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bookish-enneagram · 3 years

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Anakin Skywalker | Sexual Type Nine | Full Profile

Basic Fear: Of loss and separation; of annihilation

Basic Desire: To maintain their inner stability and peace of mind

Superego Message: "You are good or okay as long as those around you are good or okay."

Focus of Attention: on others, on what is going on in the environment, and on avoiding conflict and achieving harmony.

Passion: Sloth

Anakin lived a life that was entirely for other people. Specifically those close to him; his mother, Obi-Wan, Padme, Chancellor Palpatine, Ashoka, and eventually Luke. Anakin was known for how much he loved and cared for these individuals, and in reality he merged with them and their needs. All Nines need to merge with something on account of their passion, which I will explain. Unlike a Self-Preservation Nine, who merges with physical comforts and routines, or a Social Nine who merges with the group, Anakin merges with specific individuals, like a classic Sexual, or One-to-One Nine.

We will start by acknowledging his greatest fear, and what drove him to the Dark Side; his fear of loss. Anakin had this fear going back to when he was a child. His mother was his whole life and, like any child, it pained him to leave her, telling her he’d come back for her. This sense of loss extended to Obi-Wan, Palpatine, Ashoka, and Padme. We see in the Revenge of the Sith novelization, which I highly recommend, how much he worries about Obi-Wan and Palpatine. With Padme, it’s much more obvious. He was willing to do anything, even monstrous things, to avoid losing her. This was a product of his disintegration to Six.

To start this section out, not all Nines disintegrating to Six will commit mass genocide and kill children. Rather this is a fictional event. However, the causes behind the action are definitely from his disintegration. At the beginning of Revenge of the Sith, he is at Level 4 of type Nine’s Levels of Development. He is accommodating to his friends and the Jedi council and somewhat lacks a will of his own, which we will discuss more later.

When he has the dream about Padme, he starts freaking out and goes into frantic action. The only way he’s okay is if she’s okay. It is unbelievably accurately stated in this excerpt by Don Richard Riso:

“At Level 4, Nines are busy accommodating themselves to the wishes and expectations of others. They put their own agendas on the “back burner” and comply with other people’s demands in order to reduce the possibility of conflicts. When circumstances cause their anxieties to increase, they may well go to Six and engage in lots of “organizational activity.” Like average Sixes, they attempt to stabilize their environment and their relationships in order to make them safer. They may get into intensive periods of work, investing their time and energy in activities they believe will enhance their security, and thus their peace of mind. These actions are guided not by positive intention, however, but by anxiety. They also begin to identify more strongly with protectors, supporters, groups, or ideas that increase their self-confidence and give them a feeling of purpose and direction.”

He works so hard to prevent Padme’s death, so far as joining the Sith, to enhance his security and peace of mind by having the power to keep her alive. It’s all guided by a sense of anxiety fueled by a fear of loss. Now, regarding his self-confidence. I believe what looked like arrogance near the end of the movie was part of his move to Six. He began to identify more with Palpatine and his beliefs and less with the Jedi. This gave him purpose and direction by giving him a sense of justification for all that was being done. As if he was doing the right thing. “The Jedi are evil”, “I’ve brought peace, freedom, justice, and security to my new empire”, and “if you’re not with me, you’re my enemy” are some examples of this self-confidence. You could say he even merged with Darth Vader.

Another extremely important thing to mention which I vaguely mentioned earlier is the Passion of the Nine. The Passion is one of the most important things in finding a person or character’s Enneagram type. For Anakin, the Passion is Sloth. This may seem odd, considering he is a human. But Sloth in this regard is an inattention to self, not the animal. Now, this plays out in various ways depending on the subtype, whether Sexual, Social, or Self-Preservation. For Anakin, a Sexual type, his attention is focused on close relationships, as I said earlier. He completely merges with those close to him and they become his focus of attention, not his own wants or needs. He does seem more willful and assertive than a classic Sexual Nine, but that is due to his Eight wing, which conflicts with the Nine in that it gives Nines with an Eight wing more of an instinctual drive, as stated below:

“Nines with an Eight-wing are more sensual and instinctive than the Nines with a One-wing, and tend to operate more on feelings and hunches. They tend to embody more the easygoing demeanor associated with Nines, but also give the impression of being more “physical,” more grounded. This is one of the most difficult subtypes to understand because the component types are in such diametrical opposition to each other.”

Darth Vader. The typing is exactly the same and I will tell you why. Nothing has changed about him. He just has no one, no purpose. He deteriorates to an extremely unhealthy Nine, specifically Level 9, and it takes him finding out about Luke to bring him back. Some lines from Riso about Level 9 Nines below:

“They disintegrate as persons into the most extreme state of dissociation from who they are. As we have seen, their receptive orientation to life has facilitated their flight from self-awareness. Now, they completely flee from themselves. In most cases, neurotic Nines unconsciously abandon themselves as whole persons, reinvesting consciousness into various fragments of themselves, each of which may represent an aspect of the self which has been repressed and denied and undeveloped. Memories, dreamlike trances, and emotional reactions seem to come and go at random. It is as though the very structure of the personality has come “unglued” or broken apart, and only its constituents remain to interact with the environment. To abandon themselves as persons, retreating into complete dissociation and fragmenting their personalities, is a “solution” of sorts, because then it is not really they who live but someone else through whom they can live. We have seen that average Nines tend to live through the other; now we see that they live through the other-self, the fragments of the self which are little more than the disconnected identifications and relationships with significant others from the Nine’s past. The core self has been so traumatized that it is as though in a dream without a dreamer. This can hardly be called living. Furthermore, because one of the subpersonalities can do harm to other people or to itself, this is neither a safe nor truly adaptive way to live. Moreover, Nines who so feared losing or separating from others have not only psychologically done so, they have also separated from and lost themselves.”

As well as:

“Unhealthy Nines with an Eight-wing are capable of violence with little concern about the consequences of their actions. Aggressions and id impulses are strong in people of this subtype, and when they are emotionally unstable, there is little ego strength left to regulate these forces.”

Basically, Vader lost who he was. It isn’t him, he’s broken and dissociated from his true self; the helpful, caring friend, mentor, and husband. His whole outlook changes when he finds out about Luke. He is given purpose again. He tries to have him join him and have them rule the galaxy as father and son. His last act is saving the son that brought him back to the light, and all of this makes him a pretty damn good character all around.

#star wars #darth vader #anakin skywalker #enneagram #enneagram 9

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paper-n-ashes · 3 years

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sparks and embers - chapter 13

Characters: Kylo Ren x Original Female Character, Poe Dameron x Original Female Character

Story Tags: Explicit (18+), Canon Compliant/Divergent (Set after TLJ), First Person POV, Love Triangle, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Porn with Plot, Hurt/Comfort, Kylo Ren hates Poe Dameron

Chapter 13 - Exposure

Words: 5.5k

Chapter Tags/Warnings: Descriptions medical procedures

Read on AO3 or Start from the beginning

“Alex! You’re okay!”

“So are you!” I burst, eyes already wet with tears of relief. My gaze darted over the holoprojection of Poe’s face, his brilliant smile beaming through from lightyears away.

“You have no idea how glad I am to see you,” he grinned, leaning closer into the holo. “We’ve been trying to make this contact for weeks.”

A dazzling joy surged in my chest, so happy that my assumptions of being forgotten were baseless. “Did you complete your mission?”

“You’re talking to the best pilot in the galaxy here.” He shot me a charming wink, maintaining his smile. “Actually made it back a few days ahead of schedule.”

Tears continued to dribble out, attempting to calm myself with a shaky exhale. “I’ve been so worried.”

Poe’s expression turned earnest. “I was going to say the same thing.” His expression fell, looking down. “I didn’t want to leave you there. I’m… I’m so sorry Alex. We’re all sorry.”

“It’s alright,” I soothed. “It was the right thing to do at the time. Did you all safely make it back to the base?”

“Left just in time to avoid their tracking systems. So your sacrifice wasn’t for nothing.”

“Indeed it wasn’t,” a woman’s voice agreed, her instantly recognisable image appearing in front of me moments later.

Leia Organa.

“I’m so glad to finally put a face to the person who saved my best fighters.”

I was awestruck at the sight of the entrancing older woman, with kind yet determined eyes looking right at me. “Well… uh… They were the ones who protected me against the Death troopers. I really didn’t do anything.”

She shook her head, smiling warmly. “We all know what you did, what you’ve endured because of your selflessness.”

“What I’ve endured?”

“We have recently gained a Resistance spy within the First Order, the one who directed you to this holoprojector,” Poe started explaining. “They’ve been keeping an eye on you. Sending us intel about your condition.”

I thought of the blonde, curled hair I glimpsed a few minutes ago, not recalling ever seeing it before. Whoever it was had obviously done his reconnaissance at a distance. “The cell stay wasn’t exactly easy,” I conceded, looking sincerely to Poe. “But I’m managing better now.”

A glaring lie.

“One thing they couldn’t tell us Alex,” Leia started, her expression now troubled. “Is why exactly they’re keeping you on the Finalizer. Our spy hasn’t been able to collect any information about the subject. To me, it seems a little... bizarre you’re being forced to work for them.”

I was stuck on how to begin to formulate an answer when a commotion from behind the two figures made them turn around.

“I heard you finally made contact!” Rey’s voice excitedly cheered from somewhere in the room, her image quickly arriving into view, displaying an enthusiastic grin as she huddled in next to Leia. “Alex! I’m so glad to see you!”

I returned a warming smile, her sunny disposition difficult not to mirror.

“Oh thank the maker,” Finn heaved, sliding alongside Rey, the four figures now pressed closely into the outline of the holo, Poe seeming faintly annoyed at the intrusion. “If I had to live through one more day of Poe ranting about this stealth signal not getting through, I was gonna go insane.”

Poe was already looking to me when I glanced at his face, an unspoken understanding exchanging between us. “Well now since apparently we’re all here,” he huffed, “Can we actually get back to the issue at hand? We’ve only got a limited amount of time before this signal becomes compromised, and the hard-lock on Alex’s comm-room door overrides.”

Leia nodded in agreement and looked at me again. “Do you know why they’re holding you there Alex?”

I was weighted with a heavy dose of terror in giving my answer, my stare shooting immediately to Rey. Her smile had faded, instead she wore an expression of reassurance.

She hadn’t told them.

“I… I… uh…” I stammered, a flurry of emotions spinning in my brain. I was so sure she would have exposed me.

“It’s okay Alex,” Rey insisted, her tone calming. “I know why you’re scared. I completely understand why you kept it a secret. But we won’t harm you because of it. I promise.”

All eyes darted to Rey, each face breaking into confusion.

Poe was the only one to say what they were all thinking. “What are you talking about?”

I felt my chest begin to tighten, oxygen becoming a little harder to grasp onto. “I’m not ready,” I whispered.

Rey’s appearance was comforting, yet serious. “It’s time. You may not be ready, but sometimes we don’t get the choice.”

I inhaled deeply, scrunching my lids closed, trying to build some sort of confidence to reject the instincts and rules I had been abiding by all these years. A lifetime of keeping my gift undisclosed, hiding it away, never getting too close to anyone, had left me more attached to my secret than anything else in the galaxy. Fear had always kept it’s hold, guiding my actions, and it was pulling at me again now, trying to warn me of the danger once more. But if I didn’t tell them, Rey would be forced to.

And above anything else, I wanted Poe to hear it from me.

“I can… use the Force,” I said slowly, most likely out loud for the first time in my life. “I taught myself… how to heal others with it, when they were close to death.” There was an excruciating silence as Poe, Leia and Finn comprehended my answer, each wearing a different expression of realisation. My stare was only focused on Poe, trying to properly gauge his reaction to my admittance of lying. “I didn’t want anyone to find out, so I’d also learnt how to hide it - to prevent other force-sensitive people from feeling my energy, from hearing my thoughts.”

“Why?” Leia asked gently. “Why were you so afraid?”

“My parents were distrustful of those who were attuned to the Force after living through a time where Darth Vader wreaked havoc on the galaxy. They told me old stories of little children being taken away from their families to be trained as Jedi, only to have all of them massacred, even the younglings. They made it seem like the most dangerous thing in the world was being someone with that gift. So even as a child, when I felt the power growing within, I pushed it down, hid it away. I didn’t want to fight in any wars, and I didn’t want to be killed. I just… wanted a normal life.”

Both Rey and Leia were nodding with me as I spoke, seeming to understand my decision.

“That’s why you were on Raxus. So isolated,” Poe murmured, not looking at me.

“Yes. I kept it a secret for as long as I could, all through my training, only using this power sporadically through the years. But I was too close to being caught whilst working in a medical camp on the Inner Rim, during a skirmish the First Order instigated on a planet because of their resources. A Stormtrooper noticed me healing one of the planet’s inhabitants, one whom he was sure he’d rendered on the brink of death. He wanted to take me to his leader, claiming he would have good use for someone with my abilities. I managed to escape him and ran, giving up my job, my home, all without telling anyone where I was going. I settled on Raxus, built my clinic, rarely having to use my power, never really worrying about being caught again. Until... Poe crashed on my doorstep.”

“And you had to use it then, didn’t you?” Rey assumed, obviously a question she had been waiting to ask. I nodded.

Finn’s eyes sparkled. “I knew it! I knew there was a reason he healed so quickly.”

The death stare Rey shot to him was severe in intensity, and under any other circumstance I would have thought it was funny. But my focus was centred completely on Poe’s expression as he remained engrossed in deliberation, his eyes still not reaching back to me.

“Is this why they’re keeping you held on the Finalizer? They wish to utilize your power to heal?” Leia guessed.

“They don’t know about it.”

Each of their expressions turned to disbelief.

“How? Surely Kylo Ren would have rummaged through your mind the minute you got on that ship,” Finn burst, turning to Rey. “That’s what he did to you right?” She nodded in agreement, still looking to me for my answer.

“I was able to keep him out, like I did to you Rey,” I replied.

Rey seemed impressed, and a realisation clicked behind her eyes. “That’s why he won’t let you leave. He hasn’t figured out why."

I became uneasy, suddenly worrying about the blame I’d been placing on her. “He thinks it’s because of you, that you’ve somehow placed a block around my mind. And I... didn’t exactly correct him.”

Rey let a sly smile form on her lips. “Well that would be a valuable thing to make use of, if only it were true.”

Finn appeared dubious. “I still don’t understand why you agreed to work for them.”

“I didn’t really have a choice,” I subtly scowled. “It was that or rot in a cell until Kylo Ren managed to infiltrate my thoughts, learning of my sensitivity to the Force, leaving me in a lot worse situation.”

Finn appeared understanding of that answer. It had been Rey’s own powers that made the man obsessed with capturing her. Leia, who had seemed more troubled while we conversed of the Supreme Leader, finally spoke up again. “How long do you think you can hold yourself against… him?”

“I don’t know.” My heart thumped with anxiety, reminded of his last attempt to penetrate my barrier. Thinking about it, with Poe’s image right in front of me, made a familiar sickness bubble in my stomach. He still refused to meet my gaze, his face pained, making an ache begin to surge in my chest.

“Well we have to make some kind of plan right? To rescue her before that happens? Poe?” Finn insisted, somehow rustling Poe out from his inner turmoil.

“Right. Sure. Of course,” he agreed, only the slightest glance in my direction. I had to clench my teeth to hold back the tears wanting to form in my eyes, his indifferent response causing a wave of guilt to wash through.

Leia could sense the tense energy exchanging between us, even through the holo. “Finn, Rey, let’s start discussing our next move. Away from the holoprojector.” She looked firmly at the two, an unspoken communication. Rey shot me a look of both support and sympathy, understanding exactly why Leia was leading them away.

“Hang in there,” Finn added before standing to leave. “We’ll get you out real soon.”

I tried my best to reply with a grateful smile, but it was hard to form through the nervousness I felt at being alone with Poe after my revelation.

One by one their figures receded from the flickering blue picture, leaving Poe alone once again. I couldn’t bring myself to speak first, unsure of what to say. He felt further away than ever, his touch a memory that continued to fade.

Time was running out, the seconds ticking away as we both waited in stillness for the other to break the strained silence. When his eyes finally drifted to me again, I was wounded by the hurt in them, still acutely obvious in the artificial image.

“Why couldn’t you tell me?” he whispered. “You had all that time.”

I dipped my head, conceding. “I was scared.”

“Scared of what?” he shot with unrestrained exasperation. “Scared that I would continue to be grateful for you saving my life?”

I looked back up, stunned by his angered tone. “I didn’t want anyone to find out, let alone someone who had ties with the Resistance.”

“What did you think I would do, what the Resistance would make you do?”

“Pull me into a war I didn’t want to fight! Lead me into a life I didn’t want to lead!”

I could see his jaw tighten, an attempt in calming himself. “The fact you assume I’m the type of person that would force you into anything, let alone war, even after everything I told you, is insulting.”

“That’s so unfair,” I retaliated, my bottom lip on the edge of trembling. “I didn’t even know who you were when I decided to heal you. I chose to risk everything to keep you alive. Doesn’t that mean anything?”

Poe exhaled hard, the sound crackling in the holo. “I will always be in your debt for what you did. But you still lied to me Alex. To my face. You assumed the worst of me, of all of us. You hid the truth because you thought we would take advantage of your power, not caring about what you wanted, what you could choose.”

“You haven’t lived my life Poe,” I argued, a ferocity beginning to rise. “You haven’t lived with the same fear I have all your life.”

He stared at me through the staticky blue light, silence once again taking over. We were locked in each other’s eyes, even through all the distance separating us.

“You pushed me away because of it, didn’t you?” he asked, the sting of his tone now gone.

I didn’t have to respond for him to know my answer. Suddenly there was a loud click of the door behind me, the hard-lock releasing.

Our time was up.

“I’m sorry,” I implored, only a moment before Poe’s face was snatched from my view, the holoprojector powering down into darkness.

My throat felt tight, a new kind of shame gripping tightly. I’d always been so afraid of sharing my secret, but not for this reason. Not because it would make me a liar in the eyes of the one I longed to be reunited with so badly.

I stayed in the darkened comm-room long after the hard-lock was disengaged. No one came to open it. Even if they had, they would have only found my figure sitting against one of the large data configurators, stuck in a motionless trance.

I wasn’t entirely sure what kept me from crying, because there was certainly a hollow sadness sitting on my chest, yet the emotion never seemed to manifest into anything. It was possibly due to the stark realisation that my power, my use of the Force, wasn’t a secret anymore.

And nothing bad happened.

They hadn’t been afraid, judgemental, desperate to use it for their own benefit. They had wanted nothing. Rey even kept it to herself, waiting for me to expose the circumstance in my own time, supporting the decision I’d made long ago to hold the power deep within.

Alongside the sadness, there was an intense shame thumping with my heartbeat. Poe had been right, once again highlighting my selfish and distrustful nature, even to those who didn’t deserve it. He’d always been unconditionally honest, and I had given him lies in return. He was right to be offended, to feel slighted by my deceit, our whole encounter now coloured with my dishonesty.

The only comforting part of the holoprojector discussion, apart from knowing for sure Poe with how we parted, was there was a plan being formed for my rescue. There was still a chance I might make it off this ship, escaping before Kylo Ren saw through my weakening façade. He had gotten closer than ever before in the preceding morning, and it couldn’t be long until he figured out another way to tug at my emotions hard enough to unravel me completely.

My only hope was that it wasn’t my attraction to him, the way he undeniably ignited the fire inside that he continued to toy with in his endeavour to push past the veil over my mind.

When I slipped back through the doors of the Prestige ward I was bombarded with questions from Risha and the other staff concerning the incidents of the night, most of them somewhat impressed with my boldness. While the others thought nothing of my return, assuming that for once justice had prevailed and I’d been seen to act in self-defence, Risha was obviously astonished I wasn’t still sitting in my cell. She followed me to the isolation room, where my intubated patient still lay in critical condition, but fortunately alive.

“How did you manage to convince them to let you out?” she questioned. “I thought I’d be visiting you in that cell.”

I read over the observations, the patient’s vitals seemingly stable during my absence.

I would need to thank Irwin later.

“I didn’t have to convince them of anything. My retaliation was considered appropriate by the Supreme Leader, so he allowed my release.”

Risha physically recoiled in disbelief. “There are like, 20 things wrong with what you just said.”

“It was a surprise to me too,” I agreed, continuing to perform my own assessment of the ill man in front of me.

“Alex, I don’t think you comprehend how unusual it is for the Supreme Leader to involve himself with matters like this.”

“I think we can both agree nothing about my situation is usual.”

“I mean, that’s true.” She folded her arms, still doubtful. “But for him to punish the Colonel instead of you. That’s just…bizarre. Snoke would never have been called to make a decision like that, let alone given any care for your wellbeing.”

I stopped, giving Risha’s answer more than a few seconds of thought. “Maybe he wants to be a different type of leader.”

She snorted. “We all know Snoke was the one who seduced him to the dark side, who turned him into what he is today. You think he would cast away his teachings, suddenly show compassion?”

“You’ve obviously given this a lot of thought,” I murmured.

“Well there’s not a lot else to talk about working on this ship. All we debated in the days after Snoke’s death, and Kylo Ren’s appointment as Supreme Leader, was whether his rule would be the same or significantly worse. No one even had the slightest notion he would be… like this.”

I shrugged, walking back to the progress notes and typing my assessment out. “Maybe he thinks if I owe him one I’ll be less likely to cause anymore issues. Maybe he hopes for me to like it here so I won’t attempt an escape.”

Risha tugged at my arm, making me look to her. “Is that something you were considering?” she whispered.

I didn’t want to give any kind of verbal confirmation to that intention, knowing now the ears always listening into our conversations. I also refused to implicate this sweet person in any of my future plans, knowing it was safer to give an overly dismissive answer. “Of course not. I wouldn’t even know how if I wanted to. I’ll just keep waiting it out. I’m sure they’ll grow bored with me eventually.”

Risha certainly wasn’t convinced, but she didn’t dictate that stance. “So how are you feeling? After… you know.”

“I’m alright,” I reassured, which was a blazing lie. “Better now knowing the Colonel won’t be back on this ward again.”

“Me too,” Risha breathed, showing me a small smile. Mild irritation sizzled knowing what it took to finally have someone to act on a predator like Colonel Wynver, still wishing his punishment would have been more severe. But I had to be appreciative that Risha, and the other women who worked here, could have some comfort due to his hopefully permanent absence from their life.

I farewelled Risha after making sure Irwin had given her an adequate handover of the nights new admits, noticing that more beds were now filled with those who had contracted the heavily contagious illness. There was a part of me that worried about the situation I would return to at the start of my shift this evening, but I was too exhausted to fret for too long.

I made sure to pick up a meal from the mess hall before returning to my quarters, horrendously starving from a whole shift without a chance to eat. The shower I had after ravenously devouring my food was just soothing enough to put me in a better state of mind before settling under the bed sheets to sleep, even with the ache beating slowly in the background of my mind at how Poe and I had parted from our transmission.

My only hope was Rey could make him see sense in the way I had kept my power hidden, maybe make him understand how harsh the fear was that drove me to lie.

Sleep arrived effortlessly this time, only minutes passing with my eyes closed before I was pulled into slumber.

When I felt my eyes open again, it was obvious I was dreaming, standing on a deserted beach, the horizon a flat line against the evening sky, a lone sun close to sinking past the ocean. It felt peaceful, a melting glow spreading through my body, relishing the sunset scene. But soon I realised I’d never been to a place like this before. I’d never even stepped close to a beach in my short life.

It was then I sensed the presence with me, the strange energy hovering far behind my figure. I went to turn, to face the mystery aura, but I was chained to where I stood, my eyes still viewing the yellowed skyline, the faint sound of small waves lapping against the shore. The energy shifted, my focus trained on its movement as it edged closer, finally taking a position just beyond my right shoulder.

“You’ve been doing spectacularly well,” a familiar voice mused.

I sighed. “I wondered when you were finally going to disturb me again. You’ve been unusually quiet.”

I felt a smile cross the figures lips, although I was unsure exactly what its face would appear as.

“You seem to be managing perfectly fine without my assistance. I didn’t feel the need to intrude.”

“As opposed to back on Raxus, when I couldn’t avoid your constant warnings?” I grumbled, recalling the many interruptions the voice had made concerning my growing attachment to Poe.

The energy moved again, my eyes darting to the space beside me, still unable to turn my head to that direction. I was only able to capture the image of a hooded figure stepping into my periphery, its face almost completely hidden by darkened brown fabric. I could just make out the shape of their lips. Human. And feminine, matching the tone I had heard in my mind for almost my whole life.

“You were making poor decisions,” the hooded woman stated. “Decisions that would bring about damaging consequences.”

“Maybe if I knew the consequences you seem to be so concerned with, I would make the right choices.”

She laughed, a low breathy chuckle that was oddly musical. “That’s not how this works. I can’t interfere with your free will.”

“Can you at least tell me what ‘this’ is? Why you’re inside my head?”

I could see her lips purse, a deliberate silence between us. “It’s not time yet. You’re not ready.”

An unwelcome shiver pulsed, irritation swelling once again. “I would ask what exactly I need to be ready for, but I can assume you won’t tell me that either.”

The woman smiled again, white teeth peeking through her lips on the edge of my vision. “I’m glad you’ve come to that understanding quickly.”

I exhaled hard, growing impatient with the interference of my much-needed sleep. “Is there a reason why you’re here now, deciding to show yourself for the first time?”

“I wanted to ensure you knew you were playing your part well, in the hopes it would encourage you to stay on this path.”

I creased my eyebrows, contemplating how any of my actions in the last few weeks would have been appropriate on this journey I was apparently walking. “And I’m assuming you’ll let me know when I might divert from this destination you’ve got in mind?”

“Indeed,” she nodded, her head lifting in time to watch the sun finally fade completely past the horizon, plunging both of us into darkness. “But I have faith you won’t require my help for the foreseeable future.”

I could only hope such a notion was true, this woman’s voice always having been a horrible strain on my thoughts. But without knowing exactly what I was doing so well, I was unsure if I could keep her intrusions from appearing again. I watched with the woman as stars began to glitter through the sky, reflecting on the stilled ocean, making an even bigger vision of night envelop the landscape. A delicate breeze of wind then brushed against my skin, and she was gone, her energy fading instantly, leaving me alone on the beach once again.

The soothing power of the twinkling scene soon made an overwhelming fatigue encircle my brain, and I was unable to prevent my eyelids from drooping closed.

It was obvious I’d been rustling in my sleep when I awoke again hours later, sheets twisted haphazardly over my limbs. I’d finally managed a full 8 hours, feeling the most rested I’d been in days. Although waking to an impossibly long list of questions I couldn’t get answers to didn’t exactly make me feel relaxed.

I laid on my back, wishing I could will the woman’s voice back into existence, only wanting to know why and how she housed her spirit inside my mind. The spoken warnings and guidance had always been there, pestering me with advice, sometimes threatening. But I always assumed it was a form of my own conscience, born from an unknown area of my brain that battled its morals against my decision making. Knowing now it was something more than that, that it was something or someone keeping a close watch over my actions, was oddly comforting.

Maybe I hadn’t been alone all of these years.

My last overnight duty before returning to the day shift was chaotic to say the least. Almost all beds of the Prestige ward became filled with viral patients, a large portion of the Finalizer Command leaders now in my company. A dark humour would have mentioned to the Resistance yesterday that this sickness was probably more incapacitating than their assaults had ever been, but I honestly didn’t want to place the idea of biological warfare inside their heads.

While my intubated patient had already improved from my last visit, I was now dealing with three more who’s health was extremely critical. I had never been so appreciative for the medical droids who worked here, their ability to recognise deteriorations in vitals being much quicker than my own.

I’d been given a status report from the rest of the ship earlier in the night, which implied the other wards were in much the same position. Although, it was interesting to note the slowing occurrence between Stormtrooper personnel, their armour and helmets seeming to provide an amount of protection that the Command leaders didn’t utilise.

The Bio-med lab had assured they would have a cure and subsequent vaccine within the next couple of days, pressing us to keep as many patients alive in the meantime. Which was easier said than done. Bacta didn’t help in eradicating the virus or it’s symptoms.

Fortunately for my own health I had already been afflicted with a strain similar during an assignment to Lothal in my training days, the illness sweeping through most of our workers, spread by one of the wounded soldiers. Luckily, none of us had been struck down too harshly, and it had left most of us somewhat immune. In knowing this however, I began to feel a looming dread for the medical staff of this ship who most likely had never been exposed before. It couldn’t be long before they themselves would need to be treated, and I prayed it wouldn’t leave me as the sole doctor still well enough to keep working in the time before a cure was found.

In the morning I handed over the night’s events to the day shift, giving strict instructions for the care of the four intubated patients, offering to return if I was required to at any time. I’d been afforded a full day cycle before returning to normal working hours, a day off of sorts, but with little freedoms being afforded to me on this ship to utilise my free time, I was quite comfortable in being called back to ease the load on the Prestige staff.

No such request had been made by the time I’d taken care of my daily routine, sleeping soundly through another 8 hours, this time without the interruption of vivid dreaming. It was early evening, which was only ever evident by the chronometer in my quarters, and I’d found myself too anxious about how the ward was coping to focus on the literature I was attempting to read.

The unease eventually caused me to change into the mundane set of informal clothes the First Order had allowed, wanting to pay a visit to the ward to ease my worry. A pair of black pants hemmed tight against the outline of my legs and a grey sweater which wrapped around my torso, leaving a bow at the back. I hadn’t pulled my hair up, assuming my visit wouldn’t actually require me to do any work. I wanted to appear as casual as possible, hopefully not implying they would be desperate for my assistance.

I was about to slip around the corner of the small lobby outside my quarters, pondering over the fact I’d never seen anyone enter or exit the two other doors, when I was disrupted by the sight of General Hux making his way down the corridor. He was alone, without his usual entourage of Stormtroopers My eyes narrowed, watching him suspiciously as he closed the space between us, noting the stressed expression he wore, his porcelain cheeks slightly red.

“What have I done this time?” I prodded as he stopped in front of me.

“I’m afraid I’m not in the mood for your juvenile mockery Miss Jago,” he snapped. “Come with me, I have a task you are required for.”

I folded my arms. “This is meant to be my day off.”

“You’ll find that I don’t particularly care,” Hux grumbled. It occurred to me how unwilling he seemed to be here, most likely a stern order behind his reason for being in my presence. “You don’t have a choice in this matter. Now follow me.”

“Could you at least tell me what you’re hauling me away to do?”

He didn’t stop his exit. “You’ll find out soon enough. I’m not going to ask you again. Follow me.”

It was curiosity that made me obey his demand, beginning to step behind the irritating man as he led me to an unspecified objective. When we started veering towards a familiar turbo-lift, noting him pressing the floor I’d memorised from the previous day, my whole body pulsed with anger.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I seethed, looking to Hux with a burning contempt.

“It was an order,” he replied sharply.

“It always is,” I fumed, leaning into the durasteel wall of the turbo-lift.

What did he want with me now?

Hux stormed ahead when the doors opened, my shorter strides barely able to keep up as we walked through the darkened hallway. With a simple wave of his hand on the security panel the blast doors opened to the room I had previously been forced into, the huge open view of endless space still taking my breath away.

Hux didn’t stop in the lounge area, instead swerving to the door at the far left, pressing a code quickly into the lock, waiting for me to enter first once it opened. I looked at Hux quizzically before moving past, taking a moment to register the scene I’d been made privy to.

My eyes scanned over Kylo Ren’s figure, now hunched into a ball underneath the sheets of his bed, a sheen of sweat noticeable on his forehead even from the doorway. He was asleep, however it didn’t appear even close to restful, his breaths loud and heaving.

“The Supreme Leader appears to be afflicted with the virus,” Hux stated in a hushed tone, still emotionless as ever. “He requires the care of a medical professional until his health returns to normal. I think you can understand the confidential nature of the task I’m giving to you.”

I nodded slowly, still stunned at what I’d walked into. “But why me? Surely there are other doctors who could do this. Ones who aren’t his hostage.”

“That is most definitely true,” Hux agreed. “But he asked for you.”

Next Chapter

Tag list: @tlcwrites @blackberries45 @hopeamarsu @caillea @princessxkenobi @leatherboundbirate @lightsinthedistancee @paterson-blue @rosie-posie08 @tina1938 @general-latino

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#poe dameron #poe dameron x original female character #kylo ren #kylo ren x original female character #star wars #star wars fanfiction #adcu #adcu fanfiction #kylo ren x reader #poe dameron x reader

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cbk1000 · 3 years

Text

An update on the Merlin fic: I am closing in on the end of the next chapter. I miiiiight finish it this week, but I’m thinking it’ll be two weeks before it’s ready; I have some research I want to do before I proceed much farther.

Here is a short preview of the next part:

Freya had her own professional and well-turned escort to Nemeth (plus Merlin); but the process, it turns out, of travelling in the company of numerous wanted felons is something of a fraught one. In the first place, a well-trained body of chivalry is expected to sup at whatever fortress it meets; but in the instance of this well-trained body of chivalry, composed now of sixteen new traitors and their leader, accommodations were necessarily the somewhat less stunning, and more draughty, wood which for weeks had already hosted the original fugitives.

In the second, Isolde had decided to accompany them, for their own safety. Whilst it may seem a great boon to travel in the company of a non-carnivorous ghost, prone to haunting the enemy, that depends entirely upon the ghost; and as this one was Isolde, the sole recorded advantage was to keep out other ghosts, which the wind in the night suggested were numerous. In all other aspects she was a menace. In a company of men prideful of their discipline, she terrified whoever doubted her existence; and tied together the bootlaces of the rest. Many a formerly self-important young man, eager to prove himself to his Lord, found himself prone on his ego whilst everyone else hurriedly checked, and corrected, his foot gear; and the one party member who had never protected his dignity, in front of Arthur or otherwise, laughed without trying to conceal it.

In the third instance, there were sixteen new traitors, quit of their Lord; but not necessarily of their prejudice. Sixteen young men raised in the spirit of murderous bigotry, who loved their prince more than their king; who loved him even without the advantage of comparison. But Merlin they had been taught to hate; Merlin, whom they had also loved, of a sorts, as the funny and sympathetic hanger-on of their liege, watching all his practice, and jeering at it.

There are very covert prejudices; very covert, because it is not polite to be obvious about discrimination. It is all right to perpetuate it--but not to acknowledge it. What people like is to be comfortable in themselves; to hold the same old, worn beliefs, which have been passed down like trousers. What a hard, cruel thing, to consider that you have been wrong--and not only that you have been wrong, but that a whole system of respected peoples and institutes have erred, and built their foundations on the blunder. Every one of these sixteen men when boys had heard the same cyclical rubbish about the same cyclical people; and rarely had any of them tried to determine in himself whether the thing was Right or Wrong--not because they were difficult or malicious, but simply because they were settled. And they were settled on the right side of the issue. They never had to feel a thing about it, because many a people had already felt a great many things, and decided the proper reaction for them.

So they were never overtly hateful to him; but they were hateful to him. When he sat down to supper, the air changed; now it had a mass it had not had before. Without telling him, they had told him he was not welcome: and the silence is what is so hurtful. No slur is quite so harmful as knowing that with your mere presence you can stop every happy coincidence of human interaction; that where before there was laughter and good nature, now there is simply some staring. It was the easiest way they had of separating themselves into Them and Him. Too few people are considerate enough to be loudly discriminatory, which many a soft-hearted fellow will defy out of hot-headed instinct. If anyone had shouted at him, or name-called him, doubtless half of his fellows would have scolded or wrestled him. But they had united themselves in the quiet, by not doing anything wrong; by not abusing or injuring him, they were dealing all the dints to his soul, and not theirs.

#writing #preview #fanfic #merlin #merthur

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bestworstcase · 3 years

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more than once you've said "the tts fandom can't write x character, or can't write y character," but have you considered that maybe they can write them fine, you've just built up your desired interpretations of these characters? you give off this condescending attitude, like ONLY YOU can write tts characters accurately, ONLY YOU understand them, & any interpretations that don't in some way align with what you think are WRONG. this has become more apparent as you've worked through bitter snow

let’s discuss king frederic, and how he is often characterized in fanworks vs how he is characterized in the show.

now... i think we can all agree that frederic is at best a mediocre father and a not especially good king, that in his worst moments he steps over the line into emotional abuse vis a vis his treatment of rapunzel, and that the avoidant head-in-the-sand approach he takes to the black rock problem in s1 causes widespread pain, unnecessary panic, and does not improve the situation whatsoever.

he is widely disliked in the fandom for very good reason

however! it is difficult, though hardly impossible, to find fic where frederic acts or speaks... like frederic, for one very simple reason: the fandom, by and large, as a group, writes frederic as an angry, abusive man who blows up when he is confronted with the many, many things he does wrong. often this takes the form of a character, or characters, getting up in front of him and rattling off his list of crimes, real or perceived, followed by him basically throwing a tantrum.

canon frederic, to put it bluntly, does not do that.

exhibit a: caine’s confrontation of frederic in before ever after.

caine sets up exactly the scenario that in the average tts fanfic would end with frederic yelling / blustering / furiously denying the accusations, plus she does it while rounding up all his guests and putting them in cage to haul them off and, presumably, kill them somewhere. like. the stakes are life or death and this is an extremely stressful situation for everyone involved.

and this is how that conversation goes down:

FRED: Release my guests immediately!

CAINE: What’s the matter, Fred? Am I ruining your perfect day?

RAPUNZEL: ...The Duchess?

CAINE: Oh, honey. I am no Duchess.

RAPUNZEL: I don’t understand.

CAINE: Of course you wouldn’t, Rapunzel, but try to follow along. This is all your fault.

RAPUNZEL: What?!

CAINE: You see, after your untimely... disappearance, your father locked up every criminal in the kingdom... including a simple petty thief. My father. I saw him thrown into a cage and hauled off like some animal, never to be seen again. So... I thought I’d come back, and return the favor.

[the wagon rolls in]

CAINE: Load ‘em up, boys! Your turn, Your Majesty.

[Frederic moves to shield Rapunzel; Caine snickers.]

CAINE: Oh, come on, you didn’t think we’d leave our prized pig in the pen, did you?

RAPUNZEL: [as Caine’s gang drags Frederic toward the wagon] Dad—

FREDERIC: Rapunzel, stay back.

RAPUNZEL: But—

FREDERIC: No. There’s nothing you can do. As your father and your king, I command you to stay put.

there are two key points that i want to make here, because they diverge significantly from the way frederic is characterized in analogous scenarios in fanfics, like, 90% of the time.

1) fred doesn’t get angry. he doesn’t bluster or yell. he orders caine to release his guests, and when she refuses, he gets quiet. he does not interrupt caine’s rant, he does not even try to deny her accusations, and he doesn’t stomp around escalating the situation even while caine is prancing around waving a sword in his daughter’s face or literally poking him in the chest.

he stays calm.

2) fred’s primary, overriding concern is for rapunzel’s safety, and the safety of his guests. not his own. he does not struggle when caine’s men lead him away. he protests on behalf of his guests, but not himself, and he attempts to physically shield rapunzel from harm before he is dragged away. he doesn’t waste his breath trying to argue with caine, but he does tell rapunzel firmly not to put herself in danger trying to rescue him.

now... there are plenty of ways to interpret why frederic behaves this way, and my personal take is certainly not the only possible one. but the behavior itself, the staying calm in the face of a crisis, while someone is in his face threatening him, his family, and his guests and making pretty charged accusation, is a) objectively playing out on the screen and b) directly at odds with the way frederic most often acts in fanfics.

exhibit b: mood-swapped frederic blows up just like fanon frederic constantly does

and this is the only time we ever see frederic lose his temper like this in the entire series. again, this is not a matter of interpretation: this is just plainly what happens on the screen. when he is in his right mind, frederic is not a “scream accusations, whip out a sword, and impulsively declare war or attack someone because he’s mad” sort of person, and to say that he is really like that, deep down, is just as silly as trying to argue that cass really is a peppy, soft-hearted, affectionate pushover, or that eugene really is too riddled-with self-doubt and anxiety to make any decisions, or that rapunzel really is a grouchy, moody, misanthropic person. the mood potion makes everyone act like fundamentally different versions of themselves; their behavior is, literally, out of character for their normal, not high-off-their-asses-on-a-magical-potion selves.

exhibit c: the angry mob in secrets of the sundrop

like with caine, this confrontation kicks off with a premise that should be pretty familiar to anyone who reads any fic featuring frederic at all, ie everybody is pissed at frederic and there is literally an enraged mob screaming for justice in the throne room. and that goes like this:

[everybody shouting in angry panic]

FREDERIC: People... [raising his voice to be heard] Citizens, please! Listen to me!

[Max rears and whinnies to get everyone’s attention, and the shouting dwindles away.]

FREDERIC: I will not lie to you any longer. Corona is in grave danger. The queen has been taken; over half our royal guard lie wounded; and these black rocks draw ever closer.

[the shouting begins to pick up again]

EUGENE: Uh, sir, hi, yeah—if there’s a ‘but’ in this speech, you probably want to cut to it right now.

FREDERIC: But I look at you, and I don’t just see subjects. I see friends, family; strong, brave individuals who have stood by each other, side-by-side, and have never, ever backed down from a fight! Today, we face a danger like none before. As your king, your friend, and as your brother, I ask you to fight one more time. For Corona!

again, key points:

1) frederic does not deny, bluster, shout down, or otherwise attempt to refute the basic point that he bungled the black rock situation. he did bungle it, and he knows that [this scene is preceded by him spelling out the full extent of his failures to rapunzel and openly admitting guilt]. through his behavior, he demonstrates that he accepts culpability for the situation and implicitly accepts the legitimacy of the crowd’s anger.

2) he raises his voice only so he can be heard above the shouting, and as soon as folks quiet down, he drops to a reasonable volume again. his mood is grim, but he isn’t angry. he projects calm.

3) eugene is nervous about frederic losing control of the crowd and accidentally causing a riot or something; frederic is not.

4) instead of denying the crowd’s anger, frederic tries to reframe the problem for them: yes, things are bad, but they are strong and brave and we can all work together to put things right. he doesn’t shout them down; he seeks to inspire them.

and 5) when frederic says “we face a danger,” he means that. the very next thing he does after giving this speech is go straight to the frontlines to fight in the same battle he’s asking everyone else to join in. he's not asking them to do anything he isn’t willing to do himself.

which... i would argue even more than the caine confrontation in BEA, is diametrically opposed to the way the typical fanon frederic would respond to an angry mob situation, because the typical fanon frederic is a very angry, aggressive man, and that... simply isn’t who frederic is. he’s calm, he’s knows how to work a crowd, he knows how to use his authority to achieve his goals without browbeating or threatening.

even when he does get angry—such as his instinctive reaction to arianna’s kidnapping, when he jumps first to “we will invade old corona”—he doesn’t yell or stomp around or throw tantrum. he gets stiff and rather cold and makes an impulsive judgment call... but then he takes some time to brood by himself, calms down, talks things out with rapunzel, admits his failures, and doesn’t follow through with the impulsive order he made in the heat of the moment.

like... flat out, he is not an angry man.

and it’s frustrating, when i go to read fanfic and frederic is overwhelmingly characterized as this hapless angry shouty abusive person, because it is breathtakingly far removed from how he acts in canon, and i like frederic as a character. i find him very interesting, and it’s not fun to read fics where everything that makes him interesting is taken away and replaced with this sort of one-note Shouty Angry King/Bad Dad Whom Everyone Hates. and that applies, unfortunately, to a very large number of the types of fics i like to read (namely, long canon exploratory or canon divergent fics, etc)

anyway,

i am perfectly happy to read interpretations of the tts characters that do not mesh well, or are even wholly incompatible with, my own.

but i do expect, as a minimum, characters to behave more or less the way they behave in canon unless there is a clear reason for them to be different. i expect varian to be nerdy and chaotic and a bit of a disaster, for example. i expect adira to be aloof, blunt, and perhaps a touch arrogant. i expect cassandra to be ambitious and frustrated and prone to self-sabotage and envy. i expect lance to be laid back and eugene to be a bit vain. i expect the captain to be gruff and very tight-laced. and i expect frederic to act like a politician who is in control of his feelings but sort of cowardly at heart, because that’s how frederic acts in the show.

i hold myself to these standards too. a ton of my editing process is “hm does this character really talk like this? is this how they would react to this situation?” and then going through and rewatching scenes or whole episodes and trying to find roughly analogous emotional beats or situations to sort of gauge whether i’m hitting the mark or not; it’s very difficult and i work hard on it and do not always succeed... and this does make me a bit picky about characterization in fics i’m reading, yeah, because it’s... always at the forefront of my mind. and then yes i post about it here, because this is the hyperfixation landfill where i dump my tts-adjacent thoughts.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

of course, you’re welcome to unfollow me if you do not enjoy reading what i post. it’s important to curate an online experience that you enjoy! if my general demeanor irritates you, you don’t need to inflict yourself with it.

#thank u for your input anon <3 #Anonymous

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arsnovacadenza · 4 years

Text

Jeanpoleon fic- Punch-Drunk Love

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire

Characters: Jean, Napoleon, Mozart, mentions of Sebas, Theo, & Yukari (MC)

Pairings: Jean x Napoleon

Word count: 2388

Rating: T (because drinking)

Napoleon strode in the direction of the dining room. He had just returned from the thermae.

For once, he was completely awake and wasn't drawn into getting back to bed. Perhaps he could pass the night away in the company of wine? Sebastian just talked to him this morning about a possible new batch of wine they've never gotten before.

A new wine to taste? Curious. Napoleon thought. Too bad I have no one to share it with tonight.

But before his thoughts went any further, he began picking up faint, echoing voices as he walked nearer to the banquet hall.

"....I think you're a little too close."

"I think you're imagining things."

Did Napoleon just hear right?

Someone's in the dining room, and from the sounds of it, they seem drunk.

This early in the evening, no less.

So he picked up his pace, his curiosity growing as the voices became clearer.

"Jean, I really do think you're too close."

"I think you're imagining things."

Jean? Slurred? Napoleon unconsciously sped up his power walk, He knew Jean couldn't hold his liquor. Last time, he nearly climbed all over Theo for God's sake!

Back then it was amusing. But for some reason, Napoleon felt that this time he needed to check on Jean and whoever he's drinking with. Without realizing it, the former officer had broken into a sprint.

"It's completely abnormal for our cheeks to be smushed together like this," Mozart muttered as he pushed futilely against Jean’s chest.

"Aren't you the one who's being abnormal?" Jean's lashes brushed against the corner of Mozart's eye.

"Why?" Mozart slurred back.

"Well," a part of Jean's thigh almost rested on top of Mozart's. "Why are you grinning like that?"

"I don't think," the white-haired man tried to break away from Jean's wine-scented breath. "I'm any different than norma-"

"What is going on?"

Mozart's eyes immediately flew to the entrance of the dining room, where Napoleon stood with a hand on his hip. Good God, that hideous cape of him is looking more and more like a curtain with each passing day.

"Mozart? So it was you?" the former emperor's voice boomed oddly against the composer's ears. He tried to dislodge Jean since this scene was getting ridiculous, especially now that's somebody walked in on them."

"I what? There's Jean here if you can't tell," Mozart snapped back. Jean seemed to be lost in his haze, not even realizing that Napoleon had arrived on his scene.

Napoleon, on the other hand, was thoroughly stunned by the scene before him.

They were both sitting with their chairs pulled up against each other, Jean slinging an arm over Mozart's shoulder and pressing one side of his body against him. Mozart himself was apparently too intoxicated to put Jean back onto his seat. Even stranger, the man was smiling ear to ear despite his previous irritable reaction towards both Jean and Napoleon.

As he approached the couple, however, Napoleon's eyes fixed on Jean in a mix of fascination and astonishment.

Napoleon knew he had always been beautiful, but he'd never seen his pale skin stained with a red so rich. The soldier's head was tilted, displaying the curve of his slender neck. The underside of his sharp chin was all bared for the former emperor to see.

Napoleon stared at Jean's lips, lush and glistening from the alcohol. He often wondered why God would grace such features on a man.

Jean's otherworldly beauty betrayed his vigorous physique and excellent combat abilities. Napoleon himself would have to admit defeat if Jean were to utilize all of his vampire strength to fight.

Napoleon shook himself free from those thoughts as he addressed the drunken couple. "Mozart, why did you invite Jean to drink? You know how he responds to alcohol."

Mozart stared up at him defiantly, his grin only making him look more mischievous.

"He asked for it. I agreed so long as he'll keep me company," he answered almost smugly. "Are friends not allowed to drink wine together?"

Napoleon regarded Jean, who detached his face from Mozart's in favor of sitting himself fully on the latter's lap. Isn't this a little too far for even friends?

Napoleon had been the first to react when Jean clambered on Theo. Back then, he was embarrassed and apologized to the brothers afterward (Vincent only laughed and assured that it was fine). While he had watched the scene with amusement at first, his instincts won over when Jean started pressing younger Van Gogh’s face onto his chest.

Even Mozart wasn't as reactionary. What was he, a substitute parent to Jean?

But his reception towards what was happening now made him beg to differ.

He should've been alright with Jean drinking under Mozart's watch. He trusted the man. Jean might come across as naive, but he always kept to himself and never let his trouble burden others. Having a figure like Mozart around was an added safety net, much to Napoleon's relief.

Mozart was helping Jean explore his curiosity as a good friend would. There was no fault in that. He remained docile even when drunk, turned more amicable even. So, where was even the harm?

The problem didn't lie on Mozart. It was Jean.

It had already been borderline frightening when the reserved beauty suddenly let himself loose and ran his hands over another person. Moreover, even a man as sturdy as Theo couldn't free himself from Jean's death grip. The sight could've turned obscene if Jean launched himself on Yukari instead. Napoleon winced at the prospect.

Only now was he able to see the true extent of Jean's drunken behavior. Snuggling up to people, completely letting his guard down, and unknowingly flaunting his allure at unsuspecting spectators.

Jean settled himself back down, now with both legs dangling from Mozart's lap. His hand was now smoothing over Mozart's chest. All while nearly burying himself in Mozart's hair.

Napoleon's free hand gripped the handle of his sword rigidly. This can't be right.

He didn't realize that he was awash with a completely different sort of haze. Yes, it had been Jean's unknown side that caught him off guard, but it was something else entirely that tugged viciously at his heart.

There was just something in the way Mozart grinned right at him as he let Jean climb on his lap, cheeks almost rubbing together.

Are you jealous, Napoleon? his eyes seemed to speak. I bet you are.

Napoleon was appalled by his own reaction. Who's the drunk one here?

Without thinking, he bent over the two and scooped Jean right from on top of Mozart, unsurprised by the latter's lack of response. He secured Jean's position into a bridal carry.

Mozart lazily leaned back on his chair and eyed Napoleon coolly. "What gives you the right," he muttered.

Napoleon looked down at him with a stern look on his face. "Nothing," he answered briskly. "Just decency."

With Jean safely tucked in his arms, he turned away with a swish of his cape.

Napoleon was in a panic as he strode down the hallway, his hands full of Jean.

Napoleon was in a panic as he strode down the hallway, his hands full of Jean. The man kept rubbing his head against Napoleon's jacket, which made the walk even more awkward.

I have to deposit him somewhere quickly. Napoleon's brain whirred. But where? I don't want to climb up his tower, or we'll both fall.

Without thinking, he returned to his room. With much difficulty, he managed to turn the knob and opened his door without displacing Jean from his position.

After shutting the door with a foot, Napoleon fumbled his way to the bed and gently deposited Jean on his unmade covers. He let the man's feet dangle from the edge of the bed to prevent the boots from dirtying the sheets.

Beside the man, Napoleon sat down in a slump.

How did my evening turn out to be like this? He buried his face in his palm. When I thought about heading out to drink, this wasn't at all what I had in mind.

He snapped from his reverie when he heard a groan from the man next to him. Jean was curling up, obviously comfortable in a bed that's not even his.

Sighing, Napoleon moved over so he could remove Jean's long boots. His previous exasperation melted away as he smiled at Jean's face, still unaware of his surroundings.

Right, I'll spend the night in the attic, then. Napoleon mused. For once, he should sleep in a comfortable bed.

But just as he prepared to turn away, Jean's voice called out to him softly.

"S-stay." He slurred hoarsely.

Napoleon looked back at his vulnerable form. So Jean had been mindful this whole time.

"No worries," Napoleon replied. "I'll call Mozart here. Just wait."

But Jean's still gloved hand was already pawing at the air. "No need... Napoleon, come. Here."

How did he know it was Napoleon?!

Nonplussed, the man whom Jean called stood rigidly and returned to the bedside. Not knowing what to do, he grabbed the beckoning hand with his own.

"You realized it was me?" he whispered, face hovering over the man's prone body. "Jean, I thought you were too delirious to notice."'

Jean's eye gazed up at him. "Your voice...Napoleon." He slowly pulled the hand even closer.

And laid it on his chest, keeping it there. "I heard it...in the dining room."

Napoleon wasn't even sure which was more awkward: his hand on Jean's chest or knowing that Jean was aware of being carried in his arms into his room and laid on his bed. How did this withdrawn ex-soldier become so sticky?

"You!" Napoleon exclaimed. "Never mind. Let me take off my boots first."

If he were to spend the night this way, he'd better make himself as comfy as he could. After kicking his boots away, he hoisted Jean's body so his head would rest on the pillows.

Not knowing what to do, Napoleon sat back against the headboard. He was so overwhelmed with the whole situation it made him dizzy.

Jean tugged on his pants. Napoleon peeked at the man through his fingers. "What do you need?" he asked tiredly.

Without answering, Jean grabbed at the collar of Napoleon's shirt and attempted to drag him down. "Beside... me."

Napoleon, at any other time, would've relented and given him what he wanted without much fuss. But unexpected emotions had racked him tonight, and Jean’s simple request made his face burn hotter than ever.

"Y-you should take that cape off, first." Napoleon never stammered, but he just did. "Your overcoat too. Else you'll be sweating."

With Napoleon's assistance, they managed to take off Jean's cape and outer shirt. It soon joined with Napoleon's outer garments on the floor. The pair also discarded their belts at Napoleon's suggestion.

Now comfortable, Napoleon allowed himself to sink on the bed beside Jean. He hadn't been planning on sleeping, but he was in no mood to talk to the drunken soldier either. He laid on his back, feeling not at all sleepy (though he wished that he was).

Meanwhile, Jean was inching closer to him, completely abandoning the concept of personal space. His arm flailed around, not quite decided on whether it should cling to Napoleon's shoulder or his waist.

Eventually, it rested on the skin of Napoleon's exposed chest. Humming with satisfaction, Jean nuzzled into the side of Napoleon's neck. His silken hair felt soft and ticklish at the same time.

"Mmmm....." Jean breathed against the shell of his companion's ear. "So warm."

"I just got back from the thermae," Napoleon whispered back. "Now, go to sleep. Don't try anything funny."

Grunting, Jean propped himself of before falling on top of Napoleon. This time, he draped his legs over Napoleon's, encasing them in a hook. The man underneath him questioned whether the open palm over his chest could feel the mad drumming of his heart.

He struggled to free his arm from getting crushed under Jean's body in vain. Defeated, Napoleon tried embracing the other man instead, making it so that Jean's weight rested entirely on his body.

It didn't feel all that bad, having somebody else sleep on top of you.

And this is Jean, of all people. Never in my lifetime have I ever imagined that I'd be sharing a bed with Jean fucking d'Arc. And he —it’s a he! Who would have thought! —turned out to be this gorgeous too. Just what is wrong with my life?

What is wrong with me?

Before long, he could hear Jean's soft snore. He'd calmed down, at least for now. Napoleon allowed himself to card his fingers through Jean's hair. "What an evening," He huffed. "Looks like there's no other choice but to join you."

Napoleon shuffled so both were lying on their sides. Gritting his teeth, Napoleon pulled Jean closer, fully aware of the warm breath that’s caressing his jaw.

“See you in the morning, Jean.” Napoleon whispered. “Bonne nuit.”

And so, the French soldiers bid farewell to the night and rested quietly within each other’s arms.

But that’s a secret we’ll keep between us, right?

The next morning, Sebastian came to check up on Napoleon and went “HoLy SHiT”.

#ikevam jean #ikevam napoleon #jeanpoleon #ikemen vampire #drunk on your love story event #riri tries ikevam #I'm so dizzy I need to lay down

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sapphirewolf1122 · 4 years

Text

True Nature (part 2, final)

Part 1 | Part 2

Word Count: 4,788

A/N: Thank you to everyone for all the likes and comments! I haven’t received reactions like that for one of my fics in a long time, so please know it was greatly appreciated. It may have even help me with my writing rut that I’ve been in. I hope you enjoy part two!

Bakugo was really fucking confused.

What the hell had gotten into you? At first, when you had started hitting him, he thought you had been worried and were angry at him for not contacting you. But then you had pushed him away and screamed at him…because he was fucking sick?

But something about the way you had screamed at him didn’t seem like anger. It looked like you had become incredibly sad. If you know what’s good for you. What did that even mean? Was it a threat or a genuine warning?

For the next two days, Bakugo stayed away like you had asked. He was still on leave due to his injuries from the raid. But he wanted so bad to get back out there. A couple of the fucking bastards had gotten away and it was believed they’d taken something with them. Something that could really hurt a lot of people.

At one point, he called Kirishima, to see if he had any advice about what to do with you.

“Yo. Bakubro, to what do I owe the pleasure?” came his best friend’s voice.

“Who the fuck even talks like that, Shitty Hair?”

“Yours truly. How’re you doing, by the way? Word is you had to go to the hospital after that raid.” Bakugo couldn’t help feeling a little touched at the sound of Kirishima’s concern; not that he would ever tell him that.

“I’m fucking fine; I just strained my arms a bit too much during the Goddamn fight. They made a way bigger deal out of it than it was.”

“Knowing you, you probably went well beyond your limit.”

“Whatever. I didn’t call you to talk about my fucking well-being. I called you cause I need…advice…”

“Whaaaat? The great Bakugo Katsuki needs advice? About what, might I ask?”

“Shut the fuck up, Shark Week. It’s…about a girl.” Bakugo went on to explain what had happened. When he finished, Kirishima was silent for several moments.

Finally, he said, “To be honest, bro, that sounds very strange. For once, it doesn’t sound like you did anything specific to provoke the screaming.” Bakugo went to protest but Kirishima spoke over him. “From what I can tell, seeing you hurt must have triggered some sort of trauma within her. Maybe she thought she couldn’t handle it again so she pushed you away.”

Bakugo hadn’t even thought of that; he felt like a fucking idiot. Kirishima had always been better about other people’s emotions though. “So what the fuck should I do?”

“You said it’s been a few days, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then maybe she’s calmed down and you can go ask her about what happened. But don’t be too rough about it; make sure you’re gentle about it. I know that can be difficult.”

“I CAN BE FUCKING GENTLE IF I FUCKING WANT TO BE, SHITTY HAIR!”

Kirishima just laughed. “Good luck, bro. Let me know how it goes.”

With that, the red-head hung up, leaving Bakugo still unsure about what he should do. For several minutes, he sat and thought, trying to figure out the best way. Finally, with a growl of frustration, he decided to just go fucking do it. He got up and practically ran out of his apartment.

When he got to your store, he walked in and looked around for you. Catching the eye of one of your employees, they just shook their head and pointed up. With a nod, he walked back outside and climbed the steps to your front door.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked. After several moments of silence, he knocked again, louder this time. By the third time, he was practically pounding on the fucking door. He kept at this until it finally flew open and revealed you, standing in your pajamas and glaring at him. You also seemed to be holding a blanket in your hand.

“I fucking told you to stay away, Bakugo,” you said angrily. Your voice sounded hoarse, as though it hadn’t been used much in the past couple of days.

“And I will. Once you fucking tell me what’s going on,” Bakugo shot back. He was trying to keep his voice even but the sight of you had really thrown him off. His heart was pounding.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you.” You went to shut the door but he caught it.

“Yes, you fucking do! Because I don’t know what I fucking did wrong and it’s all I’ve been able to think about for the past two days! Is it about how I didn’t call after I got hurt? Did I upset you?”

That seemed to catch you off guard. “I…no….well, yes, I was mad, but that’s not—”

“Then what, ___? What’s wrong? You can tell me.”

You shook your head vehemently; he saw that your eyes were starting to fill with tears. “No, I can’t. Trust me, it’s better like this.”

“It’s better that I never see you again? Like fuck it is.”

“Bakugo, please, you’re making this harder than it already is.”

“Why the hell does it have to be hard?” He had begun moving closer to you.

“Because it just is…it’s just how my life is and it’s better if—”

“Don’t you fucking dare say that again. Just tell me why, and I will go.”

“No, just leave it!”

“I won’t until you tell me wh—”

“BECAUSE I HURT EVERYONE I LOVE! OKAY? THAT’S WHY!”

Bakugo stared at you, speechless for several moments. Did you just say that you loved him? He watched as the tears in your eyes finally spilled over. “What do you mean? How could you possibly—”

“It’s my quirk.”

He blinked. “You have a quirk?” The blonde had always just assumed that you were quirkless.

You laughed bitterly at that. “Yeah, I do. Though it should be called a curse, because that’s all it’s done: curse me.”

“What…?”

“…is my quirk? Not sure there is a name for it but put simply, the people I love are affected whenever I get injured or sick. For the most part, it’s just minor effects, small symptoms of whatever happened to me. However, the more I love someone, the more they’re affected. If I fall in love with someone, it can become so great that the harm doesn’t even affect my body anymore, only theirs.”

“So you pushed me away because…” Bakugo felt like he was being very slow on the uptake right now.

“Because, in the days after the raid, I got sick. And when you finally came back, you were sick too, with what appeared to be the same symptoms. I have worked too hard over the years to make sure nobody is ever affected by my quirk again. I had hoped that pushing you away would stop….my…feelings.” You suddenly seemed very aware of what you were saying and your face suddenly turned very red.

Bakugo couldn’t help a small grin from playing out on his face. But then something else you said made him frown. “Wait, how could you possibly manage not to love anyone? You would have had to—”

“Completely isolate myself? Yeah, no shit. The only contact with people are my employees, whom I barely ever speak to, and my customers. I learned how to become completely aloof. It got to the point where people simply stopped trying to get to know me.”

Bakugo really looked at you now. He saw the sunken look in your eyes and the incredible sadness that, while it seemed to have receded in the past weeks, always marked your face. Softly, he said, “Please tell me what happened.”

You looked up at him then, the tears still falling down your face. After several moments of silence, you nodded and stepped back into your apartment, opening the door wider as you did.

“It’s a long story. You might as well come in.”

You told Bakugo everything. When you finished your story, the two of you sat on your couch for a long time in silence. You thought that maybe, now that he knew, he would finally have the sense to leave and let you forget about him.

However, when he did finally speak, it was of something completely unexpected.

“You know, I’ve never been very good with emotions. I’m very bad when it comes to knowing how I feel about people…let alone what they feel about me.” A small smile was playing on his lips as he spoke; you had no idea where he was going with this. He continued, “I’m not good at letting people in. Ask my entire high school class. How I managed to make friends with those fucking idiots is beyond me. I think I just finally accepted that they weren’t going anywhere no matter what I did.”

At that moment, he met your eyes. “I think that’s what you’re going to have accept about me.”

Now you were scared and went to protest but he spoke over you. “Like I said, I’m not good at knowing how I feel about people. It usually takes them making a bit of an impression on me and let me tell you, you’ve left a fucking impression.”

You just stared at him, dumbfounded.

The smile suddenly disappeared; he now looked very serious. “After everything you’ve been through, I understand why you would want to keep people away. In fact, I think you’re probably one of the bravest people I know for it. But you have to understand this: you can’t expect people to stop feeling things for you just because you want to protect them. It’s not fair to them.”

You managed to find your voice. “You don’t seem to get it…”

Growling with frustration, Bakugo practically yelled, “NO, you don’t seem to fucking get it.” He leaned in close to you and grabbed your face, angling it up towards him. Looking into your eyes, he hesitated for only a moment before he kissed you fiercely.

Your first instinct was to resist but something ignited inside you, something that you had thought never would be again, and you were kissing him back. You kissed him with the desperation of someone who hadn’t felt the love or touch of another human being in years. You started to rise, and as you did, you accidentally bumped foreheads with Bakugo, causing the two of you to break apart.

Laughing slightly, you said, “Sorry, I’m a little out of practice.”

The blonde smirked at that. “Well then I guess we better keep practicing…” He leaned in to continue the kissing but you stopped him.

Breathlessly, you asked, “Are you sure about this? Because once we decide to keep going, we can’t go back. I am falling in love with you and you could end up paying for it.”

“Bring it on.” And with that, he was kissing you again. Pushing you back down on the sofa, his lips would make hot trails down your neck and jawline and then he would go back up. You couldn’t be close enough and without realizing it, you started to pull his shirt off.

Pulling back from you for a second, his hair messy from your hands winding in it, he asked, “Should we take this somewhere more comfortable?”

You nodded and with that, he took your legs and wrapped them around his waist. Then, while continuing to kiss you, he carried you to your bedroom.

You and Bakugo had been together for almost a month now. Despite how doubtful you still were that this could ever work, you were happier than you had been in a very long time. Perhaps than you had ever been.

Katsuki (calling him that still made you giggle) went back to work after his wounds had healed and he had been cleared. He was still working with the other district to find the villains who had escaped the raid. But he came home almost every night to you, only excluding when he had night shifts or if he had to stay at his apartment.

You did still make sure to be more careful now. You wore more protective gloves while working so as to avoid burns and did any cooking with extreme care. And as the days passed, you were actually starting to think that everything would be okay.

You should have known to trust your instincts.

That night, the two you had made plans to meet at his apartment. You left the cafe to your employees, waving at them pleasantly as you walked out. They were still not used to this new side of you and just stared; you had the thought that maybe you should do something for them.

Taking out your cell phone, you texted Katsuki that you were on your way. That was another new accessory; before, you hadn’t really needed a cell phone and had relied on your work phone. It had only made it easier to isolate yourself.

As you walked, you took in the city around you. There weren’t really a lot of people out tonight but you enjoyed watching those who were. Many were walking alone like you but there were couples or even families here and there. Your eyes kept travelling down to the clasped hands and yours tingled at the thought of soon having Katsuki’s in yours.

Because you were people-watching, you weren’t really aware of what else was going on around you. So you didn’t see the figure appear out of one of the alleyways until it grabbed you. Your gasp was covered by a large hand; the other arm was wrapped around your torso. This didn’t stop you from trying to struggle and scream but the hand kept you muffled all too well.

“Calm….the fuck….down, dammit. If you don’t….want anybody else to get hurt….you will stop…struggling,” snarled your captor in your ear as they wrestled with you. At the threat of others being hurt, you did stop struggling.

“That’s a good girl,” said the voice. They continued to pull you deeper into the alley. As they did, you saw other figures appear as well. In total, there were three. The one holding you finally stopped moving you and spoke again. “Now, I am going to release you again. Continue to be a good girl and nobody else will get hurt. Understand?”

You only hesitated for a moment before nodding, glaring at the other two sneering at you. You couldn’t really see their faces but you could see the glint of their eyes and flash of teeth.

“Good.” As promised, the hand was removed from your mouth. “Now, we’re going to ask you a few questions.”

“What makes you think I have anything you want? I’m just a bookstore owner.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, darlin’,” said one of the others. “We know you’ve been….fraternizing…with one particular hero called Ground Zero…”

You tried to keep your face passive and even tried to force out a laugh. “What makes you think a big time hero like him would have anything to do with me? And what the hell do you want with him?”

The third one piped up now; his voice sounded high and squeaky. “He’s the reason our hideout was completely destroyed and we lost our comrades, as well as most of our weapons. We simply want to make him pay.”

“And don’t try to play with us,” said the one holding you. “We’ve seen the two of you together.”

“So you guys are stalkers too? Man, you just do it all, don’t you?”

You thought you heard the squeaky-voiced one hiss. “Enough! Tell us where he is!”

“You think I know where he is at all times? He’s working! Besides, you’re the stalkers. Shouldn’t you have figured out where he lives by now?”

“It doesn’t matter,” said the second. “Once he knows we have you, he’ll do whatever we say.”

Your heart contracted but you hid your fear by saying, “If you really think that, then you don’t know Ground Zero at all.”

“We’ll see about that.” Suddenly, you felt a great blow to your head and pain lanced through you. As you began to black out, your only thought was of how much that would hurt Katsuki.

Bakugo woke to a horrible pain reverberating in his skull. As he came to, his hand reached to the back of his head, where he felt a hard lump that had formed. Realizing that he must have been attacked, he leapt to his feet only to see that he was in his apartment. He doubled over as the sudden motion caused more pain to shoot through his head, his vision blurring.

When it finally cleared, he searched his apartment for any intruders but nothing was out of place. He frowned in confusion. An intruder wouldn’t have come in for the sole purpose of knocking him out, that would be fucking stupid. Unless….as the realization hit him, his heart jumped into his throat and he scrambled back to where he had woken up, fumbling to find his phone.

When he turned the screen on, he sighed in relief when he saw that there was a text from you. However, that immediately faded when he read it:

If you want to see her alive, you will come alone. No cops and no costume.

Under that, an address was listed. Upon reading it, Bakugo’s vision filled with red. Oh, he was going to fucking kill these bastards. And he had a pretty good idea of who it was. Fine, if they wanted to go toe-to-toe with him, he’d give them what they wanted.

But he wouldn’t go in being stupid; he would make sure you came out alive. He texted back that he was on his way. Then, as he walked out the door, he dialed Kirishima’s number.

“I need your help.”

As you became conscious again, you felt that you were sitting in a chair, your hands tied. Knowing better than to struggle, you focused on the voices that were coming from somewhere else in the room. You recognized them all as the voices of your captors.

“He’s on his way…” That was the one who had grabbed you.

“Finally…and when he does, we’ll blow him to high heaven,” came Squeaky.

“Don’t underestimate him. You saw him back at the hideout; he may be young but he’s powerful.” First one again.

“Ain’t nobody can withstand bullets though, not without some kind of absorption quirk,” came the second one who had spoken in the alley.

“What if we use the serum, huh? He won’t be shooting no explosions then,” said Squeaky.

“No, you idiot,” growled First. “We have to bring that back to the boss. It’s the only bit of our stalk that survived and y’know he’ll have our heads if we lose it.”

“It might be our best chance though. Who put you in charge, anyway?” asked Second, sounding annoyed.

“I worked directly with the making of the serum; I am responsible for making sure it stays safe and that means we don’t use it.”

“You’re just hoping to get in the boss’ good graces,” Squeaky accused.

“Don’t you?”

Wow, these idiots aren’t very good at working together, you thought. You continued to listen as they argued, trying to figure out how to get out in time to warn Katsuki. They had said he was on his way but maybe you could still warn him.

You tried to work at loosening your bonds but that didn’t go unnoticed by your captors and one of them yelled, “Hey! Stop that!”

You looked up to see a man striding towards you. You barely had time to register that he had drawn back his hand before he slapped you. As your head was snapped to the side, you worried at how little it stung.

You glared into the man’s face. He had long dark hair and was so tall, you had to crane your neck. When he saw your face, he seemed confused.

“I put a bit of my quirk into that. You should be bleeding,” he said. He was the one who had grabbed you.

Before you could respond, you heard an angry shout come from outside. Your heart pounded as you recognized it. No Katsuki, please.

Immediately, the three villains grabbed their weapons and fanned out. They each aimed at the door from different angles. It really did seem like he planned to come straight from there, the idiot. You went back to struggling against your bonds, getting desperate now. Even the thought that your struggling was probably causing them to cut into your skin, and therefore his, didn’t stop you.

Suddenly, the door was blown forward. As it did, you saw that Katsuki was practically riding it inside, using his explosions to propel him. You watched as he barrelled into the villain who had slapped you. When he did, he used the momentum to flip above the villain’s head. The door had managed to flatten First to the ground.

Katsuki landed facing you and he gave you a grin that seemed more than a little crazy. You noticed that he had a cut along his cheek; that must have been what First meant. And what had caused the explosion hero to scream in anger.

“Hey babe, sorry I took so long.” First started to move beneath him and the blonde immediately grabbed him and lifted him into the air. “Are you the fucker who hit my girlfriend?” he asked angrily. Then with the aid of an explosion, he sent the villain slamming back into the ground. As he did, you thought you heard something ping and roll away. First lay unmoving.

A movement behind the hero caught your eye. “Katsuki, watch out!”

He immediately spun around but it was too late. One of the villains, who looked distinctly reptilian, had gotten up and raised his gun. As Katuski spun to face him, the villain let several shots loose.

“NOO!” you screamed, a sob ripping its way through your throat.

When the shots stopped though, the blonde was still standing. You watched for the blood to start blossoming and for him to collapse but he seemed to be looking at something in his hands. The two villains who were still standing stared in shock. “How’s that possible?” said the reptilian villain, which you realized was Squeaky.

Absurdly, Katsuki turned to you, a frown on his face. “Is there something you forgot to tell me about your quirk?”

“What?! That’s what you want to talk about right now?! How’re you not dead?” you yelled, tears streaming down your face.

He held up something in his hands. From what you could tell, it looked like a smushed piece of metal. It took you a second to realize what it must be.

“Is that…?”

“A fucking bullet? Yeah. I just got shot like ten times and not a single one harmed me.”

“Are you saying…my quirk…”

The explosion hero grinned. “Only way to be sure is to test it.” And with that, he jumped into action. As he rushed the villains, they tried to shoot him again but it was a waste of bullets. As he neared the villain who you deduced must be Second, the villain dropped the gun and a fight ensued.

As you watched, you suddenly felt a pair of hands touching your arms, causing you to jump. “Sshh, it’s okay. I’m going to untie you,” came a whisper behind you.

When you were released from your bindings, you turned to see a red-haired man giving you a sharp-toothed grin. It didn’t take you long to realize who it was. “Red Riot?”

“Please, Bakubro’s girlfriend can at least call me Kirishima.”

“But what are you doing here?”

“I’m in charge of getting you out of here while Bakugo distracts the villains. Come on!” He reached for your hand but you pulled back.

“No, you have to help him!”

Kirishima glanced behind you, a look of amusement on his face. “Um…I don’t think he needs my help.” He pointed.

Turning around, you saw Katsuki breathing heavily over the slumped forms of the last two villains. Upon seeing this, you ran to your explosive boyfriend, yelling for him. He turned to you, his crazy grin softening as he saw you.

You jumped on him, hugging him tightly. “Are you okay? Are you hurt? What the hell were you thinking?”

You felt him laugh as he hugged you back. “I was thinking that there was no way hell I was going to let those fucking bastards hurt you. And I’m fucking fine. Look, not a scratch on me!”

He set you down and stood back, holding his arms out. His clothes were completely torn but on closer inspection, you saw that he was right. The only injury he bore was the scratch on his cheek from when the villain had hit you; you reckoned that there was probably a lump somewhere on his head too.

Still…”How is that possible? Your power is explosions, not invulnerability.”

“No but I think yours is.”

“Have you not been paying attention? All my quirk does is hurt people.”

“Yeah, when you’re the one who fucking gets hurt. But what if it also helps the person by making them unable to be injured any other way? Every quirk has its drawbacks and that’s the only part of yours you’ve ever seen.”

“So you’re saying my love…protected you?”

His grin widened even more. “Hell yeah!”

A smile of your own was forming on your lips when you heard a rustling. Suddenly, Squeaky was rushing at Katsuki with what looked like a syringe in his hand. “If we can’t kill you, then how about we take away your quirk?!” he screamed.

Without thinking, you rushed forward, grabbing Squeaky’s wrist that held the syringe and twisting it. It clattered to the ground and you proceeded to twist the villains arm behind his back. Immediately, Katsuki and Kirishima knocked him out together, with punches powered by their quirks.

You threw him to the ground, breathing heavily. You looked up to see both heroes staring at you in amazement. “What?!” you exclaimed indignantly.

“That was so manly,” said Kirishima.

That just caused all of them to burst into laughter. Turning to Kirishima, Katsuki teased, “Guess I’m the fucking Unbreakable Hero, now, huh?”

The red-head made a face. “You think you can take a few bullets and that suddenly makes you unbreakable? It takes more than that.”

“Oh, yeah? What did you have in mind, Shark Week?”

As they continued to banter back and forth, you bent down to pick up the syringe. Inside it was a clear liquid. How about we take away your quirk. That’s what the villain had said. Could it be…had another serum been made?

“___, what is that?” Katsuki’s alarmed voice broke through your thoughts.

Looking up at him, you said, “This is a quirk-removing serum, Katsuki.” Your voice trembled with emotion.

“Yeah, so? Give it to me, I’ll take it in to the police.” He held out his hand.

Shaking your head, you held the syringe closer to you. “Do you know what this means? I could finally be rid of it. I don’t have to hurt you or anybody else ever again.”

“But didn’t you just hear me: it protects me, too.”

“Can I really accept the risk? All it takes is one accident and I could really hurt you. Even kill you. I want it gone, Katsuki!”

The blonde sighed and looked at his friend, who just shrugged his shoulders. Turning back to you, he nodded. “Fucking fine, but before you do, can I just try a couple of things first? You know, for research purposes!”

You frowned. “Try what?”

Katsuki looked around and then picked up a large pole. Handing it to Kirishima, he said, “Hit me with this. As fucking hard as you can.”

“Katsuki!”

“Dude, I am not hitting you with a fucking pole.”

“Oh come on, you fucking chicken. Do it, Shitty Hair! Or are you not manly—”

Ping!

The sound of the pole hitting Katsuki reverberated through the building, causing you to flinch. But when you looked back, you saw that he was fine.

“You call that a fucking hit?! That didn’t even hurt! Let’s try something else!”

“Seriously, dude?”

As the two schemed, you couldn’t help but smile at their antics. Looking down at the syringe, you tightened your hand around it and stashed it in your pocket. You would not be swayed so easily but you had to admit, the true nature of your quirk wasn’t too bad.

A/N2: I apologize for the unimaginative bad guy nicknames. I was struggling with better descriptive ones and finally just gave up.

#boku no hero #boku no hero academia #boku no hero fanfic #my hero academia #bakugou katsuki #bakugo katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #Female reader #Kirishima Eijirou #bnha #bnha kirishima #fluff #the power of love #inumorph #mha

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theoneforgameofthrones · 5 years

Text

Daenerys Targareyan: The Path Towards Madness.

Okay let's begin.

Intro: I read book 1. And then, I binge watched seasons 1-6 after season 6 finale. By that time, I knew all the major theories like L+R=J, dark!dany, targ!tyrion etc.

So, I was paying extra attention and these are some of the obvious moments where I felt they showed Dany's mad side show. Some points, you may find valid. Some points you may find silly and over-reaching. In any case, this is what *I* felt.

Feel free to have discussions. Appreciate positive critisism. However, just yelling/abusing will not be tolerated.

1. Lack of Empathy

Her obvious lack of empathy when her brother was killed.

I did not expect her to save him. I did not expect her to mourn him. I did not even expect her to cry for him. I did, however, expect a reaction, any sort of reaction, when someone close (despite him being an abusive asshole) dies that suddenly and that violently.

2. Her facial expression during Drogo's speech.

"I will kill the men in iron suits and tear down their stone houses! I will rape their women, take their children as slaves and bring their broken gods back to Vaes Dothrak!"

3. During her Breaker of Chains phase, she conviniently seemed to forget that she used to practice not only slavery, but also pillaging while she was with her khalesar.

Master Illeryoi owned slaves. Her brother owned slaves. She was gifted slaves to teach her how to please the Khal.

Her husband was a war-lord and her khalesar constantly raided and pillaged villages. They killed men. They raped women. Remaining alive women were taken as sex slaves and later sold. That was their way of life. She saved Mirri Maz Duur and several other women from the fate of gang rape and murder but they were still dragged along side the khalasar as slaves. In books, the reason MMD was not sold was so that she can assist Dany during childbirth.

4. The burning of Mirri Maz Duur (MMD)

This is going to make sense to a lot of people. But confuse the fuck out of many. But let's see.

In colonized countries, we have a term called "Savior's Complex". It is where a colonizer raids a country, steal its riches, impose extreme taxing, destory most of its heritage and then expect praise for bringing something (could be education, technology, architecture).

Dany takes the complex another step above. She not only expects gratitude from an enslaved MMD while dragging her along with her khalesar with sole purpose of assistance with childbirth, she also expects her to save the life of her husband. The war-lord whose khalesar raided her home, pillaged her village, killed her countrymen, raped/killed her countrywomen, dragged remaining alive women along with the khalesar to be sold later. Despite all this, Dany expects gratitude from MMD for her life. This flawed logic however is thrown back in her face.

"So, tell me again exactly what it was that you saved?"

"Your life."

"Why don't you take a look at your Khal? Then you will see exactly what life is worth, when all the rest has gone."

This is an old age tale of revenge. Khal raided her village. She took revenge on them for destroying her temple. Dany burned her for it.

What completely bamboozled me in this fandom was how much people hated MMD for what she did while completely making Dany the victim in this scenario while forgetting that MMD was the orginal victim who was not only an enslaved prisoner of war, but also gang-raped victim of her khalesar's doing.

5. Ser Barriston's words.

Ser Barriston in Mereen, tells her to treat injustice with mercy. She replies that she will treat injustice with justice.

Another quote by Ser Barriston: "He gave people the people the justice he thought they deserved."

Justice and what people in power percieve as justice is often very different.

6. Daenerys' justice for the crucified slave children

She did that by choosing 163 random Great Masters and crucifying them to avenge the 163 slave children. This seems like justice. But is it, really? They never recieved trial. They were never proven guilty. Like Hizdahr Loraq said, some of the masters were not in favor of crucifying children and tried very hard to stop it. Who knows how many other good masters she crucified?

This is a direct parallel to Ser Barriston's words about Mad King Aerys: "He gave people the people the justice he thought they deserved."

7. She stopped slavery only when it benefitted her.

Some of you, while reading point 6, may have thought, "They were SLAVERS! So what?!".

Well, while choosing 163 masters, Dany decided that all Masters are her enemies. She decided that all of them deserved punishment. She decided that they were guilty just for engaging in slavery while conviniently forgetting that if that were the case, she should be the one in the first cross.

8. She burnt Great Masters without even investigating who were behind the Sons of Harpy's attack.

After Ser Barriston's death, we again get to see more of her twisted sense of justice. By her own words, "Who is innocent? Maybe all of you are, maybe none of you are. Maybe, I should let the dragons decide."

It is not supposed to be called justice if you punish (and a cruel punishment, at that) without even caring whether they are innocent or not.

9. "You are a conquerer. Not a ruler."

Time and time again Dany proves this to be true. She conquered Yunkai and left immeidetely. The slavers took back the city in no time. She closed off the fighting pits and refused to open them despite being told that participants will be free men who enter willingly. This is where ruling comes in. Any place she conquered and freed, she failed to put something else to keep up the economy. She collapsed the economy so bad that slaves were selling themselves again.

10. Wrongful imprisonment.

Dany finds that Drogon has harmed children. The correct response is to either train or punish the dragons. She, however, imprisons the two dragons who werent at fault while Drogon ran free. Does that mean she is not responsible for whatever terror or death Drogon caused to wherever he flew off to? What exactly does imprisoning Rhaegar and Viseryion get her?

What kind of justice is it where the accused is free while the innocent get prisoned for association. Again, feeds into the twisted justice train.

11. Twisted Justice. Hipocrisy. Again.

While many men were fed to dragons, Hizdahr Loraq was imporisoned. He begged for mercy in terror.She also decides that she will show her respect for Meereen by marrying a member of one of its great families. For a woman who was forced into marriage and "sold like a broodmare", she sure didn't feel any moral dilemma in making a terrifed man betroth her. His death though, proved that he was not at all involved with Sons of Harpy and he was imprisoned for nothing.

12. Burning POW's

Burning Tarly's (father and son) was a direct paralell to her father burning Ned's father and brother alive. You cannot hide behind "It was a war. She gave them a choice." No matter what defenses one can attempt to give her, killing (forget burning) POW is a war crime. So is forcing prisoners against their own side of war.

13. Defending cruelty in path of justice

She killed Tarly's and defended that decision, by saying that was necessary.

When Hizdahr asks her how many men will have died to achieve her goal, she says "They would have died for a greater cause." She is talking about destroying cities and sure, that must be for a greater purpose.

When Tyrion reminds her that about what her father planned to do when she said she wnated to burn Mereen to the ground.. her response was "This is different,". How, exactly?

"The easiest way to defend cruelty is to say that it is part of the destiny."

14. The insinct to burn down cities.

By s8e01, she has wanted to burn down cities thrice. Meereen - once. King's Landing - twice. Both times, she had to be talked out of it by her advisors. The fact that her first instinct when her plans were failing was to burn down cities. Direct parallel to Aerys wanting to destroy king's landing because he thought there were traitors everywhere. The fact is that a person can surrond themselves with good counsel. But it is not necessary that the counsel is always heeded. Which is what happened to Aerys. He was going incresingly mad for months and his counsel members hid the fact from the outside world because they thought they could control the madness. We all know what happened in the end.

Since s7, Dany has been becoming increasingly paranoid about Tyrion's loyalty and increasingly more frustrated with every loss. How long before she decides not to listen to them anymore?

15. The entire collonialist/white savior imagary presented in Essos.

It is amazing how most of the fandom either ignores it or is just unaware of it.

Though this point doesnt parallel anything to the show, i just found it extremely cringy. I am sure members of most colonized countries would. I cant even beging to describe how cringy that mysha scene was.

16. The typical white priviledge mentality.

She wants to inherit her ancestor's throne and power. But she doesnt want to repent for her ansestor's sins and betrayal.

17. Wrong sense of entitlement

She truly believes that she is entitled to the North's fealty. She asks Jon Snow not to judge her based on her ancestors and in the same breath asks him to hold up the vows of his ancestors.

But, whatever vow the Starks made to the Targareans was broken the moment Aerys decided to burn the Starks. The fealty was made on promise of protection. Technically, any member of the houses that Aerys burnt, is no longer accountable to the vow.

Still, she expects everyone to uphold their fealty but refusing to accpet that her father broke that fealty when he decided to burn the vassels (whom he promised to protect) alive.

18. Savior Complex

Some parts of Dany reminds me of how missionaries work.

"Will your God punish me for not praying to him if I did not know about him?"

"No."

"Then why did you tell me about him?"

I believe one thing about Daenerys Targareyan. That she truly wants to help people. That she truly wants to save people. But her problem is, she wants to be the one to save people. She doesnt seem to understand that some people dont require saving.

She talks about freeing the world of tyrants and in the same breath refuses to give North the independence that they demand in solidarity. How is that not the definition of tyranny?

This is Westeros. I am not expecting a democracy and free elections. If she wants to be a conquerer, then she can be one. If she wants to bring to bring together the 7k, she can. What she cannot do is talk about destiny, talk about a wheel, talk about breaking the wheel, and and then do the exact same thing her ansestors did years go by spinning the wheel so that she is on top.

19. She was smiling when she saw that her dragons terrified people of Winterfell.

20. "They eat whatever they want"

Is that really the correct way to respond to people are already scared/cowering over the arrival of dragons? To people who have never seen such beasts before? Did she forget that few seasons ago "whatever they want" that Drogon ate were children?

21. Jaime's trial

She made Jaime stand trial and was heavily leaning towards punish him despite the fact that she knew what her father had planned and what Jaime Lannister had done. She openly spoke in favor of the Mad King in front of Northern Lords. When Tyrion intervened, she publically breated him and questioned his loyalty. Further adds to the Mad King's paranoia and unwillingness to listen to counsel.

22. Jaime Lannister

Not only has he tried to kill her, he has also questioned her intentions twice. The only living person who knows about Mad King more than anyone is perhaps Jaime Lannister. When he questions Tyrion, "Is she really different? Are you sure?" in a sceptical tone. If he doesnt trust her or thinks she had the Targ madness, then I am willing to bet that she probably does.

23. Her decling human connections

the show seems adament in making her seem alone. Like a stranger in her own home land. In an episode full of emotional reconnections, tenderness, friendships and relationships, she is shown all alone. In later episodes, she is incresingly shown alientated: Theon coming to fight for the starks despite being her bannerman, death of the Jorah, Tyrion's withdrawal.

24. jorah was her mercy.

She had shown jorah mercy despite his betrayal. She cared for him and most importantly, completely trusted and listened to him. When she felt no remorse about berating Tyrion and strongarming Sansa, jorah urges her to forgive tyrion and to try and make amends with LAdy of Winterfell. And, she listened to him. He is the only advisor she fully trusts and listens to without having to worry about wavering loyalties. And jorah's death is going to be the acorn in Ice Age that started the avalanche.

<<2 episodes left. will add more after next one airs.>>

This is not to say that she was an evil character. She was a good person with good intentions and bad execution with a twisted sense of justice and destiny. But, the journey to hell is paved with good intensions. Dany was a character who had the potential to be great. But she was always headed to doom. She is a good person whose downfall will be due to pride, ambition and obsession with destiny. She will chose her fate with a sound mind but a flawed personality. Her story will not be heroic, but tragic. Not because of what she was, but because of how she could have been.

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yandereshit · 5 years

Note

"See, I've stalked you for some time before snatching you up!" or "I usually like to get to know my victims a little before I kill them." for Izaya Orihara please! I figured they fit him perfectly and I'm in such a dark mood so I'm down for whatever you want to throw at me! I̶ ̶w̶o̶u̶l̶d̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶b̶e̶ ̶a̶g̶a̶i̶n̶s̶t̶ ̶s̶o̶m̶e̶ ̶i̶n̶t̶e̶n̶s̶e̶ ̶p̶s̶y̶c̶h̶o̶l̶o̶g̶i̶c̶a̶l̶ ̶t̶o̶r̶t̶u̶r̶e̶ ̶t̶h̶o̶u̶g̶h̶~̶

FYI I have NO CLUE how long has this been lying in my drafts but I noticed it like now oasihfoiasdhoias

Izaya Orihara x Reader: relatively innocent.

Warnings: mentions of death, mind games, torture.

˙·٠•●♥ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ♥●•٠·˙

A simple, textile bag had been torn off your head, and your sight finally returned, giving you a very short-living sense of relief.

Your wrists were tied tightly behind your back, and you were sat on some sort of chair. Your head was still dizzy as you moved, trying to get a hold of your surroundings and the situation you found yourself in. The room was dark, with only two bulbs to allow you to see anything, yet their light being not strong enough to let you make out the exact contours of the room.

Undoubtedly, you weren’t in the room alone. On the wooden chair opposite of yours, a silhouette sat, holding the bag and staring forward at your terrified self, not bothered much by the tears that showed themselves on your face, having flowed down your cheeks sometime ago and then dried out. Maybe if the lighting was better, he could actually see them clearly. But your quiet sobs were enough of a proof, and your face didn’t have to be visible for anyone to know what state you were in.

You wondered about his own face, but it was too dark for you to make out anything specific. But the man didn’t seem to want you to memorize him, and you had a feeling that it’d be safer for you if you didn’t.

Once your sobs calmed down a little, his voice echoed in the room, making you almost jump when it rung out of blue, after such a long silence you’ve been stuck in.

“I suppose you’re good enough to talk now” he announced. He was smiling, that much you could tell from his tone alone, his white teeth only slightly visible, giving you a brief image of how he grinned.

“What do you want from me?” you snapped, but your voice betrayed you, clearly trembling through the whole sentence.

A short silence fell upon the two of you, and as soon as the man spoke again, you wished he never did.

“I usually like to get to know my victims a little before I kill them.”

You could swear your heart stopped beating for a second, and you stared dumbly at the other, waiting for him to continue, to explain what exactly he meant, clearly still not believing in such words, because how could you - it sounded too simple, too straightforward to be true, didn’t it?

It didn’t.

As your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you were starting to make out the contours of your surroundings, and your kidnapper’s wicked smile was one of them.

What kind of psychopath was he…? What did he want to do with you? Just why, out of so many young women or people in general living in the crowded city of Tokyo, you were the one who’d been chosen by this man, a complete stranger you’ve never seen or heard of, even after having been raised in the comfort of knowing Japan as the safest place to live on the earth?

“Who are you…?” you finally uttered, your voice weak, still disbelieving, still unable to proceed what was happening.

“Me?” The man seemed genuinely surprised with your question. “I assure you it’s meaningless right now. I’m no one you should be concerned about. For your information, I’m not your enemy. You’ve never done anything to me or anyone I know. So don’t try to make up any reasons, because there’s really none.”

Out of all the people in this forsaken city, you were the one who fell victim to this man. No reason, just… lack of luck, it seemed.

Yet, how could you just accept it? It was your own life that was on line here, and the perspective of losing it out of a mere accident was not what you’ve aimed for ever in your lifespan.

A quiet, frustrated sob escaped your throat.

“W-what do you want?” you asked again. “W-why would you… want to…” The words wouldn’t go through your throat, their weight - suffocating.

Not waiting for you to finish, the man shrugged, unbothered.

“Absolutely no reason. I just thought, why not? I can kill someone without getting caught, so why not do it? Oh, look, there’s that girl passing by. Wonder what she’s up to. Wonder how she’ll react if I take her, will she be scared? She sure will. Will she start yelling at me? Screaming for help? Beg for her life? Try to bargain me in some way? I was just so, so curious about her.”

His words wouldn’t make any sense in your head. Just what kind of person does that? Just what kind of person is he? Even criminals have their reasons. But this one? He seems to not have any greater purpose, other than his own twisted thoughts or desires.

“F-fine!” you exclaimed in a shaky voice. “Just kill me, then!” you yelled, more of emotions than any sort of actual wish.

“So quickly? Come on, we still have so much time. At least I do, I’m not hurrying anywhere. Seriously though, I haven’t even hurt you yet, and you’re already begging to be killed?”

“Just tell me what the fuck you want from me!”

A short silence fell upon you two, the air filled with your emotions, so strong and vivid, your fear mixed with anger, impatience and annoyance. You were like a wild animal caught in snares, still dangerous to whoever would want to set you free.

In the meantime though, the man seemed terrifyingly calm and composed. He crossed his legs elegantly, observing you with a small, polite smile on his face, completely unbothered with your rage, as if you were nothing but a random show on TV, unable to harm him in any way, and meant to be only watched until its end, and then probably forgotten.

“Let’s play a game” he suddenly spoke, smiling politely. You tried to, but couldn’t make out any more of his face features, and you came to a conclusion he just really didn’t want you to be able to see him well. Maybe you could recognize him if you did? Yet, he seemed unfamiliar. The aura he gave was nothing you’d recall, yet, along with lack of opportunity to see him whole, it added to the terror and uneasiness he caused in you, your primal instincts just screaming to run away from him - as if you could.

“What game?” you decided to ask, although your voice was quiet and weak at this point.

“Well, I’m going to ask you three questions. If you answer all of them, I’ll release you. If not - I’ll kill you. Any questions?”

“You’re insane.”

“It’s not a question, it’s a statement.”

“A pretty fucking accurate one” you snapped.

The man burst into laughter, pretty much confirming to you what you just said. But he didn’t seem bothered, instead continuing his previous monologue.

“Okay then, seems like you’re ready. Don’t worry, there’s no time limit, you can take as much as you need to reply.” He cleared his throat, switching his position a little to get more comfortable. You stared at him uneasily, focusing as much as you could on whatever he’d have to say. “First question! Who’s the prime minister of Japan?”

Was that it? It sounded simple. The name instantly appeared in your head, but then you thought - what if it’s wrong? Your life was on the line, you couldn’t afford yourself to be mistaken. Could you just trust your instinct? Maybe you should think more about it?

“Come on, this one’s easy, everyone knows it” the man said, laughing in a manner that could go as genuine if not the circumstances it was done in.

“Shinzo… Abe?” you answered, the end of the reply hitching in question though, as if you weren’t sure of your own words.

“You see? It was a simple one! I made it easier for you on purpose, so that you wouldn’t feel too scared. Hope it worked!” He smiled widely. “Second question. Who am I?”

Your breath got stuck in your throat for a few seconds, and there was a tense silence, the one you forced yourself to break a moment later.

“H-how am I supposed to know that?! You said it yourself, we’ve never met before! How can I answer your question?!”

You could have predicted that. The first question was too easy, to give you a false impression that he’d really go easy on you. But he wouldn’t, he never planned to, the questions he picked weren’t the ones you were supposed to know the answer to.

An unwitting sob escaped your throat, and tears streamed down your face once again.

“I-I don’t know…”

“Should I take it as, you give up?” the man asked, his face twisting in displeasure.

“…No…” you added quietly. You couldn’t give up your life, you were sure of that. You fixated your eyes on the floor, biting on your lip. “…My kidnapper. That’s whom you are to me” you finally announced, dreading for his reaction, yet fully aware that there’s nothing else you can say now. It was the only thing you knew. And it was…

“…Correct.” Said kidnapper chuckled, tilting his head. “You’re definitely correct here. I won’t break my own rules, will I? I didn’t specify what kind of information I demand from you. You’re correct.”

Your eyes blurred with tears and your breath got heavy. For a few moments, no sounds would reach you, but you couldn’t tell if the man was saying anything, you felt like your consciousness slipped away for these few brief moments, the rush of adrenaline, stress and anxiety making you pass out for seconds.

When you came back to your senses, everything was right as you remembered it. The man sat in front of you, observing you calmly, patiently waiting for you to be able to proceed. And once he was sure you were listening to him again, he also spoke.

“Last question. We’re almost there, you see? Only one question, and we’ll know what happens to you. Ready?” You sluggishly nodded your head, to which the man grinned. “So, what’s the length of Congo River?”

“What…?”

It took you a few moments of complete bewilderment, during which you only stared forward, absolutely dumbfounded.

The length of some river you recognized as African sounded like common knowledge. Probably more people knew of Congo River’s existence than they knew the name of Japan’s Prime Minister.

Yet, you didn’t know the answer. Your mind went wild, and you thought vividly of all the possible comparisons you could find. But you couldn’t even place the river anywhere on the map to even compare the lengths, and was it a long river? It had to be, since you’ve heard of it. What was the longest river in the world? How long was it? You surely had to be told it before, during geography classes. The longest river in the world… Around… eight thousands of kilometers? Did it make sense? It sounded like it did. Or maybe not… Five? Five, it had to be five.

Congo River had to be shorter, but how much? You had no clue. It wasn’t that known, the difference had to be meaningful. Half of the longest river? More? Less? Maybe less. Two thousands? He definitely didn’t expect you to know the exact number, but maybe you were remotely right?

And maybe no matter what you said, he wouldn’t let you go, anyway?

“T-two thousands kilometers” you finally voiced, staring at him intensely, waiting for him to either confirm your words or to bury your last hopes for freedom.

The man took out his phone, and the light for a short time highlighted his features, but then he turned down the brightness and you were left in almost the same darkness as before.

After a few seconds, he spoke.

“The Congo-Lualaba-Chambeshi River system has an overall length of 4,700 km.”

The breath escaped you and your head fell forwards, sobs wrecking your body and your head aching, your heart beating so fast you felt like you would die from a heart attack before the man would finally end your sufferings.

Without hurry, he stood up. You didn’t dare to return his gaze, but in the corner of your eye, you saw him pull out a small knife. Your heart only beated faster as he approached you, and then stood behind you, disappearing from the range of your sight. But maybe it was for the better, you thought. Maybe it was better you didn’t have to see him.

Would he make it fast? As painless as possible? If he sliced your throat, the agony would only last a few minutes, before your body would go completely numb from the bloodloss. Maybe it’d be worse if he cut through your windpipes, you wouldn’t be able to breathe, but wouldn’t it make it last even shorter? You hoped it would. You didn’t want to die in agony, but the shorter it lasted, the better.

What was afterlife like?

“Here.”

You heard a sound behind yourself, and soon enough, you felt the blood rush back into your hands, the rope that kept you tied to the chair falling to the ground, leaving you confused and dumbfounded.

You panted in a newfound sense of panic. Would he take you somewhere else? Make you suffer in another way? Take his time bringing you to your promised death?

“The door’s on your left” the man announced, his voice echoing in your ears for how close he was to you, standing right behind you, way too close for your comfort, if there was any of it left.

“W-what…?”

“Just go, I suppose you have other plans for today” he shrugged, pushing the blade back to his pocket and going in the door’s direction himself, as if completely uninterested in whatever you’d do.

“B-but why…”

His frame shook in a silent laughter as he stood by the door, barely visible, but apparently ready to leave the room, to - finally - leave you alone.

“The game’s rules said, I’ll release you if you answer all the three questions. You did it, hence why you’re free. I never specified I want the answers to be correct, though.”

The light of the outside world blinded you for a few seconds when the man opened the door, stepping into the outside world. The door never closed though, and you were positive by now, that it wouldn’t.

And it was never supposed to, because for all Izaya Orihara was, he definitely wasn’t a killer. A kidnapper - yes, but a relatively innocent one.

˙·٠•●♥ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ♥●•٠·˙

#izaya #orihara #durarara #izaya orihara imagine #izaya x reader #prompt #fanfiction #kanra #nakura #have u ever realized that kanra is nakura but like with the order of letters changed?#i was shook when i noticed #like these two years ago

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vcg73 · 4 years

Text

Witch!Kurt Chapter 41: Dearly Beloved

Just a happy wedding day!

~*~*~*~*~*~

After eating his fill of the mismatched buffet that his new sister-in-law had Conjured, sampling everything from chicken-and-waffles to bangers-and-mash, followed by a 90 minute sofa-nap in Adam’s arms, Kurt was more than ready to make his wedding day official.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have Finn, or Fam, or whatever they’re calling themself now, take over as Best Man?” Elliott asked. “It isn’t that I don’t want the job, but I already stood by you for the first ceremony and Adam is having his brother for both, so with you finally getting your own brother back, I kind of thought…”

Kurt stopped the selfless offer with a hug-tackle, surprising a laugh out of his best friend as Elliott caught him and stumbled back a pace.

“I love you, you know that?” Kurt said as he held his friend.

As he pulled away he took a moment to straighten the sparkly blue bow-tie Elliott had fastened around his neck, seeing that his enthusiasm had knocked it askew. The tie had been spell-cast to stay in its current state, growing or shrinking at need when Elliott changed in and out of his cat form. A jaunty blue-banded top hat - likewise enchanted - was perched upon his head, and the hug seemed to have done it no harm, but Kurt couldn’t resist giving it a little adjustment anyway.

“Think about all the things we’ve shared over these last few months, El. With magic, Adam, and just day to day life, it’s been a lot! Your patience and devotion never wavered through any of it. Nobody in my life has ever been there for me in quite the way you have, especially when there was nothing to be gained from it except my friendship. As much as I love him, that’s something that I can’t say of anyone else, including Finn. So as thrilled as I am to be able to have my brother here today with the rest of my family, you’re still the one I want to finish this standing at my side. Okay?”

Elliott was blushing at the rush of compliments. “Well, in that case, I wouldn’t miss it for the world. And don’t discount your friendship as being worth all the rest, Kurt. Beyond just the witch/Familiar bond we share, you’ve always been there for me when I needed a boost, or a kick in the pants, or just someone to go out and have some fun with. Even when you were busy enough to make my head spin, you always had a minute for me when I needed one. So, seriously, ditto.”

The two friends embraced again, then went to join the family. The remainder of the coven and Sebastian had already departed to get things set up for the reception, leaving just the two grooms, their families, Elliott, and Mercedes, whom Kurt had invited to join them, fulfilling a promise made when they were both small-town high schoolers with no idea whether this day would ever come.

Seeing that everyone was ready, Henry Crawford ordered everyone to join hands, then he promptly whisked the entire group across the city, reappearing a block from the Manhattan City Hall. There was no point in the grooms avoiding one another before the wedding, and since both young men felt that they’d already been wed during the morning’s ceremony at their apartment, this was more of a formality for Adam and Kurt.

For all the fevered anticipation that led to getting married, the legal portion was very low-key. Kurt and Adam’s party simply waited in line at the Marriage Bureau door behind several other couples and their families, then went inside when they reached the front. Kurt and Adam presented their marriage license and identifications which got them a waiting room number. Everyone sat down on a set of comfortable green couches.

“Not sure if you boys are getting married or waiting on a driving test,” Burt commented, looking a bit grumpy as Kurt and Adam’s number was called, they and their best men went to a little window to fill out some paperwork as participants and witnesses, and then came back to wait some more.

Adam laughed. “Well, it is a government building,” he said, “and bureaucracy is a largely universal experience. Plus we chose what is probably one of the most sought-after wedding dates of the year.”

Noting that he sounded slightly apologetic for his choice, Kurt squeezed his hand. “It’s romantic,” he said. “I love that we’re getting married on Valentine’s Day. It’s worth a few rounds of waiting in line to know that in a little while, you and I will be legally married.”

As he was wont to do, Adam beamed brightly at the reminder of their soon-to-be wedded state, and the reaction brought answering smiles to every other face.

A few minutes went by and they watched as one, then two, then three other couples were called ahead of them to enter what appeared to be some sort of atrium. The last step before the weddings would commence.

“It’s almost time!” Donny Crawford said with a sunny grin that matched his brother’s. “Are you excited?”

“I am,” Adam agreed. “This probably won’t take more than a couple of minutes, but the butterflies are doing an anticipatory conga line inside my stomach.”

His father chuckled and wrapped one long arm around his younger son’s back, gently gripping Adam’s neck and giving it an affectionate little shake. “As someone who had almost given up on the possibility of this day, seeing my eldest son back among us, alive and well and standing up to marry the love of his life, I have to say that I’m experiencing a few butterflies myself. Though mine seem to have centered a little higher.”

He tapped his breastbone and Adam nodded. “Me too, Dad. Me too. And it means the world that all of you came out to share this day.”

“We wouldn’t have missed it, sweetheart,” his grandmother said, reaching across the narrow aisle to pat her grandson’s knee in affection. “Your father is right. It’s a true miracle that you’re here, nearly yourself again, and embarking on the finest adventure any two people can ever take together. Assuming they’re the right two people, of course, and I have no doubt that you two are right. I feel blessed to be gaining another grandson, and after what I witnessed this morning, I feel even more sure that you’ve found your true partner in life.”

Kurt blushed as everyone looked at him with proud and loving eyes, but he refused to allow himself to shrink back or deflect the compliment in his usual instinctive fashion. What these wonderful people felt for him was as real, as genuine, as the similar feelings he felt for all of them. “Thanks, June.”

“And we feel the same way about Adam,” Carole added, looking at her new step-son-in-law with affectionate eyes. “His bravery and resourcefulness and strength are a perfect match for Kurt’s. Without each other, I don’t believe either of you would be standing here today, and neither of these families would be whole, never mind as happy as we are now.” She smiled at her son, not even seeing the discrepancy in the blue eyes that looked back at her with such profound love and joy. They were all becoming more accustomed to the duality of Finn and Sam with every passing moment, and “Fam” seemed surprisingly at ease with their new state.

“I’m just happy to be here today,” Finn said simply, giving Kurt and Adam a bright grin. “I’m happy to be anywhere, actually. And in a little while, we’re all going to an awesome party, and then I get to go back and see Lima again, thanks to you. Life is good, brothers.”

“Hear, hear!” Celeste seconded, taking Finn, who was sitting next to her, by the hand and giving it a little squeeze.

Mercedes and Kurt exchanged a significant glance when the young man blushed at the contact and squeezed her hand back before letting go with visible reluctance. It seemed someone had developed a hard and fast crush on Adam’s lovely younger sister. The question was, were the feelings coming from Sam, or from Finn? Was Finn destined for yet another long-distance relationship, or was this just a reaction to having a pretty girl flirt with him, however unintentionally, after a long absence?

Either way, this was not a situation that Kurt felt up to worrying about just yet, especially since Adam did not appear to have taken any notice of it. And either way, Kurt was glad to see that Mercedes didn’t seem to be upset at the sight of her ex-boyfriend – or his body at any rate – making eyes at another girl. Thankfully, it appeared that his best friend had moved on when she left the city of New York.

After a few more minutes, their number was called again and the wedding party moved into the atrium, standing there for a short while as the couple ahead of them were having their ceremony. Then they were ushered into a “chapel”, really just a largish room with benches on either side and a podium at the front. It was decorated in rainbow artwork that made the two grooms grin at each other. It was a perfect setting.

Everyone took their places. Kurt and Adam joined hands in front of the podium, behind which a middle aged woman in a black suit dress waited, and Elliott and Donny stood at their sides. Everyone else took seats on the padded benches.

The officiant was plump and gray haired, with kind dark eyes and a grandmotherly air. In spite of the assembly-line of weddings she had doubtless been performing all day, she seemed to be enjoying the moment and smiled warmly at the young couple. She glanced down at the paperwork they had presented, verifying their names before beginning, “Ladies and Gentlemen, family and friends, welcome. We gather here today to witness the joining of Adam Crawford and Kurt Hummel in the union of marriage. This is a contract to be entered into thoughtfully and seriously, with a full realization of the obligations and responsibilities therein.”

After the ornate rituals, and emotional grandeur of their Joining ceremony, followed by the drama of Kurt’s venture into the Void, both grooms were glad that they had opted for a simple wedding, yet as she spoke those words they nodded to one another, both very conscious of the magnitude of this moment, and how lucky they were to be having it after the long journey that had led them here.

“Do you, Adam, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband? Do you promise to love, honor, cherish and protect him, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?”

Adam squeezed the hands he held and said firmly, “I do.”

“And do you, Kurt, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband? Do you promise to love, honor, cherish and protect him, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?”

Eyes shining, Kurt said, “I do.”

“And will you now exchange rings as a symbol of your love and commitment to each other?”

Adam accepted the band his brother handed to him. The actual wedding rings were as much a match as the Joining bands had been, a unique design that was Adam’s personal contribution to this grand day. His grandmother had taken his design to a jeweler she knew and trusted in London, and brought back the result; slim but well crafted white-gold bands with black tungsten borders, each etched with fine Celtic runes that were highlighted by a pair of tiny diamonds that had been transferred from the settings of his and Kurt’s mothers’ engagement rings. Burt and Bethany – who had inherited her mother’s wedding-set - had both been happy to donate the stones once they discovered what Adam intended.

The new rings were a lovely complement to the delicate silver rings they already wore and Adam smiled at this sight of as he slipped the new addition onto Kurt’s long slender ring finger, then repeated after the officiant. “As a sign of my love, to show the world that I have chosen you above all others; with this ring, I thee wed.”

Kurt accepted the matching symbol from Elliott and placed it upon Adam’s hand, also smiling at the sight of the two rings nestled together on his finger. “As a sign of my love, to show the world that I have chosen you above all others; with this ring, I thee wed.”

The Officiant smirked and the two grooms and their Best Men chuckled when Burt and Henry both pulled out hankies and treated the room to a thunderous double honk of emotion.

“On that note,” the woman said with a grin. “By the power vested in me by the city, county, and state of New York, it is my pleasure to pronounce you husband and husband! You may kiss the groom.”

Family and friends applauded noisily as Kurt and Adam exchanged their very first kiss as a married couple.

The Officiant shook hands with both young men, congratulating them, and then they were swept up in a flurry of hugs and kisses from their families.

“Well,” Adam said, grinning as Kurt passed through the gauntlet of teary squeezes and was finally returned to his side where they kissed again with resounding enthusiasm, “That was easy! How do you feel, husband?”

Kurt laughed. “Like it’s going to take me a little while to get used to hearing that word and knowing it’s real.” He held up his left hand, admiring the new addition. “This is beautiful, Adam. I know I said so when you first showed it to me, but it practically screams ‘envy me my gorgeous and intelligent husband’.”

Adam kissed him on the side of his face, holding his own hand next to Kurt’s. “Well, if that’s so then this one definitely says, ‘luckiest man on earth’. Or maybe just the happiest one.”

It didn’t make sense that Kurt should suddenly feel more important now than he had fifteen minutes ago, but he did. Signing the legal paperwork and going through the wedding ceremony had given him the sense of accomplishment and completion. After all of the false starts, endless doubts, and painful disillusion of his relationship with Blaine, this moment, and his complete certainty of its rightness, felt like the sweetest of victories.

Recognizing that the officiant had other couples impatiently waiting for their own turn to see her, Kurt and Adam led their families out of the office and back to the street. The government building had too many security cameras, and the street outside was becoming too crowded to risk traveling by magic, so Elliott pulled out his phone and called up the biggest ride-share vehicle he could find.

Everyone squeezed into the new ride, June generously offering to pay Elliott back for the service, and headed to the Vogue Ballroom.

~*~*~*~*~

As they walked toward the reception hall, Kurt put out a feeler, pleased to note the presence of a powerful ward that obliged by parting to admit their group as each individual or couple pressed their little silver key into the waiting heart-shaped box next to the door. The ward instantly slammed shut behind them once everyone was through, telling him that the complicated spell he had crafted was working perfectly.

A quick blink of Sight showed that the room was also properly webbed by a series of interlinked spells grounded from centerpiece to centerpiece.

For a moment, Kurt felt extremely proud of his work. Then he forgot all about it as he and Adam were swept into the room on a tidal wave of hugs, kisses, handshakes, back-slaps, and a cacophony of congratulations.

Everyone they’d invited who had possibly been able to come on such relatively short notice was here. All of the coven, Maggie Banks, Janice Ugambe, Isabelle Wright, Chase Madison, Sue Sylvester, Mike Chang and his new girlfriend, Artie Abrams, Unique Adams, friends from the Spotlight diner, a few more from Adam’s home town, Apples both old and new, Troy, Dale, at least two dozen friends from NYADA, and even, somewhat to Kurt’s shock, Will and Emma Schuester.

Kurt had hesitated to invite the latter couple, considering how painfully short-sighted his former Glee teacher had been in dealing with those gifted in non standard (or Standard) ways, and the help that wild-witch Will had unwittingly (he hoped) given to Blaine. Yet he had not wanted to start this new chapter of his life holding a grudge, either, and it had felt rude to exclude the man after he had been invited to both of his former instructor’s wedding attempts with Emma.

She had ultimately been the deciding factor. Kurt had always liked quiet, quirky, sweet hearted Miss Pillsbury, who was not always successful in her attempts at helping students, but was one of the few authority figures at McKinley who genuinely gave a damn about them all. She had done her best to make sure that Kurt always knew he had someone in his corner, and he would always be grateful for the care she had shown him when his father was hospitalized with a heart-related coma. That alone was worth an invitation.

Besides, it was clear from the Schuesters’ demeanor, hugging the breath out of him and then prattling on about how proud they were, how great he looked, and how nice it was to meet Adam, all with nary an awkward mention of Kurt’s last engagement; that they also wanted to move forward. Kurt was not quite sure if he should feel grateful or annoyed by this, but he ultimately just slipped an extra layer of warding around his inner walls to protect him from any Random influence that Mr Schue might potentially project his way – indicating for Adam to do the same – and decided to enjoy the attention without searching for a hidden agenda.

Besides, Mr. Shue really was clueless enough to think they’d all had a happy-happy-joy-joy experience together, so he might as well let someone live happily in the past while Kurt moved forward into a much better and brighter future.

For his part, Adam simply satisfied himself with an eyebrow twitch that was worth a thousand words to Kurt’s experienced eye, then graciously smiled and shook hands with the two teachers, thanking them for coming to celebrate the big day, then moving on by inquiring after the little sibling that the Schuesters’ son Danny was clearly expecting, from the prominent bulge at the front of Emma’s adorable peach-colored dress. The proud parents shared that they were expecting a daughter in just over three months, and Kurt had to physically stop himself from rolling his eyes when he heard that Will wanted to name the child Rachel. Emma clearly wasn’t entirely on board with that idea, from her uncomfortable facial expression, so Kurt knew that he was not alone in questioning the appropriateness of naming one’s child after a favorite ex-student.

They made their way through a few more well-wishers. Isabelle Wright nearly strangled Kurt with the enthusiasm of her hug, making him laugh even as he hugged her back. For such a tiny woman, she had a lot of power! She hugged Adam too, beaming at them both as she wished them a long and happy life together.

The newlyweds took center stage on the large dance floor in the middle of the room when One Three Hill took to the stage, with Santana, Brittany, Mercedes, and Sebastian joining them as guest singers.

Kurt and Adam first stepped into the arms of their proudly beaming fathers and did a simple box-step around the floor with them while their friends sang the Rod Stewart classic “Forever Young”. By the time they reached the lyric ‘When you finally fly away, I’ll be hoping that I served you well’, both of the older men were unable to stop tears from running down their proudly smiling faces, and by the time the song ended, each dancing couple had taken a stance that was little more than a tight, vaguely shuffling embrace.

Then Henry and Burt handed their sons off to one another and the song changed. To the surprise of both grooms, Monica and Sebastian pulled out a pair of electric violins, nodded to one another, and began playing a gorgeous accompaniment to their friends’ serenade of the Etta James classic, “At Last”.

Dashing at his weeping eyes with one sleeve of his handsome so-deep-blue-it-was-nearly-black suit, Kurt smiled at his husband. “I don’t care if everyone on the planet told us this song was overused for weddings,” he said with a sniffle. “It’s perfect and I love it.”

“Agreed,” Adam said, sighing happily at the lovely music as he gracefully danced his beloved around the floor beneath the artificial starry night sky. “I didn’t know any of our friends played violin. Did you ask them to?”

“No, I didn’t know either,” he admitted. “Elliott told me he had a surprise for us and I’m guessing this is it. I knew Monica played a couple of other instruments besides piano, but I’ve never heard her. And Elliott and Sebastian must have gotten even closer than I realized for him to have convinced Sebastian to play for us. The guy I knew in high school used to insult singing groups who ‘needed’ instruments. Probably because New Directions usually had an accompanist. The idea that he played one, or maybe more than one, never occurred to me.”

Adam chuckled. “Somehow that sounds about right. Either way, it’s lovely and I must remember to pass along my compliments to them both.”

As the music changed again and other couples began filing onto the dance floor, Kurt and Adam moved themselves to one side to continue under less of a spotlight, only to turn and suddenly find themselves face to face with Sue Sylvester.

Sue simply looked at them for a few seconds, seeming to note every bit of them from the bones outward, and both young men felt as if they were held in the grip of a force-field, unable to move. Whatever she saw seemed to satisfy the woman, for she stepped forward, breaking the spell by crushing Kurt in an unexpected embrace, then punching him in the shoulder hard enough to knock him a little off balance. She shook Adam’s hand and said, “Porcelain is a good kid, one of my finest. Appreciate how lucky you are to have him, don’t screw this up, and for god’s sake lay off the hair gel! Now, which way is the bar?”

Adam mutely pointed behind and to the left and Sue stalked off without another word. He self-consciously touched his hair, which had indeed been gelled lightly to give it a tidy appearance to go with his formal wedding suit. “Too much?”

Kissing him somewhat apologetically, Kurt smiled. “Just right. Don’t mind Sue. She’s just … like that.”

He laughed. “I noticed that when we met before, but I must admit that her manner takes some getting used to. I also hadn’t expected anyone to show up for a wedding reception in a bright orange track suit.”

Kurt laughed with him. “Yeah. She’s like that too. You learn to love her.”

“Well, as long as she continues to love you,” Adam said, dropping an affection kiss on Kurt’s nose as his arms came to circle his new husband’s slender waist, “She’s all right in my book.”

Kurt smiled. “She likes you too. You’d have noticed if she didn’t, trust me.” He broke off, making a pleased sound when Adam danced him closer to the buffet tables and he spotted a tall tiered tray of pastries, including a stack of white-frosted, heart-speckled miniature vanilla cupcakes that had been arranged artfully around the tall wedding cake that Johnny’s uncle had delivered as promised. Brittany had Conjured the little cupcakes just for Kurt, knowing how much he loved them, and Kurt showed his appreciation by snagging a few and taking turns eating them and feeding them to his beloved after they had paused to gain everyone’s attention and cut a small ritual slice out of the wedding cake, posing for a few photos taken by the photographer that Artie had found for them.

“How are you feeling?” Kurt asked an hour later. It was the first time he’d had a chance to ask. After the cake photos, they had been pulled aside to pose under the graceful silver and blue archway for several more shots, both by themselves and with a variety of family and friends. They had done a bit more grazing through the buffet, and enjoyed a few more dances, well wishes, and toasts. While they hadn’t been able to arrange a formal dinner, given the short space of time this building was reserved, their guests had not seemed to mind. They had been approaching the live microphone between trips to the buffet and expressing good wishes when and as the spirit moved them. “Is the crowd bothering you at all?”

Adam looked surprised. “You know, actually it isn’t,” he said, in a wondering tone. “For the first time since my rescue, I don’t think I’ve been afraid or uncomfortable even once today. Not when we were outside, or after we arrived here. I’m not sure if it’s because we’ve been completely surrounded by loved ones all day, or if your excellent warding has given me a sense of protection, or if this morning’s rituals have finally pulled me past the threshold of my fears, but I feel entirely relaxed.”

Kurt’s eyes were shining as he heard this news. “Oh, Adam, that’s wonderful. I knew you’d been doing better, because I haven’t felt any panic attacks from you in several days, but I was sure that between opening the Void this morning and being surrounded by so many people this afternoon, you’d be climbing the walls. I’m so proud of you!”

He grinned a little sheepishly. “So am I, actually.” He kissed Kurt lightly. “But since we both know that I wouldn’t be anywhere near this state if not for you and all of your excellent care over these past few months, let me just say thank you and that I love you with all of my heart.”

“I love you too, Adam,” Kurt said, heart in his eyes. “So much.”

A sparkle of mischief entered Adam’s eyes. “However, even if I am feeling in tip top shape, I wouldn’t object to a little fib if you want to claim that the crowd is overwhelming me and that we need some quiet time.”

Kurt laughed. “Why Mister Crawford, are you trying to get an early start on our honeymoon weekend?”

“That’s Crawford-Hummel to you, sir,” he teased back,“and I most certainly am! It’s half three already. Our hotel should be ready for check in by now.”

Grinning, Kurt said, “Let’s make one more round to thank everyone and say goodbye. I want to check on Finn and make sure he’s doing okay, since we won’t see him again before my family heads back to Ohio tomorrow. Then we’ll ask Santana to give us a quick trip home to grab our overnight bags.”

“And then?” Adam asked archly, raising an eyebrow.

“And then,” he purred, “you and I will take a cab over to that gorgeous hotel suite your grandma reserved for our wedding gift, and I will have my wicked way with you, and you will have yours with me, for the next 48 hours.”

He punctuated his promises with kisses until Adam looked almost dizzy with joyful anticipation. “Why my darling husband, I do believe that you’re casting a spell over me.”

Kurt grinned. “I certainly hope so.”

The End

#Witch!Kurt #Kadam #Hummel Crawford family #One Three Hill Coven

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cat-named-virtute · 4 years

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Reasons why I find it silly to make a post that says ‘in other news, water is wet’ or something along those lines after seeing a headline that says something obvious:

- The article nearly always contains more information than the obvious headline, so if you’re reacting that way, it’s a fairly clear sign that you didn’t actually read the article, you’re just sharing the headline of an article you didn’t read. A lot of headlines are actually fairly misleading, so when you make posts like that, there’s a fair chance you’ll be off the mark. I’m not saying you’re obligated to read such articles (sometimes, they really do just contain the obvious information), but you probably shouldn’t share just the headline in this way.

- When this is said derisively (i.e. we shouldn’t need studies to show that the police see Black people as more of a threat than white people), the study in the article is almost always actually useful. First of all, some things that feel true to us instinctively turn out not to actually be true, and it’s good to confirm such things. Second, even if we already know that a trend exists, documenting where it exists and to what extent it exists often gives us new and useful information. Third, whether we should need studies to know that racism exists, the reality is that we often do, because those studies actually are sometimes convincing to fence sitters or people just learning about the issue for the first time. So when you say it in those cases, you’re shitting on something that might be actually useful

- Sometimes, the ‘obvious’ thing isn’t actually obvious at all! I just saw this reaction to an article about how a study has found that the clothes Inuk people wear are the most effective clothes ever developed for helping people survive in the cold. But the Inuit are not the only group of people, indigenous or otherwise, who have spent centuries living in cold climates, so it’s actually not inevitable at all that their clothes would be the most effective.*

- The headline might be obvious to you because you already know a lot about the topic, but might not be obvious to someone who is just getting introduced to it. So when you just say how obvious the headline is, to a person for whom the headline isn’t obvious, they either 1.) feel completely unnecessary shame that they didn’t know this obvious thing, or 2.) feel the need to pretend they already knew this, thus making them ask less questions than they would otherwise and contributing to a culture where people act like they know more than they do for the sake of fitting in socially.

In short, I think this trend of people posting headlines and saying how obvious they are is, in 90% of cases, really harmful, and you should think more before you make or reblog such a post.

*The article, which you can read here, is actually super interesting. This is also an example of how ‘water is wet’ headlines usually contain more information than just the obvious statement; most of this article isn’t about the mechanics of what makes clothes warm, but instead about the history of the Inuit producing these clothes for themselves, and the advantages and disadvantages to the ways that they’ve spread to the wider culture. There are a lot of interviews with Inuk people talking about how and why they make clothes the way they do, and discussions of where the line is between cultural appropriation and appreciation, and all sorts of other stuff. Really great article, sucks that a lot of people didn’t read it because they think they already knew the headline.

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esteliel · 5 years

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I'm really curious about your take on the Rock Drop scene? I think it's a pretty central scene for this version of Valjean, and I'm still debating what it means--his intent and how much of it was 'planned' vs. reactive, etc (tbc I don't think it's a Bad Scene, actually! but I think it's got a lot of potential ambiguity and bears some real consideration).

Ha, I had extensive conversations about that scene with friends. This isprobably going to turn into an essay because by this point I have spent hourstalking about it. /o\

So my main problem with it is that I’m having a very hard time readingWest’s emotions in that scene, after his first reaction of amusement. I’verewatched all of Valjean and Javert’s scenes six or seven times to try and geta feeling for character voices for fic, and I’ve come to my own theory now, butI do agree that it is a confusing scene on the first watch, and it took meabout three rewatches to come to a conclusion for myself.

I’ve been planning to make a post actually about the execution scene, whichI found way more viscerally affecting than the rock scene, and which in turnalso really influences my view of the rock scene, so maybe that’s where Ishould start.

So that sets the scene before we even get to the quarry: the chains, thewhips, the constant beatings - the fact that a prisoner is beaten even for thesmallest act of self-defense.

All of the guards are presented as brutal bullies, with the man latergetting crushed by a rock kicking a chained prisoner like a dog. We see anotherbrutal whipping when a prisoner dares to attack a guard - and then, of course,we see the execution scene.

Every time I see that scene, it’s like a punch in the gut in the way theyhave framed it. What it is supposed to be is an execution as punishment for aprisoner attacking a guard. What it IS though is Javert killing a man - partlyout of duty, yes - but for the most part out of sheer sadism. He does not evenacknowledge the man whom he kills. He doesn’t even look at him. That man’s lifemeans that little to Javert - or tothe other guards. He kills him the way he’d put down a dog who bit someone.Worse - he looks at Valjean the entire time. He kills a man just so that he can teach Valjean a lesson.

And what that glance says to Valjean is that Valjean’s life is of as littleworth as the man who just got executed. That Valjean, too, could die at anymoment, if Javert wants it. It’s not just a power game, it’s the literal deathof a human being, and that death has absolutely no importance to Javert, hejust uses it as a slap in Valjean’s face, to say “I have the power to kill youjust like this the first time you dare to lift a finger, and I know that timewill come, and I will enjoy it when it does.”

So this is a very longwinded description, but I haven’t seen anyone mentionthat execution so far, and I have such a deep visceral reaction to it - it’sthe most horrifying example of brutality, sadism and dehumanization I have seenin any adaptation.

For me, this sets the scene for Toulon itself: what we see is the entire,horrifying prison system that crushes Valjean like grain of millet beneath the millstone.

He is trapped in a world of chains, of constant beatings, of whips andsadistic bullies, and if he so much as lifts a finger to defend himself, he’sdead. By the time we see him in the quarry, it has been eighteen years of that.Eighteen years to reduce his entire world to a hell where it’s only us versusthem.

How do you survive that? I don’t think I have physical aggression in me atall. But if you are trapped in a system of such crushing injustice andbrutality, how long until you internalize the dehumanization? I think it wouldtake less than a month for me to get to a point where I’d be filled by nothingbut hate and dream about killing all of the guards.

And then Valjean sees one of the guards bully another prisoner. I don’tthink he even needs to feel a protective urge in that scene. There is noindividuality in Toulon (well, except for Javert’s obsession with Valjean, ha);you are either A Guard or A Convict. It’s one of Them brutalizing one of Us. IfValjean had carried the buckets that day, he would have been kicked justbecause a guard felt like it.

And then he sees an opportunity to lash back out, and I think he uses itwith that same, unthinking instinct that we see described in the Brick astaking over when he sees an opportunity for escape:

He escaped impetuously, like the wolfwho finds his cage open. Instinct said to him, “Flee!” Reason would have said,“Remain!” But in the presence of so violent a temptation, reason vanished;nothing remained but instinct. The beast alone acted.

I don’t think he has any plan there. I don’t think he’s planning to create adiversion and maybe escape. Before that scene, we see him looking up at Javert:he knows that there’s a guard above him, watching, and we see yet moreprisoners and guards working behind Javert. A little rock slide definitelywon’t be enough of a diversion to escape that way.

It’s just an instinctive outburst of hate – the way he tries to lash backout at the children who attack him. But now, for perhaps the very first time,he succeeds. He gets his revenge. He sort of smiles – he’s pleased at havingcrushed one of Them.

Then he realizes the man isn’t dead, and I have to admit that I can’t seemto read his facial expression there. One of my initial theories was that assoon as he realizes that the man’s still alive and wounded, he’s hit by asudden moment of compassion and goes to help.

But then I rewatched Javert’s interrogation of Valjean several times, and ifyou watch Valjean’s face when Javert confronts him with his theory that Valjeanonly did it because he was hoping to be released early, to me it definitelylooks like Valjean has the sort of guilty/tired/despairing reaction of beingcaught out.

So informed by that, what I now think happens in that scene is that herealizes the guards can’t lift the beam to get the wounded guard free. Javertis shouting about using ropes, and Valjean realizes that here’s his chance: he’sstrong enough to free the man, and maybe that’ll get him released early, maybeit’ll get him some other advantage. And it might even be coupled with some sortof residual instinctive remorse, but I’m starting to feel like if that were thecase, they’d have lingered on his face longer to give us more distinctiveemotions? Because West can do that,despite the horrid beard, if you look at his reactions to the Bishop and PetitGervais.

So these are my theories about what happened and why he did it. I’ve seensome complaints about how a murderous Valjean is completely out of character,but I very much disagree with that – even though pacifist Valjean who doesn’teven lift a single finger to defend himself against Patron-Minette and whorefuses to use his rifle at the barricade is Extremely Important to me (and Iwish the musical didn’t get that so very wrong, but oh well, at least theshallow part of me can enjoy a menacing Ramin!jean there).

Using an opportunity to kill or at least harm one of the guards doesn’t onlyfeel in character for me, but I’m baffled – given the utter brutality anddehumanization of the bagne we are shown in such explicit detail – how peoplecan expect the victim of that system to notwant to lash back out at it. After eighteen years of that sort of brutal abuse,I know that I would; it wouldn’t even take a year to get me that far. If you dehumanizesomeone to that extent, if you behave so inhumanely, then the only consequenceof that will be that you in turn are seen as not even human, but a phantom, asValjean sees them in the Brick. We are shown how utterly little worth a humanlife has there, so what’s one guard less? One less kick aimed at you, one lessbeating.

So in conclusion, I think attempting to kill a guard isn’t only in characterfor Valjean, but for anyone trapped in that system, and my main problem with itis that I don’t think it should take three rewatches to figure out motivation –West can show emotion despite thebeard and the dirt makeup, so why not linger on his face for another second orthree and show us his amusement turning into a sudden realization ordetermination?

On the other hand, I guess it’s an opportunity to write long essays, sothere’s that (and sorry for the length of this).

#jean valjean #javert #les mis bbc #dominic west #toulon #talking about les mis #pilferingapples

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carelessgraces · 4 years

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on astoria and control ( part one ) —

In both of Astoria’s main verses, her adolescence is marked by a series of pretty intense traumas following the same model: she is “educated” by previously unknown family members whom the rest of her family trusts. These family members — her godparents !! That’s a huge responsibility in a devout Catholic family like the Grimani family, and it brings with it a huge level of trust — violate that trust repeatedly: first, by manipulating Astoria’s mind and memory through magic; second, by physically and psychologically abusing her to force her into compliance, isolation, and fear; and third, by using her to harm other people, usually her own family, for their own purposes. It’s an intense thing to go through at any age, but at 14 – 15, Astoria is at a crucial moment in her development, and this fundamentally alters how she thinks, how she feels, how she reacts to things, how she develops and maintains relationships, going forward. Please proceed with caution: the following will discuss abuse, trauma, and recovery.

Astoria is only able to bring about an end to the abuse and manipulation when she starts manipulating her abusers back. The more that Amycus and Alecto mistreat her, the more she plays into what they want: she stops asking questions, she flinches at loud noises, she very much emphasizes her own fear and vulnerability. She recognizes the signs of her trauma starting to manifest and, rather than trying to hide them to keep herself from seeming vulnerable and like an easier target, she makes that front and center of her visible personality and reactions. More than that, she deliberately acts ashamed of this, so that Amycus and Alecto won’t suspect anything.

The psychological abuse is the major piece of this — while Amycus’ “discipline” is violent and leaves significant damage, it’s rare, and intended as a punishment for failure or disobedience. With Alecto, it’s constant gaslighting and manipulation, designed to make Astoria doubt her own perception of reality. Astoria learns the responses that Alecto wants and provides them, and the more that Alecto imagines that Astoria is easy to control. In both verses, Astoria is able to use this to lay a trap to stop them: first, she isolates them; then, she leaves a trail for anyone who’s looking to find; and third, she antagonizes them and goads them until they move to harm her, and in doing so, lead to their own deaths.

For the sake of ease, I’m going to talk about each verse individually, so apologies for length.

DRAGON AGE.

Astoria is able to leave Seleny, her grandfather, and her mother behind for a time, and she spends about six years in Orlais. The only family she maintains regular contact with on her mother’s side is her uncle — Giovanni hadn’t known, hadn’t even been present for most of it, and couldn’t have identified a blood mage’s thrall even if he was around. She slowly picks up communication with her mother and grandfather again after she settles into Orlais and begins studying at the University, but for the most part, the only people from home she cares to speak to are Giovanni and Lorenzo. She starts to develop a strong relationship with her father, visiting the Storm Coast whenever there’s a holiday, and she in turn becomes deeply connected to the bannorn itself. She works through the short-term trauma by becoming one of the many noble students at the University to take up bard training, and so her teenage angst is literally worked through by learning how to navigate the deadliest court in Thedas, and that includes violence and murder. ( As per Veronica Sawyer — “My teen angst has a body count.” )

If, as per her main DA timeline, she ends up caught in the Blight and traveling with the Hero of Ferelden, this is what brings about her healing. At first, I thought it was Alistair who did it, but it’s just the matter of traveling through this country that she has only recently started to call home and risking her life for it even when it’s not her responsibility, even when she ( arguably ) has a greater responsibility to do the opposite, and to get home to protect Seleny. It’s her first real act of selflessness, and it changes her: until this, she has always known in theory that she must be ready to sacrifice everything, her life included, for the people she ruled. Now, she knows that she can do just that, and more than that, she will.

And in so many ways, that’s what it comes down to: knowing that this is a choice she’ll make of her own volition, knowing that this is a sacrifice she’ll be willing to offer without anyone else’s influence. The Warden’s companions ( regardless of what the Wardens do ) will give her the chance to leave, over and over and over again, and every time she chooses to stay, it’s for her father, and her sister, and the bannorn, and everyone she meets. Astoria is selfish at her core, but she has the capacity for a really profound selflessness when it comes to the people for whom she is responsible; that’s what makes her a good leader, and it prepares her to become Inquisitor. It helps her get past her anger, it helps her understand that some failures can’t be fixed but they can be handled, and it gives her the space she needs to heal in an honest way. When she comes home to Seleny in 9:34, it’s with a sense of peace.

If, instead, she stays in the bannorn during the Blight, she goes to Kirkwall next, and Kirkwall is not the sort of place that really encourages one’s better angels. She can do just about anything, and really, who’s going to prevent her? So her anger comes out in different ways: she doesn’t feel like she has a home in Antiva or in Ferelden, and so she treats Kirkwall as temporary. She lashes out in battle, she’s vicious, she’s calculating to an extreme, and depending on Hawke’s influence, she is utterly lawless. This time, it’s Fenris who evens her out: she sees someone with similar fears of magic, but with more focus, more drive. The more she knows Fenris, the more she begins to realize that the biggest difference between them is that she’s in a position where she can make the changes she wants, that she can do something about all of this.

Astoria isn’t fit to be anybody’s princess until the end of Act II — again, after she’s risked her life when she really doesn’t have to, and after she’s been made to take a stand in favor of people who can do absolutely nothing for her in terms of social and political mobility. When the Arishok describes what happened to the elves who converted, and why they converted, Astoria is moved to defend Kirkwall not because she thinks that the Guard should have access to those elves to punish them, but because she realizes that the elves and the mages really can’t go anywhere else, and really, what the hell kind of princess is she if she’s not willing to do something about that? Astoria fights, Astoria bleeds, and at the end of it, Astoria returns to Seleny not because of her grandfather’s health, but because she knows she has to. She’s a little clumsier around the one act of selflessness — she’s had less time to make sense of it — but by Inquisition she’s the same person: she’s a fine princess for Seleny, and while she knows that her own life has a great deal of value if only for its symbolic value ( if she lives, Seleny remains stable, the changes she makes can be made permanent, she can protect the people and the economy, etc etc ) she knows, too, that there’s a lot to be gained by bleeding in place of, or alongside, her people. It’s what sends her to the Conclave, and if she’s not Inquisitor, it’s what keeps her with the Inquisition.

And it all comes down to control and anger. Astoria’s greatest fear is losing control of herself, and she spends all of her youth pushing back against even a perceived threat to her self control. She imagines that control of the self will lead to control of the world around her, and it’s the process of understanding that this isn’t always the case that helps her to grow.

ON WRATH.

While Astoria’s susceptible to any and all of the ~deadly sins,~ and commits most of them frequently and with great enjoyment, the one that’s the most detrimental to her is wrath. She recognizes the power of anger: it mobilizes, it kickstarts healing, it has a lot of value and it can be a really important part of just existing in a hostile world. For Astoria, though, her anger takes on a life of its own: she’s been wounded in profoundly personal and brutal ways, told time and time again that she brought those wounds on herself or that the wounds simply do not exist, and that she’s only hurting herself.

It feeds off of her fear of a lack of control — if she can’t trust her perception of reality, then what can she trust? How can she keep control of anything? She has an instinct to punish, rather than towards true justice: her wrath tells her that the only way to guarantee that she is never made a victim again is to destroy anyone who tries to victimize her. Her wrath tells her that her safety may need to be bought through someone else’s blood, and that she has to be ready to pay that price. It’s not entirely wrong: Trevisan assassins have been coming after her with some regularity since she was fourteen, and she’s been placed under the thrall of someone she should have been able to trust. In all of these cases, it’s kill or be killed. ( As per Katherine Pierce — “Better you die than I.” )

Part of gaining a greater control of herself is in gaining control of that wrath and learning to overcome it. ( Kirkwall’s terrible for her in that regard — wrath runs pretty rampant in Kirkwall, and there’s no shortage of people willing to pick a fight. ) It proves difficult, in part because there are a lot of people who Astoria thinks deserves to die, and these are the people she’s fighting: slavers, and Loghain’s forces ( and Loghain himself ), and Uldred and his blood mages, and the werewolves. In Kirkwall, there are slavers around every corner, and the Templars abuse their power in ways that sicken her. In Inquisition, she genuinely cannot go more than a few days without killing someone, because she’s constantly fighting some battle or another.

And after a while, she becomes desensitized, because it’s part of her new normal. Astoria is not a good person, and I’ve said this a thousand times by now: the blood on her hands cannot and should not be ignored. Frankly, nobody in a Dragon Age setting is a good person. I think that’s something that needs to be grappled with, but that’s for another day. When her wrath becomes normalized, that’s when it’s at its most dangerous, and she struggles with that constantly, because wrath is another thing that takes control away from her.

Nowhere is this better illustrated than in a Dragon Age universe, because it leaves her vulnerable to literal demons of wrath. ( And I have been itching for a verse where Astoria is left in the Fade and comes out possessed by a demon of wrath, js. )

To follow: modern verses, and how this impacts Astoria in shipping.

#i. she had a marvelous time ruining everything. ( about )#tw: abuse #tw: death #tw: violence #tw: murder #i. you never hear of anyone storming a castle on a wednesday. ( character development )

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ivegotsomethingtosay · 7 years

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A Series of Unfortunate Events (opinion piece)

From Page to Screen to Screen... Again...

Normally, this would be the point in the week where I’d post a movie review, but seeing as nothing very interesting came out this weekend, I decided to try something new. Today, I’ll be looking at both the 2004 movie and recent Netflix TV adaptations of Lemony Snicket’s A Series of Unfortunate Events, and seeing how they each hold up against the books on which they’re based. Sure, there’s about a dozen other articles/video essays that I can think of off the top of my head that deal with the same question of “which is better,” but being that I’m such a big fan of the books, I figured I’d throw my hat into the ring, an expression which here means: “write a big long think piece for my blog that nobody reads because I’m bored at work.”

So anyway, there seemed to be a general sigh of relief when Netflix dropped their long-awaited adaptation of the classic 21st century children’s series, which was seen by many as a sort of apology for the crimes committed by the 2004 Jim Carey version. “UGH,” said the collective millennial public, “FINALLY we get a proper adaptation of these books I haven’t picked up in over a decade!” The whole thing felt eerily similar to the reaction against the Star Wars prequels when The Force Awakens came out almost two years ago (holy shit, it’s been almost two years hasn’t it?) The fact is, no matter which side of either debate you stand on, it’s impossible to deny that we’ve backed ourselves into something of a corner when it comes to judging movies/television on its own merits. Save for the occasional original gem, the vast majority of modern entertainment is comprised of re-workings and re-hashes of material that’s previously existed in some form or another, meaning it’s impossible to analyze said material without at least discussing its fidelity to the original source, and close to impossible to not let that influence how you think about it on its own. No, you CAN’T like Episode I because Jar-Jar isn’t nearly as funny a Chewbacca. No, you CAN’T say Game of Thrones is better than the books because Daario’s hair isn’t blue in the TV series (seriously, this is the shit people argue about now-a-days).

And now, it appears not even A Series of Unfortunate Events is safe, which is really *ahem* unfortunate, considering Dan Handler’s 13-part YA saga might be one of the best things to happen to children’s literature since… ever. No, seriously, go back an pick up one of those books. Dust it off and shower yourself with some of with wittiest, most (literally) devastatingly brilliant writing this side of Oscar Wilde. For those who grew up with the Baudelaire orphans, these books were a watershed. Not only did they accomplish the insurmountable task of actually getting us to read on our own when we were 9-years old, but they taught us all the hard lessons about life, death, and morality that the adults were too scared to mention even amongst themselves.

So yeah, of course we were going to get a movie with a $150 million budget once they were selling in the same leagues as Harry Potter. And yeah, of course we were going to get a Netflix series once streaming gave us the opportunity to do long-form storytelling on a large canvas without spending $150 million. Which one of them is better? Neither, if you ask me, but I’d argue that bashing them in relation to each-other and/or in relation to the books isn’t going to get us anywhere. A “Cinema Sins” video is going to take us nowhere on the journey to analyzing great art, or even appreciating it. And if there’s anything to come out of the zeitgeist in the last couple of decades that could clarify as great art, it’s A Series of Unfortunate Events.

To start, I want to talk about what each of these adaptations do right. I’ll come right off the bat and say that I love both the show and the movie for many different reasons, and that even though the books will always hold the top spot in my mind, they hold that spot for reasons that go beyond some bullshit like whether Klaus wears glasses or not.

The show, for one, covers a lot of ground. I really despise judging an adaptation on how much they cut out of the source material (more on that later), but there’s something to admire about how closely Netflix’s A Series of Unfortunate Events sticks to the books. Four novels in and it seems like everything on the page has ended up on screen and then some. Adapting for long form television has given the showrunners (one of whom is Handler himself) to actually expand on the story, something rarely seen even in our Game of Thrones age. The argument of whether or not the show “gets the books right” is rendered almost completely irrelevant because it IS the books, just with Neil Patrick Harris. We get to witness all the stuff we’ve been picturing in our mind for years, we get to see the Lucky Smells Lumber Mill come to life, we get to experience going to the movies with Uncle Monty. I think a lot of the reason fans responded so well to the show was because it reflected the books so slavishly, giving us exactly what we asked for by giving us everything we asked for, all at once. It reminded me a lot of the PBS Pride and Prejudice in that it was difficult not to be a fan of the book and not be a fan of the show for no other reason than the show treated the book as a Bible.

The film, on the other hand, is two hours long. Not only that, but it spends those two hours going through the first three novels in the series, something that takes close to six hours in Netflix land. Our automatic instinct is to see this as a fault, but when was the last time you actually watched the movie? Rather, when was the last time you read the first three books? They’re fantastic, sure, but they’re also fantastic books. What enjoys and pleases us sitting with a bulk of paper by a crackling fireplace might not bring us the same joy when sitting in a dark, stuffy room with dozens of other people. One of the big faux pas in all these “which one is better” conversations is a misunderstanding of what different mediums can do and what can be achieved in each. The 2004 film might compress the books, but it illustrates them beautifully. The detail isn’t in how well we get to know each member of Olaf’s troupe, it’s in the little, subtle ways in which they express themselves onscreen. Sure we don’t get to spend hours and hours with Uncle Monty like we would watching the show or reading the books, but with Billy Connolly’s exceptional performance, we feel like we’ve spent hours with him.

The fact is, taken on its own merits, the 2004 Series of Unfortunate Events is a great movie. The aesthetic, the visual storytelling, the writing, and the performances are all so universally fantastic that comparing it to the books feels oddly irrelevant. The word “adaptation” implies some level of interpretation. It implies a level of taking what’s on the page and filtering it through our own personal beliefs and opinions. For all the talk about which one of these versions is “better,” little has been said about the different contexts in which they were made. The general attitude towards the concept of “evil,” which is a big theme in the Series books, was vastly different in 2004 than it is (was?) in 2016. In 2004, the United States had just invaded Iraq. We were still reeling from the single most devastating terrorist attack in human history, and our enemies seemed, at least at the time, very concrete. In the film, there’s a lot more of an emphasis on the idea of “fire” as a weapon. The wreckage of the Baudelaire mansion is shot and treated with the sobriety of a lot of post-911 photography. Jim Carey’s Olaf is significantly more insidious than Neil Patrick Harris’. He gets what we wants through fear mongering and cunning, often fooling nice, reasonably intelligent adults through a series of carefully planned and lethal actions. Much like… you know… a terrorist.

In the Netflix series, however, the enemy isn’t so much “evil” as it is stupidity. Olaf in the show is treated like a complete idiot who just so happens to get his way because literally everyone else is too stupid to know what’s going on. One could argue that while Olaf is the source of the conflict, the real antagonist of the show is Mr. Poe, who, despite “seeming” to care about the kids, constantly places them in harmful, potentially life threatening situations because he thinks he knows better. There isn’t a set enemy here. The enemy, if you can call it that, is ourselves, our own blindness to the reality of our present situation. If that sounds familiar, it’s because it’s one of the many excuses we gave for electing a fucking James Bond villain into one of the most powerful positions in the world. Donald Trump is an idiot, sure, but he’s an idiot with access to nukes, and *apparently* that’s somehow our fault.

You see what I’m getting at here? Whether intentionally or not, art is always in some way reflecting the world in which its produced, and that’s especially true of Series. One could argue that, simply by consequence of the time it was born into, the Netflix show is closer in tone and aim to what Handler originally intended, but I’m not sure I’d agree with that. Sure, the show is significantly more ironic than the movie, much like the books. It contains much more references to pop culture, classic literature, and the world in which it was written, much like the books. But unlike the books, everything I just said comes off as funny, surreal, and at times even distancing. Watching the Netflix show is like watching an eight-hour long Wes Anderson film. It’s fun, colorful, and WAY more educated than you are, but for those very reasons, its harder to identify with what’s going on up on screen. The books, on the other hand, are deeply involving, deeply dark, and deeply funny. It’s a swirl of contradictions that can really only work properly when you’re reading it off a page. Postmodernism works differently on film than it does in literature. Translating directly from one to the other causes a kind of whiplash that the show suffered from on multiple occasions.

See, this is why I’ll always treasure the books. Specifically the Snicket books, because while I’ve gotten emotionally attached to characters in other stories and novels, Series was able to ignite the imagination in such a specific way, that literally taking it and putting it up on screen automatically lessens the effect. When I was ten, I had no idea what the Squalors’ endlessly large penthouse in Eratz Elevator actually looked like. I had no clue what it would be like to see Hector’s hot-air home in Vile Village. I have only the vivid, mysterious pictures that were painted in my mind, and nothing Netflix or Nickelodeon can conjure up will ever compare to that.

I envy all the kids who are going to grow up watching the Netflix series. I envy all of them who are going to go back and experience the movie as a result. What I do not envy is missing out on one of the better reading experiences of a lifetime in favor of either of those things, or vice versa. There’s an important lesson to be learned from all this: when we pit up art against itself, we rob ourselves of the opportunity to appreciate it on a deeper level. When we breathe a sigh of relief when we get the adaptation we always wanted, we miss out on the chance to challenge, and possibly refine our own points of view. Sometimes, we loose sight of what makes these things so lovable in the first place, and that’s unfortunate.

#a series of unfortunate events #opinion piece

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democratsunited-blog · 6 years

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Rahm Emanuel quits Chicago, but can the Democratic Party quit him? – ThinkProgress

https://uniteddemocrats.net/?p=9453

Rahm Emanuel quits Chicago, but can the Democratic Party quit him? – ThinkProgress

On Tuesday, incumbent Chicago Mayor Rahm Emanuel issued a surprise announcement: He would not, as many expected, seek a third term as mayor of Chicago. The shock announcement prompted radically different reactions. Working-class locals largely rejoiced at the news. The local business press, on the other hand, wore their frowns so tight that they risked pulling a muscle.

But while Emanuel may be retreating from public service after almost three decades, it remains an open question as to whether he will take his malign influence over Democratic Party thinking with him on the way out the door.

The Creed of High Emanuelism can be fairly summarized as “debt service uber alles.” Those tetchy about borrowing will find the philosophical tools necessary to resist proposals that might raise the material quality of life of modern wage serfs.

Those so illuminated hew to a higher set of beliefs. Charter schools are a superior option to public schools because someone else is underwriting them. It’s just to strip guarantees of basic financial security from people who lose their jobs because the alternative is expensive. Universal preschool might sound nice as a cure to the exclusionary expenses of private childcare, but unless there is something that costs $90 billion for the government to stop doing — well, you’re just not being realistic.

Emanuel did install universal pre-kindergarten and kindergarten for Chicago kids, by the by. But because the doctrine he represents means some rain’s gotta fall in your neighbor’s yard if you want it sunny in yours, the city was made to draw blood from other stones. Sometimes that meant cutting off services. Sometimes it meant charging taxpayers more for them.

One of Rahm’s first revenue-raising proposals in 2012 hiked the penalties imposed on drivers who forgot to renew a city parking sticker. At the time, jacking the fine for missing the annual renewal cutoff for your car from $120 to $200 was marketed to Chicagoans as a $16 million annual bump in city revenue. In practice, however, it didn’t deliver even half of that windfall, a ProPublica and WBEZ investigation found, but it did drive thousands of black residents into bankruptcy.

On the savings side, Rahm’s early decisions bore a similar haves and have-nots divisiveness. He shredded the city’s public mental health services to save $3 million, and closed 49 public schools to save hundreds of millions more.

But the real swindle involves something called tax increment financing (TIF). The policy tool effectively escrows all future increases in revenue from a given tax – usually property levies – for the mayor’s office to dish out as it pleases. If the collections level prior to the TIF siphoning is sufficient to pay for schools, trash collection, and emergency services in future years, the public doesn’t notice much of a downside. But when those costs grow, the associated growth in tax collections can’t be tapped to cover the basics.

And Emanuel was especially aggressive in his use of TIF accounts. The total siphoned away from schools and other baseline services hit $561 million in 2016 alone and jumped to $660 million – a third of all property tax collected by Chicago – in 2017. Because Rahm’s policies prevent that money from going to the struggling school system, CPS had to seek a state bailout worth well over $200 million in 2016.

The flood of cash into TIF accounts put the lie to the crisis narrative propagated by those in favor of cutting back public education services and diverting more public dollars to charter school organizations like UNO, the venerable Latinx organizing network in Chicago that rapidly built 16 charters and used state and city money to give lucrative construction contracts to family members of both board members and local pols to whom it owed favors.

So, there are those who do profit from Emanuelism. But they tend to be private entities. During Emanuel’s tenure, TIF pelf flowed into shiny entertainment districts instead of the blighted neighborhoods pitched as the policy’s priority recipient. It went to health care companies instead of public mental health facilities. It was routed to tourist attractions like the city’s Navy Pier rehabilitation instead of the after-school programs and mentoring services and skills-building programs for adults that locals in the city’s struggling communities of color have long sought. This shuffling of public dollars into private hands delivered some job growth, though not dramatically more than could be derived from a more responsible, communal allocation. And all the while, those who could not get their kid into the glossy new charters watched the schools and community services in their neighborhoods wither under the ever-increasing pressures manufactured by the tax revenue diversion scheme.

Chicago’s specific story under Emanuelism has enough scandalous ins and outs to numb the mind, and raking through the wonky weeds beneath it all could carry more than a few book proposals. But it all follows the same logic that has infused the national Democratic party since Rahm’s first White House stint in the 90s, and even earlier for many in the party.

Rahm’s long, national tail

The ideological and tactical tensions within the Democratic Party are typically portrayed as an issue of personalities. Campaign strategists tend prefer this simplistic, reductive framing of disputes; it suits their objectives to reduce their sloganeering to poll-tested superficialities.

It’s impossible to understand how Rahm fits into that malign framing of American politics without beginning from a superficial perspective: the country’s overall political outlook at the end of President George W. Bush’s time in office.

For a certain generation of young people in the Bush years who imagined futures in politics, Emanuel was a hero of sorts. A practical hands-in-the-dirt doer, yes, but more importantly a sharp-tongued disciplinarian inside a party that mostly blamed Ralph Nader for an election where Al Gore failed to win his home state. Rahm’s career looked like the blueprint for people eager to rescue everything from civil liberties to foreign relations to poverty policy from the all-snaring jingoism of the post-9/11, post Bush v Gore world. If people who proudly nursed their Bush-era sorrows by watching The West Wing saw John McCain as symbolic of a stubborn bipartisan rationality, Rahm stood as the exemplar for the another subset of those fantasists — those annoyed the show hadn’t aired on HBO so the characters could cuss like sailors.

Years later, though, it’s easy to see how shortsighted the Rahm-worship was. Party discipline to win elections is one thing, but denuding that party’s ideas cabinet of its keenest, boldest proposals once it actually wins governing power is quite another.

Barack Obama’s presidency came frontloaded with a Sorkiny sheen that suggested a golden age of unleashing progressive policy was on the wing. But as the poetry of campaigning deferred to the prose of governing, the pressure to retreat from idealism was laid on the president. Emanuel was a central figure in that retreat, and the contretemps over the Obamacare “public-option” was perhaps the most high-profile example of Rahm’s eagerness to tie one of Obama’s hands before negotiating with Republicans — themselves bent on maximal intransigence from the outset — over Obama’s sundry campaign promises.

Emanuel’s approach to politics could have hardly come as a surprise. Long before he returned to Chicago, Rahm spent years as a prime mover for imposing a conciliatory approach to Democratic policymaking in Washington. He spent five years as a senior adviser in the Clinton White House when the party’s tendency toward political self-harm was dubbed “triangulation” and praised as savvy. After a profitable interlude in the financial industry, he held Illinois’ 5th District congressional seat for three terms. Muscular enough in that short tenure to turn heads, he was handed the party reins for House campaigning ahead of the 2006 midterms, burnishing his reputation further when his Democratic charges finally retook the chamber after a dozen years of Republican rule.

When Obama needed a chief of staff, he installed Emanuel. Arriving at the depths of an economic crisis brought on by the same financial sector mavens that plumped his own bank accounts, Emanuel quickly set about blunting progressive instincts in the new administration. When Christina Romer called for a larger stimulus package, less focused on unproductive tax incentives, Emanuel was there to cut her legs out. “What are you smoking?” he retorted after one early Romer pitch to go big.

The ensuing recovery was the slowest in American economic history, and among the most unequal. By 2013, Berkeley economics professor Emmanuel Saez calculated that “the top 1 percent” had captured “121 percent of the income gains in the first two years of the recovery.” Those lower on the economic totem pole fared less well. As Annie Lowrey reported in September of 2013, while the incomes of the bottom 99 percent had “started growing again — if only by 1 percent,” they were being lapped by their more well-heeled peers — the top 1 percent enjoyed a 20 percent surge, while the top 0.01 percent glided into the new Gilded Age on a tidy 32 percent gain in income.

At the same time, the sorts of policies that should have been proving grounds for Emanuel’s capacity to whip friends into shape and force pre-compromised versions of progressive policy through a narrowly balanced legislature instead fell to ruin. Card check legislation that could have revitalized union organizing died quietly. Cap-and-trade climate ideas premised on harnessing market forces to combat humanity’s primary existential threat at minimal public cost – the exact sort of capitalism-friendly version of public-interest rule that Emanuel’s ilk are supposed to specialize in – perished as well, although with a bit more noise.

Rahm left the Chief of Staff job after 18 months to run for mayor, conveniently taking him away from Washington just before the Tea Party wave destroyed whatever was left of Obama’s legislative elbow room. But the telltale creases of Emanuelism run across Obama’s entire approach to politics and policy over his eight years. A disastrous budget deal that capped public service investments from the federal level for years, a simmering terror about borrowing levels that was premised in part on flat-wrong mathematics by high-profile economists, a tawdry kabuki version of accountability for the bankers who’d crashed the housing market – they’re all consistent with the Rahmian worldview shared by the same generation of Democratic Party know-it-alls that rose, and then fell…to Donald Trump.

Two years on from Obama’s tenure, there has been ample time to learn some necessary lessons. It’s not clear an exhaustive retrospective has been undertaken. The same day Rahm shocked Chicago politics by quitting the race, Rep. Nancy Pelosi (D-CA) pledged to retain the “pay-as-you-go” policies she imposed during her last tenure as Speaker of the House should she get the job again. That policy, requiring that any penny of new spending be offset with cuts or new taxes elsewhere, sabotages the agenda being offered by those candidates currently thought to be engineering a coming “Blue Wave.” And it is Emanuelism enshrined in caucus-wide policy, a promise to always fight with one hand tied against Republican counterparts perceived as reasonable, good-faith partners.

If there’s a lesson to be taken from Rahm’s decision to step aside this week in Chicago, it’s that these philosophical weaknesses in Democrats’ theories of change are the proper venue for debating the party’s future – not the attendant cults of personality, or the theatrical mise-en-scene of The Resistance, or the tired bleats of mainstream pundits who, sniffing the nascent scent of a socialist revival, eagerly turn out to participate in a red-bait cosplay re-enactment. Those distractions only perpetuate the idea that the most important matter to be resolved is who’s up and who’s down in the party hierarchy, rather than what the Democrats believe needs to be done in the real world.

The loser in that cozy symbiosis is substance. The Democratic Party’s civil war isn’t actually about differentials in the chummy fellow-feeling that Hillary or Bernie engender in voters. It is about whose skin should matter first when government has to choose who to help and how. That war’s been on for thirty years, not three. And Rahm Emanuel was a decorated field general for the side that’s won that fight at every modern turn: The Democrats who care more about the people to whom we owe money than about the far larger, materially disadvantaged group on whom money might be better spent.

Read full story here

#Democrats

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