dog baring its teeth before the bite.

“Excuse me very much, but I asked for your insight, not your attitude.” Mallory stepped between them in a pointed manner, obvious in posture that she would defend this criminal from him if need be. Hand placed threateningly on the hilt of her blade and head raised. Not that he would attack the other exile, though he would if he could, the code didn’t allow for him to take matters into his own hands like that.

“Insight, Captain?” the outlaw asked, hands still raised as he gave her an odd look.

“I need to know the history of all of my company, I thought Wrendal could shed some light on the situation.” she responded simply, Wrendal continuing to scowl at the ginger-haired exile.

“From how nearly neon those exile marks are in color I have to assume he did something truly disgusting, like poisoning the well of another town or taking advantage of the sick.” he was seething that such a man had the gall to compare them. “Was burning the village down not enough for you?” there was really no way to know for sure what it was that an exile with elven marks had done but the elven was saved specifically for the most horrid of creatures with no chance of redemption… and the way his eyes flashed and pupils dilated at the mention of fire told Wrendal he had been spot on.

“You have no idea what you are talking about.” the criminal said irritably.

“.... you’re the one they call Saranus, aren’t you? The Butcher.” Wrendal narrowed his eyes at the man, he had heard of a dwarf who had burned, raided, pillaged several goliath settlements…. And when there were no more of the giants to be fought he got bored and turned his insatiable rage against his own people. The amount of blood he had spilled was immeasurable.

“So, you do know him.” Mallory stated with wary eyes, confirming Wrendal’s guess as true.

“You…. I don’t know what you are but you are not, nor have you ever been, a dwarf. You have zero idea of what honor or restraint are.” he couldn’t be more disgusted, the man now cooley looking at him with the eyes of a predator.

“I prefer revolutionist… believe what the council spews about me or don’t. It won’t make a difference out here. The fact that you have four marks while I have eleven doesn't matter, these people aren’t dwarves and they don’t know the difference. Out here, in this place, we are both exiles.” Saranus’ voice deepened several octaves, suddenly sounding every bit the part of the raider creature he had been made out to be.

“Pardon me, Captain.” a brief bow but he didn’t wait to be dismissed as he left. Disgusting, disgraceful, Wrendal sneered as he turned away from the fire with his arms crossed over his chest.

“I… had not expected you to be so volatile.” she commented to him, placing her hand on his shoulder and beginning to quietly guide him back to the company he had been placed with. “I’ll have to enstate a rule saying you two aren’t allowed to be alone together without supervision.” she added, seemingly to herself, but Wrendal bristled at the words.

“You doubt my honor?”

“No, but I don’t want to play a game of he-said she-said later so it’s for the best we keep things… monitored.”

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