#plot twist i am al himself | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

raplinesmoon · 2 years

Text

The Modern Prometheus (KNJ x F!Reader)

Part of Undisclosed Desires: An Anthology

pairing: scientist!Namjoon x f!reader (feat. Jungkook), slight Namjoon x OC genre(s): smut, angst, some fluff, drama, mystery, slight horror au(s): based on Frankenstein by Mary Shelley word count: 10.8k warnings: POV switches, unreliable narrator, mentions sickness, minor character death, grief, depictions of science experiments and anatomy, Namjoon is a questionable character, self-hatred, anxiety, jealousy, religious mentions, verbal altercations, implied infidelity, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, plot twist!; smut warnings: voyeurism, manhandling, foreplay, fondling, dry humping rating: 18+

summary: Kim Namjoon had always been a curious child, with a strong desire to understand the world. After a tragedy strikes his family Namjoon is left heartbroken. Grieving, he seeks to create a companion in the most unorthodox way. But what happens when the very life he created turns against the master whom she was supposed to love?

a/n: hello to this fic, which kicked my ass and took a piece of my soul with it. I’ve been stuck on it for months, deleting and re-writing nearly 6k, but it’s finally done and I’m sad. This was by far one of the hardest things for me to write, simply because Frankenstein is one of my favorite books ever! I hope I did the story justice while keeping it original, please enjoy! And a couple of thank yous: the amazing @yoon2k for helping me come up with the hyung line series, the wonderful @kithtaehyung for beta’ing the first part of this and encouraging me to continue, and the lovely @jjksblackgf for letting me use her name for the story!

Taglist: @miscelunaaa @shameless-army @firesighgirl @sunshinerainbowsbts @seokjinger-ale

7th July, 17—

To my dearest sister,

My apologies for the hasty nature of this letter. First and foremost, you should know that I am well, and in good spirits. I do not know when this will reach you, but our shift drifts on, now floating somewhere in the Arctic. I’m very grateful to the powers above that no harm has befallen us, even though we are surrounded by sheets of ice. There have been small dangers here and there, such as a strong gust or leak in the vessel, but so far we have made friends with luck. And I endeavor to keep it that way. I shall see success, for who can stop the determination of a man, especially one who finds himself on a journey.

But I’m getting away from my purpose, I fear. You see, dear sister, I write to you today because a strange incident has befallen our crew. It was last week, you see, when the ship was floating through a dense fog, with nothing and no one to be seen for miles. The crew was in bad spirits, the greyness outside coloring their hearts, casting a cloud over their once jolly natures. However, by a stroke of luck, the fog cleared, and it was then we figured out we were surrounded. Ice locked us in an impasse, as far as the eye could see. And in the middle of it all, a strange sight – a sled, drawn and carried by dogs, dragging around the sorry shape of what looked like a man. The dogs approached us, closer and closer, and we laid our eyes upon the human for the first time.

If only you had seen the man, my dear sister! Thin as a rail, limbs nearly frozen into rods. It was a wonder he was alive, a miracle even more so that he was able to communicate with our crew. Never have I seen a man in a more wretched condition. Three days passed before he was even able to speak a word. He’s in rough spirits I’m afraid, seeming less like a man and more like a savage animal, gnashing and thrashing about, as though he’s been possessed by a spirit.

And yet, sister, I see something in his eyes. Those eyes stare at me, they haunt me. I feel as though I see a ghost in them, the ghost of who this man used to be. I can see a time when those eyes used to be warm and full of light. I see him stare outside sometimes, as though he’s looking, searching for something. Or someone. Though when I asked him who, this was all he said:

“The one who fled from me.”

What could it all possibly mean? I fear I cannot even begin to imagine the answer. I shall continue to provide you with more information about this new and curious man. I feel a strange sort of attachment to him, as though he were a friend or even a brother. Heaven bless you, my beloved sister!

Yours,

Captain Jeon Jungkook

13th August, 17—

Sister,

I come with more news about my beloved guest. A strange being he is, capable of inciting my curiosity, pity, and admiration all at one time! It is evident to me that he is a wise and cultured man, his words melting together and coming alive every time he speaks, as though they ran off the pages of a storybook.

Although he still stares out onto the deck every day, looking for that maddening sledge, he’s also begun to show an interest in the lives of our crew. Always going around, asking them about what their dreams are. We’ve had many a conversation about mine. I’m perplexed by this man, who seems so worldly and loquacious. For when I told him of my noble plan to explore the world, to reach beyond and expand our very boundaries of scientific thinking. He began to tremble. I reached for his figure, worried that he was having some sort of fit brought on by his illness, but was greeted with his dark countenance, grim as ever:

“Dear friend!! Do you also share my madness?”

It was a brief outburst, one that was followed by a change in his expression to something full of so much sorrow and grief, that I couldn’t help but be moved.

No sooner had he uttered the words than did calm overcome him, his eyes looking out to the vast sea that lay beyond, and then looking down at the floor. He excused himself, bidding me goodnight before he retired. Before he left though, he uttered the most peculiar thing.

“I have lost everything, and I cannot start again.”

19th August, 17—

Sister, I already know this tale is one beyond ordinary comprehension, its events seeming like the far-off makings of a daydream, but I assure you, they are very real.

“Captain Jeon,” he said to me. “A brief while back, I had made up my mind, had resolutely told myself that the memory of all my misfortunes should be lost when I perish. But you changed my mind.”

“My name is Kim Namjoon. I was once like you, Captain. I sought for knowledge and wisdom, the same way you are doing now, and it is my only sincere hope that you shall take a moral from my tale of caution, that it should not prick you and sting like the thorns of a rose. My fate is nearly sealed, once the one I am waiting for returns, I shall lie in peace.”

My eyes nearly bulged out of my head, my dear sister, urging him not to expend himself so greatly, telling him his tale of grief could wait until we found safe passage. But he refused, and here I am now. Nothing will ever replace the melancholy in his eyes, the animated nature of his performance, but I hope these notes and manuscript can serve some sort of purpose. Here is the tale of a most extraordinary man.

“Namjoon!” his eomma yells, causing her only son, her plaything and her idol, the innocent creature bestowed upon her by the angels from above, to perk up from his desk. He sets the magnifying glass down, marveling at the way it made the lines of the map covering the surface seem even more crisp and sharp, drawing him deeper into its intrigue, the promise of a wide world out there waiting for him to explore.

“Your Appa and I need to talk to you,” his mother calls out again. “Please come downstairs.”

Back straightening like a rod, Namjoon rushes down the stairs of the Italian villa, running as fast as his little feet would take him. His parents had a surprise for him! What was it? A new toy perhaps? Maybe a pet, as a new plaything? His curiosity, as usual, got the better of him, as he stumbled over the last few steps, free-falling into mid-air, his arms swinging around to brace him from a violent fall.

The pain was bearable this time, Namjoon thought. Sniffling as he rose to his feet, his knees ached, rubbed raw against the rough tile, and he silently prays his father wouldn’t notice them bleeding through his breeches. Brushing off the mishap, his steely grit and determination returned, as he skipped gaily towards the parlor, eager to see what his parents had in store.

Rushing through the doors, Namjoon finds himself coming to a crashing halt. There was someone else here. Gulping, his eyes happen upon another pair, as bright and as curious as his own. A little girl stares back at him, the sunlight bouncing off her hair.

“Namjoon,” his mother says softly, beckoning him with a wave of her gloved hand. “This is Lady Kyla. She will be staying with us for the summer.”

Namjoon’s lips set into a pout, and he swings his hands behind his back sheepishly. He’d never spent so much time around another human being his age before, let alone a girl. Something about Kyla made his face heat up. She reminded him of the beautiful flowers that often grew outside their villa, swaying gently in the breeze.

That summer was a fond one, perhaps one of the few in Namjoon’s entire life. How he longed for those sweet days, running around the villa, hiding in the gloomy corners of the villa, playing together. He hadn’t known it at the time, but Kyla’s presence had been a blessing, a ray of sunshine. How unfortunate that her feeble light could do little to shield him from the shadowy days that were yet to come.

Not even a year later, Namjoon and Kyla’s little cohort was joined by a curious lad, who went by the name of Jackson Wang. Jackson was nothing short of an adventurer, leading the trio on dangerous quests, Kyla the dazzling princess, protected by her two knights in shining armor. Jackson’s dream was to be remembered in history, as a hero like no other, one who upheld all the moral virtues of man.

All of that was well and good for many years, until one day, the play-acting of children no longer interested Namjoon. He realized more and more that men were no longer the proprietors of their own fate. They were mere toys, pawns in this vast, wide world, at the mercy of nature itself. Namjoon began to withdraw from these silly fantasies at the time, picking up a volume of Agrippa and indulging the fervent longing that had begun to brew within him, to study all the secrets of nature.

And yet, it was still not enough for him. To Namjoon, there were always little tears, little rips in the fabric of his understanding, ones that he’d pick up on after countless hours of studying the philosophy of these alchemists. He’d ponder upon these inconsistencies, ranting about them to Jackson and Kyla, who supported his deep-rooted passion but did not even come close to understanding it. And so he drove himself mad, wondering why if these scientists claimed to understand the world, there were still things with no explanation.

All of these violent frustrations came to a head one night, during a most wondrous and violent tempest, the thundering bellowing from the heavens until the sound reached Namjoon’s doorstep. Namjoon watched the storm rage on, the lightning casting an eerie glow over everything in the house. And that was when it happened. A singular crack of lightning, and suddenly he heard a great splinter — the towering oak which had stood upon the hill outside, turned into nothing but a stump.

“Electricity,” was what it was called. His father had explained it to him the next morning, the way currents were conducted and energy could be harnessed, and Namjoon knew at once that the speculations of the alchemists were something he must abandon immediately. Nature was strong, powerful even, but it could not be the master of man. There had to be more advanced science out there, a way to understand it, to control it, to prevent it from wreaking havoc and destruction like he’d seen last night. And he’d devote his life to finding it out.

But then, the greatest tragedy of them all struck.

“Namjoon,” his mother croaks, her pale and ghastly countenance rendering her nearly unrecognizable. “My dear boy, please come here.”

“Mother,” Namjoon says gently. “You must rest, and recover.

“There is no hope for my recovery now,” she coughs. “I regret that I am to be taken away from you so soon. But please, as my last wish, may you indulge my firmest hope of your union with another? And then I shall resign myself peacefully.”

And then she was gone.

Blinking back tears, Namjoon doesn’t know what else he can say, what else he can do. His mother, his dear mother, has wasted away before him. The woman who’d shown him love and safety throughout his childhood. He looks upon her sweet, tender face, and realizes that he shall never again see her smile, hear her laugh.

But the worst part had been the passage of time after her death. Time had indeed dealt his family its most evil blow, for while the Kims grieved for their lost matriarch, the world moved on around them. The gentle nudging of society soon became a nagging that pushed their grief to the side, shoving them back into the real world. Before he knew it, Namjoon found himself at university, his awkward, gangly frame clambering around the campus, stumbling into every lecture hall he could find, hoping that it would help guide him in his course of study.

Until one day, he stumbled upon a discourse given by an extraordinary professor - talking about the discipline known as chemistry. As he listened to the words of the man, Namjoon felt his hair stand up on end, enthralled by the limitless possibilities the subject provided. It made no false promises, like the alchemy he’d held onto for so many years. No, this was what Namjoon had been looking for – a way to unfold the deepest mysteries of creation, down to every atom. This was where his future lay.

Two years. Two years had gone by for Namjoon, raving like a madman, wholeheartedly throwing himself into his studies. His professors all commented on the soul and spirit with which he pursued learning, but the truth of the matter was, Namjoon had begun to feel out of sorts. The more and more he dove into his studies of atoms and molecules and elements, the more he had begun to feel out of touch with the world around him, one that was teeming with creation, and more importantly life. Living, breathing organisms that were more than a mere collection of matter.

Namjoon missed his mother. He ached to feel the loving touch of her arms once more, her soft kisses pressed into his hair. His father had withdrawn after her passing, locking himself inside the house, making a rare appearance once or twice a year. Namjoon had never returned, the current gloom and sadness of his childhood home that had once been so bright too much to bear for his heart. Jackson and Kyla wrote to him constantly, asking after his well-being. Kyla in particular wrote to him often, wishing to come and spend time with him, but he rebuffed her coldly. Love had only made his heart weaker, and his body more fragile.

And so, Namjoon pushed on, advancing in his studies, until he happened upon the study of the structure and organization of life itself. Anatomy. It fascinated him endlessly, how so many organized parts and cells could come together to form a whole.

But his fascination didn’t end there. Unlike his other classmates, Namjoon sought to understand the essence of life itself - what kept a human living, breathing, and thinking for as long as they lived. Perhaps if he had understood these secrets long ago, he would have been able to save his mother’s life.

In his study of life, Namjoon developed a strange and macabre fascination with death. He visited morgues and charnel houses. He saw, limb by limb, how the human body fell apart, revealing what lay underneath. And thus, he began to harbor a secret. One so vast and powerful, it could change the course of the world as we knew it. Like a magic scene, the mysteries of creation unfolded before him all at once, and Namjoon was spellbound, drawn into a trance, unaware of the dangers that lay ahead.

Propelled by the force of the maelstrom that wreaked havoc upon his mind, Namjoon toiled with the boundaries of life and death themselves, and in doing so, he felt his chest tighten with emotion. No longer would anyone have to live without light in a dark world, to live with the heaviness of grief upon their hearts. In his room, hidden from the world outside, his skin grew pale and his figure emaciated. The seasons changed, the leaves turning from green to gold, and then blossoming forth into petals of pink and white, but he paid them no mind.

The rain pummeled against the window, striking the glass panes with such brazen force that Namjoon thought his whole studio would shudder and splinter underneath the weight of tonight’s storm. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he lets out a deep breath, one he did not even know he’d been holding for the past few years. It was done.

A crack followed his sigh, like a bone being set into place, and then a great groan, and his creation sprung to life. Namjoon stood there, paralyzed, the awe beginning to melt away, and shock and horror set in as he took in the sight of this new being. It was a woman, and yet it was not. For every feature he’d selected, eyes, lips, nose, and everything that was beautiful in its own right, fit together in the most grotesque of ways, and instantly his heart plummets. This was no human. This was nothing worthy of his love, or the labor he’d undertaken for the past two years. The empty void that had settled in his chest after his mother’s passing grew wider and wider, and Namjoon watches all his hopes and dreams become swallowed by the gaping vortex.

A bead of sweat trickles down his neck, escaping underneath his shirt, and Namjoon turns on his heel, running out of the room.

Panicked, he closes the door behind him, rushing across the hall to his own bed, drawing the scratchy covers over his head. His eyes flutter, willing for sleep to claim his restless frame, but it never comes. Instead, he lies awake, the pounding of his heart melding with the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner, creating a haunting rhythm to represent the doom that has begun to loom over the house.

A loud crack jolts Namjoon awake from his miserable sleep - the lightning illuminating the room in a silvery glow, and there, at the foot of his bed -– the figure of the being he’d created! Round eyes, if they could even be called so, staring at him curiously, like a lost child. Mouth moving as though it was trying to speak, but no sounds escaped.

Namjoon softens at the sight of the poor creature, looking lost and confused. He reaches out towards it, hands shaking, and nearly jumps when he feels two leathery palms take his hand in between them. His heart thrums at the gentle display, amazed at how soft-natured the creature was, despite its extraordinary appearance.

Tightening his hand in the creature’s, he realizes that he cannot give up now. This dream, this vision, it must be worth something. For the beauty of creation lay not in the dazzling appearance of things themselves, but in their ability to provide hope.

“I shall call you ___.”

Along the dark and rainy streets, Namjoon paces. He walks with no destination in mind, tormented by the shadows that seem to taunt him at every corner, springing forth into a malevolent dance. His heart thuds underneath his chest, skin ice-cold from the rain.

A week had passed since the strange miracle in his studio, and Namjoon had mostly kept to himself. ___ had roamed around his apartment, marveling at the strange and new world she found herself in. As clumsy as he was, ____ was clumsier. He’d had to pry many precious artifacts from her grasp, or make sure that she did not rip the pages from his chemistry books in order to read. Despite the astounding nature of his discovery, Namjoon couldn’t help but feel a sense of budding anxiety. He was afraid to show ____ to the world. What if they rejected her? Or worse, scorned him as a madman? Or a necromancer? People, as fickle and as proper as they were, wouldn’t be ready to accept something so different from the norm. He’d have to do some more finetuning.

His head churns with thoughts, the primary one being guilt. Fine-tuning? Had the experiment taken so much of his humanity that he’d forgotten that he’d created a life, one that he was now responsible for? It was his fault, his burden to bear for creating a being that he could not bring out into the world. ___ reminded him so much of an innocent child, smiling and laughing at the most mundane things, like a speck of dust floating in the air, or the wind ruffling the curtains.

He wished her childlike innocence would remain as such forever. That she’d never have to grow to experience the horrors of the world, full of pain and suffering. And so, he resolutely decided that she would have to be kept a secret.

“Namjoon!” A voice calls out to him in the rain, and he turns.

Jackson. There he was, bright-eyed and waving at him, and Namjoon felt color return to his cheeks at the sight of his old friend. Imbued with a sense of vigor, he rushes towards him.

“My dear friend! How have you been?” Jackson laughs, amused at the sight of Namjoon’s tall, lumbering frame pulling him into an embrace.

“Now you remember your old friends,” he teases.

“I am sorry,” Namjoon smiles, his dimples making a rare appearance. “I have much to share with you. Please come, I can make us some tea.”

The two of them walk together through the winding streets, back towards Namjoon’s apartment, when suddenly, Namjoon remembers his predicament.

“Jackson, please wait a moment outside,” he says. “I remembered that I’d been working until late last night, and need to arrange some things.”

“You think I don’t know how unruly you are?” Jackson teases, following Namjoon towards the door.

“Please,” Namjoon says harshly, turning, and his friend stops at the look of panic in his eyes.

Throwing the door open, Namjoon feels a cold shiver overtake him. Something was wrong. The wind whistled through the apartment, the shutters rattling along with the gusts. It was empty.

“Anything wrong?” Jackson’s voice asks him, and Namjoon feels a cold, clammy sweat overcome him. ___ was gone.

“No,” he shivers, not even daring to wonder about the disastrous consequences of his creation being unleashed on the world.

“Everything is fine.”

A nervous fever, the likes of which Namjoon had never experienced before, had taken over Namjoon’s body. He found himself prone to fits of madness, ones which had begun to concern Jackson, who had nursed him diligently. ___ was gone, unleashed out onto the world, and Namjoon was full of fear. Fear for himself, fear for others. What would they do if they happened upon her?

His only solace was a letter from Kyla. “Get well soon, my dear Namjoon, and return to us. To me.”

Soon, his father decided that enough was enough, calling for Namjoon to abandon the university and come home for a few weeks, back to the villa surrounded by nature that his family so loved. It was here that he tried to grapple with the happenings of his life over the past few months. How had he gone from achieving an extraordinary feat, one which men dared not dream of, to losing it all not even a week after? Sails set, he glided across the lake, hoping some signal of hope would find him amidst the murky waters below.

It was fitting then, that after uprooting the balance of the natural world, Namjoon should find a reprieve in the mountains. The river raging its course, carving a path through the rocks, the precipices dangling over his head - it reminded him how small he was in this great world, how foolish he’d been to try and master Nature itself. He could only hope that ___ had not fallen prey to the same mistakes he had. He shuddered, thinking of her all alone.

As he continued his trek, he occasionally stopped and took reprieve to enjoy the beauty that surrounded him. It was a different, more eerie kind. From above, a glacier loomed over his head, framed on either side by ravines of snow that looked serene and peaceful, but he knew that one wrong step could lead to his demise. The trees that grew here were barren and severe, lending an austerity to the scene.

Breathing heavily, Namjoon stumbled to the top, his chest constricting in pain. He failed to realize how much of his energy the ascent had taken, settling upon a large rock at the summit to catch his breath. His gaze shifted to the valley below, the barest hint of green peeking from underneath the sea of snow and rivers of ice.

Namjoon felt something wet splash onto his palm, looking down in surprise to see a few stray tears escape and run down his face. He bowed his head solemnly.

“Wandering spirits, please, wherever you are, allow me this brief moment of happiness in my wretched life.”

As he muttered the silent prayer, he heard a twig snap from behind him.

28th August, 17—

My dear sister,

As I write to continue this tale, I must also share some unfortunate news. It seems we have sailed into rough waters, left to the mercy of the mighty ocean current. I fear we shall be steered off course, and that our journey North will extend even longer than I had hoped. I did wish to return sooner, but I hope you can understand that I must continue on.

I fear for our guest. Namjoon seems even more uneasy the further we drift away, as though our rift with the land mirrors his own delicate temperament. After listening to his narration, I would have thought that the sea held a special sort of magic for him, being a man so irrevocably intertwined with our natural world, but it seems that is the opposite. We’ve come to a pause in the tale anyway, for Namjoon has stumbled into a fit, unsure if he can continue.

“I fear what you may think of me if I continue,” he said to me.

“Nonsense,” I reassured him. “Despite everything I’ve heard so far, my regard for you has not changed. My heart beats to know more. You have led a most amazing life, one that I would be honored to know about.”

“You may think me honorable,” he wails. “Yet I fear that it is all a lie. Nevertheless, I will indulge you. But a word of caution - let your reasonable mind be the judge of a miserable wretch such as I, and not anything as fragile and as fickle as a heart.”

Namjoon turns at the sound, and nearly topples over at the sight before him. In the dense fog, a figure approaches, one which he knows all too well.

“____,” he says, stumbling towards her, the wind knocked from his body. “____!”

She approaches him, the fog clearing to reveal her face, and Namjoon is shocked. While nothing has changed in terms of her makeup, there’s something inherently different within her spirit. The way she looks at him, it’s no longer like a child seeing the world for the first time, but he looks back to find a feeling of sorrow and anguish in her eyes that mirrors his own. It was so… human. Namjoon’s head spins in anger.

“How dare you?” he bellows. “How dare you leave my care, escape the safety of the home I so carefully crafted for you?”

He watches you flinch for a brief moment, hurt flashing in your eyes but it soon fades.

“I should have expected this,” you seethe, and he jumps back, in awe of your ability to articulate yourself. Where had you learned to speak?

“I should have expected,” you continue. “That you’d be angry with me for leaving. But Namjoon…”

A shiver runs down his spine at his name coming from your lips. Your voice is different, deep with a haunting lilt.

“Namjoon,” you breathe. “Your name is Namjoon. And you are my creator. I beg you please, as a man with this gift, fulfill your duty towards me. I have seen little of the world thus far, but from what I have learned, I yearn to know more. I want to be like you. I want to live peacefully like the rest of mankind.”

A hollow chuckle escapes Namjoon’s throat, and he’s shaken by the lack of emotion in it.

“Live peacefully?” he says. “What makes you think any of us live peacefully? What secret have you discovered that humanity knows nothing of? What, pray tell, was your plan to living happily, to living like someone, or something you could never be?”

Hurt flashes in your eyes at Namjoon’s sharp words and he clenches his jaw, defiant and unwilling to demonstrate how much your expression grates at his nerves,

“Listen to me,” you spoke to him, reaching for his hand like you had that very first night, but he pulled it away with a scowl. “Hear my story, and then you are free to judge or abandon me as you please. Let us build a fire. It is cold.”

You beckon him to follow you to rest under a tree, where various sticks and stones have been gathered. He follows, lips parted in awe as he watches you work, your once unwieldy limbs now moving diligently and swiftly to craft a blaze. At once, his mind is reminded of the various myths and legends he used to read through as a child. In the blazing afternoon sun, he watches you bring the flame to life, setting the scene for your own trial by fire. A modern Prometheus.

The flames flicker orange and blue, and then you begin to speak.

“For most people, even children, their creation is as natural and as fluid a process as taking a breath, or sipping water. But when I was created, everything was a blur. It was a strange phenomenon, being able to sense so many things at once. I saw, smelt, heard, felt, and yet, I didn’t know the world around me. The light hurt my eyes, and for a while, I wished I could return to the darkness I had known before. One that hadn’t known who I was.”

Namjoon’s throat bobs, thick with emotion. He’d never considered the circumstances of your creation from any perspective other than his own.

“You were kind to me,” you continue. “I knew you were scared. I knew I was strange and different from you. I supposed that’s why you would leave me every day to attend to your duties. The very first time, I came to regret that my countenance would drive you away in such a panic. But then you returned, and all seemed well and normal. The world outside made you happy, I could tell. You felt free, felt like you were a part of something. Unlike me, cast into the oppressive loneliness of your apartment.”

“So I ran away. At first, the light hurt my eyes and the stones cut my feet. I stole clothes from your closet, but soon realized that my body could not fit them the same way yours did. I should have felt more like a foolish child, one who strayed from her parents. But no, I felt free, and I felt hopeful. Hopeful that like you, the one who made me, there would be a place for me in this world.”

“I do not know how long I walked. People would run and flee at the mere sight of me, shrieking and pointing at my body, my face. I did not know why they didn’t warm up to me the same way that you had. It was at that point I began to understand that I was a different kind of creature, one that was not human.”

“Eventually, on the outskirts of your town, I happened upon a small hut. It was abandoned, much to my relief, for I resolved at that moment to stay away from humanity. Many of the people I observed seemed unhappy, and my presence only contributed to their prolonged unhappiness. In the hut, I began to learn how to use fire. I credit its discovery with saving my life, for it kept me warm and well-fed.”

“Try as hard as I did, I could not escape the presence of humanity forever. Many of them would walk by the hut, and I took it upon myself to learn the strange sounds they used to communicate with one another.”

It is at this point that you pause, taking in Namjoon’s wide eyes. There was a malevolent sort of glee contained within their depths, awe at what had come to be of his beloved creation.

“Truthfully,” his voice rumbles. “I am shocked. I did not think you were capable of such a feat.”

“Why would you?” you continue on. “If you had been left to your whims, I would have been abandoned in your apartment all alone, left to wither away of my own accord, or to be disposed of once you grew resentful of my presence.”

“Why did you return to me, then?” he asks. “I provided you with so little. I could not even fulfill the basic duties of a caretaker. Do you wish to mock me, to flood me with that guilt? I live with it every day.”

“I must continue,” you tell him. “You’ll learn everything in time.”

“Two of my human companions came to the woods surrounding the hut often. I looked at them, realizing they were like you and me. A man and a woman. I observed the most curious of relationships between them. The man would stroke the woman’s hair, putting flowers in it, and they would laugh and converse and eat during the day. At night, they would touch and embrace each other often, whispering words in the dark. I began to feel a surge of emotions inside this body of mine, ones with which I was previously unfamiliar”

Namjoon’s cheeks go pink, breath hitching at what you possibly could have witnessed between this couple.

“That is not for your knowledge,” he says, breath low, even though there was no one to be found for miles around.

“I feared you would say so,” you look into his eyes, a sad smile overtaking your malformed features. “But I learned of the thing you humans called love, and that is why I have come to you today.”

Namjoon’s face blanches, and his heart begins to race. What had you come to request from him?

“Please teach me about love, Namjoon,” you ask, bright eyes shining for the very first time with tears. “In my brief time in this world, I’ve seen so much pain, and sadness and suffering - among humans, among animals, even among the crops that are grown for harvest. The world is bleak and full of so much desolation, it’s a wonder to me that anyone wants to live in it. But they do, and love is what drives them to do so. I sincerely believe it is at the foundation of everything.”

Namjoon remains frozen, unable to speak, taunted by the ghost of his younger self, who’d been overcome with all the world had to offer, love being among it. What a fool he’d been.

“I cannot love anyone anymore,” he says, bitter with grief. His mother’s eyes flash in the back of his mind. “I will not let myself be capable of it.

“But you were capable of it,” you pester him, and his temple throbs. “You loved your parents. You love Kyla.”

At the mention of her name, Namjoon’s gaze shoots up to yours, face heating in anger.

“How do you know about her?”

“Why should only you be privy to all the whims and fancies that this life has to offer, Namjoon? Why can I not indulge in the same passions?”

He opens his mouth, ready to protest, but you beat him to it.

“Because I’m not human? Because I’m not a real woman?”

Your voice breaks on the last word, and tears spill from your eyes.

“Why did you create me then? Why did you make something you’d come to abhor, if you weren’t even going to try to love it? Or let it find love of its own.”

“One chance,” you issue the ultimatum. “Give yourself one chance to love me, in whatever way you can. That is all I ask from you.”

Pity burrows itself deep within Namjoon’s chest at your forlorn figure. Could he ever love you? He loved the idea of you, back when he was hard at work in his lab. But you weren't what he expected at all. Maybe, just maybe if he tried to give you the love that you so desperately craved, he could find the dream he had lost sight of. And be happy once more.

“I shall try.”

“Namjoon, are you okay? You look quite pale.”

Namjoon’s eyes shoot up, meeting Kyla’s from across the breakfast table. She decided to pay a visit, worried and fretting that Namjoon had replied to none of her letters. He finds himself blushing, noticing that she’d only grown more beautiful as the years passed by.

“I’m fine, just thinking,” he responds brusquely.

“About what?” Kyla asks him. “Your head is always in the clouds, Namjoon. You need to come back down.”

He could not reveal the truth of where his concerns lay to her. You’d asked to meet him in the woods surrounding the villa. Today, his trial would begin, and he prayed that whoever was watching over him above would lead him down the path of prosperity. He shivered to think what would happen if he could not keep his promise to you, how you would react.

“I’m going to go for a walk in the woods,” Namjoon stands, excusing himself from the table.

“May I come? Kyla asks.

He shakes his head, offering her a small smile as consolation.

“Not today, Kyla. I would like to be alone.”

. . .

You’re waiting for him, perched on top of a rock. He approaches nervously, unsure of what you have planned. How was one supposed to bring themselves to love someone just like that? That kind of love existed only in fairytales.

He scoffs to himself, making his way to the middle of the clearing. Eyes widening, he takes in the sight of books, scattered all around you. The covers are worn, pages battered from use, and he wonders how you happened upon so many at once. Skimming through the titles, he recognizes a few of the names. Poets.

“I thought you could teach me how to read,” you tell him, holding out one of the books. “We can start with this one.”

“Why poetry?” he asks, raising his eyebrows quizzically.

“I overheard the humans one day talking in strange rhymes,” you say. “He was reading her a book just like this, and she seemed to like it.”

A small smile makes its way onto Namjoon’s face. Your eyes, as strange as they look, light up with the same happiness he’s seen in a child discovering something new for the first time. He’s reminded of his summer days at the villa, discovering the world around him.

“Let’s start here,” he grabs the book, face blanching when he sees the cover. Milton’s Paradise Lost. His heart begins to race, wondering if you’d picked it out intentionally, whether it meant something to you. But you’re holding it out, a smile on your face, and his anxious spirit calms immediately.

He begins to read, his voice carrying melodiously against the wind, whistling through the branches of the trees. All the while, your eyes are on him, watching the way his mouth moves, his eyes widen, and his eyelashes flutter. The time passes by in an eerie silence, and he wishes you would say something, do something. But you just sit there and listen, focused on the story.

If the similarities between the text and your own entry into the world strike you, you say nothing, instead hanging off his every word. He finishes the chapter, closing the book.

“That will be all for today,” you tell him.

Namjoon’s mouth opens in shock. Nothing about the endeavor had been particularly romantic, or even stimulating in the way he’d expected. Were you playing tricks on him?

“You have a wonderful voice, Namjoon,” you whisper softly, and his heart freezes. “It sounds like what the humans call music.”

“I’ll meet you there in two days,” you tell him.

He watches you walk back into the forest, and his tongue feels as though it has been coated with lead. Where were you even staying? His entire being feels heavy, arms and legs weighed down with steel. He wishes to ask, but nothing comes out. Your figure disappears from his sight, and the burden of the questions he dared not speak presses heavy on his heart once more.

The days pass as such, Namjoon continuing through the pages of Paradise Lost one by one, with you hanging on to his every word. You don’t speak much during the sessions, stopping only to ask questions about a particular line, or repeat a passage that spoke to you. He’s grateful that you do not pressure his feelings to grow, simply asking to continue another time.

Instead, you leave him with small compliments, remarking on his hair, his outfit, or even the way his skin glows in the sunlight. They are but tiny, superficial, things, yet the endearing way you notice them causes strange feelings to churn within his heart.

In those formative years after his childhood had ended, Namjoon began to keep his heart under lock and key, building a glass castle around himself. He found himself partaking in the world around him, but no longer with any enthusiasm or investment. He often felt like a ghost, tormented by the guilt of his presence on this earth, wallowing in his unhappiness. Why did he live when his mother died? Was his empty, hollow soul truly of more value?

When you came into being, the emptiness and darkness only grew stronger. Namjoon felt as though he had tumbled into an abyss, one which he could never claw his way out of.

But being here, next to you, with the crisp air and birds singing, he felt the cracks in his heart start to heal. Reading Milton, exploring the story of creation again, made him finally feel as though his being was worth it. That he, Namjoon, had something to contribute to the world. He didn’t know if you were to credit, or he, for finally setting his mind straight from the madness.

Lost in his thoughts, he almost misses your question.

“The woman in this story, Eve,” you start. “She’s like me, isn’t she? She was created with the intention of being a gift, a form of salvation. But she turned out to be an abomination instead. That’s why they cast her out.”

“Can you ever forgive yourself for my creation, Namjoon?” you ask, shuffling closer to him on the rock. The warmth of your body moulds into his, sending sparks through his veins. “Will you forgive me, like God did Eve, for being so much less than you had hoped?”

Namjoon turns his face sharply towards you, panicking. The gnawing guilt had set in once more.

“I wish you could try,” you sob, voice breaking, a single tear falling from your eye and wetting the grey stone below.

Nostrils flaring, Namjoon feels a pain bloom within his chest. Something strikes within him at the listless and despondent tone with which you speak, and he snaps.

Lowering his face to yours, he watches your eyes widen in shock, nervously shrinking into yourself. He decides he wants none of that from you. His large palms come up to cup your cheeks, the skin devoid of warmth like his own, but he pays it no mind as he leans down, pressing his lips to yours.

You do nothing to respond, frozen in shock. The kiss is no more than a few brief seconds, Namjoon pulling away immediately after, but he swears you look dazed. If the same blood ran through your veins as did his, no doubt you would be flushed right now.

“You are not my Eve, nor a fallen angel,” he says, so quietly you almost don’t believe it at all. “You are ___.”

Namjoon knows that the visits in the forest should have stopped a long time ago, for they would not ever be fathomable, or palatable to anyone that were to find out. He had abandoned the idea of using ____ to further the achievements of science and medicine long ago. In her gentle presence, he learned that death, as much as life, was part of the cycle that kept the universe intact.

He knew nothing good could come out of the time he spent with her. It was dangerous to plant ideas in her head, to make her dare to dream that just because Namjoon had some semblance of acceptance in his heart, others would do the same. But, out there in the woods, he felt free. Free to be Namjoon, free to let his soul roam and wander, without the crippling feeling of being lost.

But human souls could never stray for too long, the iron shackles of society reining them in when they began to meander too far.

“Namjoon,” his father says sternly over the breakfast table one morning. “You should marry soon. I will not be around much longer.”

“Father, you are still young,” Namjoon admonishes him. “Don’t say such ridiculous things.”

“Everyday, I think about your mother’s last wish,” he responds. “Don’t you?”

It was guilt, Namjoon thinks. Guilt that brought him to tearfully say yes to his father’s proposition at the table. Guilt that made him put a ring on Kyla’s finger the very next day, the two of them dressed up and laughing along with his father, who beamed proudly.

He was a fraud. Namjoon would never become the son that his mother and father wanted him to be, for he harbored you, his biggest secret. He’d never be a loyal husband, nor a loving father. If he had any hope of becoming so, he had to let you go.

The stroll to the woods was a harsh one that day, he noticed. The wind howled, rustling the leaves, many of which had abandoned their brilliant hues of red and gold to become a muddy brown. A few of them detached, flying towards Namjoon’s face, and he shivered as the chill set in.

You’re sitting there, on the same rock you always are, but you’re not looking for him. Eyes trained on the ground, your figure casts a forlorn shadow, bent and broken, and he wonders if you already know.

“Sometimes, I think it would be easier if I were to tear up all the trees in the forest, to wreak havoc and destruction, like all you humans expect of me, and then to sit and watch the ruin unfold.”

Namjoon takes a step back, foot crunching on a fallen leaf, and you look up at him, devastation in your eyes.

“Maybe then a wretch like me could disappear.”

“I am sorry,” Namjoon stutters. “I did not wish for it to be like this, for things to turn out as they were—”.

You interrupt him with a harsh snarl.

“And yet, you were the one who said yes to her, Namjoon. You were the one who slipped the ring onto her finger, just like you were the one who created me. That type of responsibility is something you can never run from. It will torment you, haunt you to an early grave.”

A chill runs down his spine at your menacing threat, and fury sets in. He would not be pushed around by you like this.

“I fulfilled my end of the bargain,” he says coolly. “I tried to love you, in whatever way I was capable of. It is not my fault that I am a human, especially one who is weak to the follies and enjoyments of life, the pursuit of beauty and the act of procreation being among it.”

His words prick like thorns, and you wish you could bleed, bleed, bleed out, until you simply ceased to exist.

“You did not even try!” you scream, the sound ripping through the forest. “You were against me from the start! Why damn me to such a miserable existence?”

“It was a punishment!” he seethes, the vein in his temple throbbing. “I’ve been punished, and I will surely go to hell for this act of abomination.”

“Burn then! Rot!” you collapse into a heap on the forest floor. “But you will never find someone more loyal than I, someone who loves you more.”

“But I shall,” you rise, looking him directly in the eyes. “Make another like me, so that we may disappear together. Heed this final wish, and I promise I shall never leave my stain upon humanity again.”

Namjoon pales. Could he do it? Create another creature? His guilty conscience cracked into shards at the thought of how much danger the world could be in if you remained resentful. All because of him. He’d have to try.

As the days dwindled, and his wedding to Kyla approached, Namjoon felt the illness which had set in after your creation return. He tossed and turned every night in bed, prone to fits of coughing, and flinched at anything that dared to cross his path.

You had not contacted him again since the last time you’d spoken, but he felt your presence everywhere. At times, he would feel as though someone was watching him through the window, and Namjoon shuddered.

He’d returned to the university, assuring Kyla and his father that there was urgent work he needed to take care of. Carefully, he began to collect the parts, instantly transported back to those dark days of his first experiment. The madness that lingered dormant returned, but Namjoon pushed on.

As the being neared completion, Namjoon gave it a hard look. While you were gentle and submissive, he feared the consequences of unleashing a male creature onto the world. What if he rejected you, and gave into his baser desires? Men were wretched souls, delighting in murder and despair, and he felt his blood freeze.

Would the creature even be able to love you the way you desired? Would he be a shoulder to rest on after a hard day, reading you the great works of the poets? Would he be able to consummate a union with you, and bear children? The longer Namjoon thought about all these things, the more uneasy he became.

What you sought was not something the creation of another being could provide. Nor did Namjoon want another being to command your attention and affection. He wishes he could turn back time. All of his past mistakes swirl in his mind, and he realizes that he should have never thrown aside love for ambition. Maybe if he had stayed with Kyla after his mother’s passing, things would have been different. Greater yet, he should have never said yes to his father’s proposal. What kind of relationship could be built on lies?

In a fit of madness, Namjoon chooses the truth to set him free. A single flick of his wrist, and the match is lit. The flames flicker, their gleam reflecting in his eyes, and he throws it upon the half-finished being, sealing its destiny.

Taking in a deep breath, Namjoon pauses. Moments pass by, the ticking of his grandfather clock heard in the night. And then a knock. And another one.

The knocks grow louder and louder, yet Namjoon remains still, watching his breath release into the cold air. Behind him, he hears the door creak softly.

“You broke your promise,” your voice is but a whisper. Namjoon’s chest tightens when he hears how cold and listless it sounds.

“How dare you?” you continue. “How dare you take away my hope?”

Namjoon turns, stalking towards you, his tall figure caging you against the door. You shrink into yourself, glassy eyes boring into his.

“There was never any hope,” he whispers dangerously. “No one would ever be able to love you like you desire. No one would ever be able to fulfill your outrageous wishes. Except me. You are mine, and mine alone.”

He’s so close to you, he can feel your breath touch his lips, the curve of your neck extending outwards, your eyes never leaving his.

And then, Namjoon snaps, his full lips seeking yours, finally driven mad by the twisted passion that had burrowed itself inside him all along. He is not gentle, crushing you against him, tongue seeking entrance into your mouth.

A choked whine escapes your mouth, and Namjoon feels a tent form in his breeches. However, he doesn’t let up, detaching his lips from yours to leave more fervent kisses on the side of your face, the curve of your jaw, the slope of your neck.

You squirm underneath him, but Namjoon pins you underneath his weight, smirking when he feels your skin heat. His teeth graze the spot where your pulse should lie, and he bites down, rewarded with a sharp gasp from you.

“Could anyone else make you feel like this?” he taunts, licking a stripe against your neck, watching his saliva glisten on your skin in the dark. “Would anyone else kiss you here? Touch you here?”

He cups your heat in his hands, and you let out a broken moan, hips rutting against his warm palm.

“N-namjoon, please,” you sob, tears pricking your eyelashes. The burning inside of you was so unfamiliar, yet you craved more of it. You didn’t crave the touch of another such as yourself. You craved Namjoon.

“Say it!” he says, his own hips pushing wildly against your, cock throbbing underneath the heavy fabric. “Say you’re mine.”

Your breathing becomes shallow, stomach fluttering as the maddening pressure continues to build and build.

Namjoon groans, feeling your wetness seep into the fabric of his pants, when suddenly, he’s pushed away with a jolt.

Release never comes, your flushed and panting figure staring at him, tear tracks making their way across your solemn face.

“I’m no ragdoll,” you say through clenched teeth. “I am not yours to use and abuse as you wish. I’m not the meek creature you believe me to be anymore. Beware, Namjoon, for I am fearless and therefore powerful.”

His heavy breaths echo in the room as he watches you leave, your dark figure running through the lamp lit streets, and he knows he’ll never be rid of you.

The reckoning comes weeks later, on his wedding day. All day, Namjoon is wracked with nerves, seeming to all the guests as a young man in anticipation of one of life’s great events. But only he knows the truth.

The ceremony passes by uneventfully. Kyla looks as beautiful as the fresh spring flowers that grew outside his childhood villa, her face beaming with love and pride. Namjoon feels sorry for her. She should have married Jackson instead. He was a man far more noble, far more honest than Namjoon could ever be. He could be her knight, while Namjoon could only be her undoing.

Their first night together passes by in quiet solitude, Kyla’s shyness making itself known once they escape the ceremony. Namjoon brews a cup of tea, tapping his foot anxiously. A scream breaks the silence.

Rushing towards their shared bedroom, Namjoon’s heart stops at the scene he finds. Kyla is sobbing, curled up into a ball in the corner, while you loom over her, a menacing grin distorting your features to make you seem even more frightening.

“I shall tell you the truth about the kind of man you married,” you taunt, and your eyes meet his wide ones.

Frozen in place, Namjoon is powerless to stop you. Truth was the most powerful weapon you had against him. You’d been right the last time he’d seen you. Namjoon was a coward, but you, you were fearless. And you’d use it to ruin him.

Namjoon doesn’t hesitate for a single moment. He speaks not a single word, turning on his heel. Then he runs.

1 September, 17–

My dear sister,

Having heard this strange and fascinating story of horror, does your mind not congeal with horror? Mine surely does. There were many moments during this narrative where Namjoon was seized with a sudden agony, as though he contained the rage of a volcano. I feared he would not be able to continue.

Namjoon has spent his entire life in exile. He tells me that he’s wanted in England for witchcraft, and that after his departure, his father’s heart broke tremendously, and he passed. I’ve never seen a more lonely man.

And yet, he seeks to end his torment. Wishing to be lonely no more, he only wishes to find ___, to speak to her one last time. And then he wishes to rest.

In speaking to him, I wonder if my own journey of lofty ambition will inevitably be the anchor that sinks our vessel. Many a time, I have seen our perilous condition, and wondered if all this was worth it. Will it be worth it to never set foot on land again, to never see my loved ones? To lose your presence forever would be something I could not bear.

The sailors feel the same way, I fear, for this morning, I was roused by a group of them, shouting in my ear that they demand a mutiny. They demanded that I direct my course back towards England, and that there should be no more rash dangers.

I opened my mouth to agree, but was suddenly interrupted by Namjoon, his cheeks flushed and eyes blazing.

“Is this how you treat your captain? The one who leads you through every danger, who celebrates your every triumph? The journey you undertake is not one of merit because of how calm the waters were, but because you have managed to surmount the most insurmountable of obstacles. Be brave men, men who are honorable, who lay their lives and their pride down for the betterment of humanity. Return home with your heads held high, proud that you did not submit to cowardice.”

As he finished his speech, I could see that he was flushed, struggling to breathe, and I braced myself for his imminent collapse. Among the crew, there were hushed whispers, but no visceral reaction, and I saw Namjoon’s shoulders slump, his sunken figure almost deprived of life itself.

12 September, 17–

Dear sister,

It is done. We shall start our journey to return in a few days. Namjoon’s condition worsened, and he pulled me to his bedside after his visit with the surgeon.

“I am dying,” he said. “I do not think I’ll ever find ___ again, or be able to say these sacred words that I’ve been keeping in my heart for so many years. And so, Jungkook, I entrust them to you. I regret that for the majority of my life, I’ve been torn in between a battle of head and heart for my entire life. I sought to develop a creation, one that could push the boundaries of science and humanity as we knew it. But I should have remembered that nothing, and no one, is perfect. I should have been prepared to accept my faults. Along the way, I forgot that ___ was not merely a pawn for my use, but someone who I owed a duty to. It was my duty to ensure her long lasting prosperity and happiness as her creator, but I eschewed my duty because I was scared. I was a coward, and even bigger of a fool for creating someone I could not love properly. I fear I have committed her, and myself, to a life of eternal despair. Seek happiness in your tranquility, Jungkook. Do not fall prey to ambition, for as many lives as you think you can change, you may also ruin.”

Half an hour later, Namjoon was gone. I mourned his loss deeply, sister, for he was an extraordinary soul. My heart aches for the cruel way he left the world, despairing and aching inside, forever doomed to restlessness.

Soon after his passing, I was watching the ice float around us on the deck, when I heard a rustling from the cabin, where the remains of Namjoon lay. Over him hung a form which I could not describe, but recognized instantly. A woman, but with uncouth and distorted proportions. Silent tears fell from her face onto Namjoon’s pale ghostly body. I took in a sharp intake of breath, and she turned, stopping at my presence, and the jolting to the window.

“Wait,” I called out to her. “Please stay, ___.”

“How do you know my name?” she says. “What did he tell you?”

“I know your story,” I said to her. “I know the circumstances of your entry into this world, and the misfortunes of your life.”

“You may know,” she responds. “But you shall never understand. You shall never understand how I roamed the earth, miserable and alone. So many times, I wished I could just give in and become the monster that Namjoon always saw me as. And he would watch, as his fallen angel became a malignant devil.”

She looked forlornly upon Namjoon’s still figure, and there was such a sad yet unbelievably tender expression on her face, that my heartstrings felt as though they were being tugged by the dogs on the sledge Namjoon kept looking for.

“Namjoon will never know how much I loved him,” she sobs. “He’ll never know how I would have given the world to become someone he could love back, the woman he wanted with his entire heart, and not the monster I am.”

She turns towards me, pointing her shaking index finger towards where her heart should lay.

“From now on, he won’t have to worry. I shall quit this vessel and become the architect of my own demise, disappearing to somewhere where I can perish alone.”

As I listened to her, I could not help but marvel at how these two disparate, wretched creatures had found one another. The story of their undoing caused my chest to tighten, and I thought of you then, dear sister. I thought of your smiling face, and the care you have shown to me, and I realized how unlucky these souls had been to live their lives without love. Namjoon had perished, losing the love of his mother, his fiancée, his creation, and most of all himself. His cowardice and abhorrence for his creation had turned him into a shell of a man, and he wasted away.

I could not let that happen again.

“Please wait,” I interrupted ___. “What if there was a way? What if you could live your life freely and bravely, and not be doomed to the same miserable existence as Namjoon? Would you take it?”

Her breath hitches, and she slumps against the wall, eyes devoid of emotion, as though she is lost in thought.

“There are no guarantees that I would be accepted by anyone,” she says. “Namjoon could not accept me for who I was.”

“Namjoon was but one wretched man on this earth. The world is full of many kind ones, including myself. Come stay with me and my sister. We can introduce to our world, and help you live a life that’s peaceful and content, one where you would be comfortable. We wouldn’t push you, of course, but be there to help you whenever you desire to experience something new.”

“I’m afraid,” she sobs.

“And that is understandable,” I said. “There are many things to be afraid of. Even I was afraid when I undertook this extraordinary journey. But when we cast our fears aside, we can discover wonderful things. We can discover new places, new ideas. We can find light, laughter, and maybe even love.”

“Love?” she said. “Do you think there could be someone who loves me out there?”

“I think you can try,” I said. “Now will you join me?”

Her cold palm enveloped my warm one, the fingers clutching on tightly to mine. I made a promise then that I would never let ___ go. And so now, we make our way back to you, sister, transversing the darkness and distance to be borne by the waves to our home.

Sincerely yours,

Captain Jeon Jungkook

fin.

A/N pt. 2: Thanks for reading! As always, any feedback or comments are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway. Lots of love, Isi 💜

232 notes · View notes

mha-grievances · 1 year

Note

I wanted to say that Izuku attainting OFA was a good idea, because Izuku's quirkless nature should have helped him understand Hero society in a different light unlike his classmates with few exceptions (Shouji, Shoto, etc.) who take the status quo for granted. But Hori can't stop whitewashing Bakugo's actions towards Izuku, this never gets explored to Izuku's detriment. Not to mention AM past being quirkless, how much did OFA warp his perspective before Izuku reminded him again about the true meaning of being a hero.

If I had my way, I would have Izuku have little to no struggle mastering OFA, of course build up his strength overtime. But Izuku would be the OverDog, someone powerless thrusted with an immense power. Kind of like One Punch Man only more dramatic because a teenager with mental issues and heroic nature effectively has the power of Superman. Now Izuku would have to ask himself some serious questions about what kind of hero he wants to be and why. Does fighting as a hero mean upholding hero society for all its flaws or does it need to be teared down for something better. How much is a hero still a hero before he is a vigilante or even a revolutionary? Which should be a good lesson for kids and young adults reading this story, because it's not enough to covet an important position of power like Naruto wanting to be Hokage, Luffy being the Pirate King or being Number 1 hero but what are you going to do after attainting this position? They need to understand the burden of responsibility rather then putting a fancy title on their resume.

But Hori wasted this opportunity by having Izuku as the fake underdog, struggling with mastering OFA as his main focus in the story. Izuku spent his time worried about mastering OFA rather then thinking about the flaws and ways to fix things. Its also a waste of world building potential because if Izuku is self-reflective like he supposed to be, then he could have been sympathizing with villains or view certain heroes as no different than bullies like at his middle school. Suddenly what was once black and white has become grey, even All-Might can't give him any good answers because the Hero Society he has built is the legacy that he fought so hard for and doesn't see anything wrong with it yet. We could have disagreements between Izuku and All-Might about these issues and what kind of purpose should OFA be about before and after AFO was revealed to be alive and ready for revenge.

This is why I hate the Quirkless Hero Izuku stories because the way Hero society is structured, it would never have allowed for Izuku to succeed in the first place. Eraserhead would have expelled him, schools would firmly reject him and people would just laugh at him for being arrogant to think he could provide any value in the field besides his smarts which could be suited elsewhere.

A quirkless Izuku would require a change of personality and plot armor for him to prevail. These stories become all about the Struggle rather then how twisted and unfair the system. Even compensating with technology devalues Izuku's character because he loves studying quirks! It makes him a great leader helping him bulid teams for the right scenario and placing value in everyone's quirk no matter how useless or villainous it may be. Having technology to compete with quirks would become impossible without changing the setting entirely.

A quirkless Izuku would also seem self-centered at this point because yes he wants to be a hero, but he could be a Police officer or firefighter to satisfy his heroic impulses. It could even be a point in the original story, which is partly why i think many people still feel that frustrated about this subject because Hori failed or was reluctant to explore this topic with Izuku and covers for Bakugo's BS. Man I sound like a broken record, it always leads back to Bakugo lol.

I definitely agree with the first half.

With the second half, I think a quirkless hero would definitely work, but you’d also have to place limits on what can be achieved. As a hero, Izuku would be street level. Think Batman, DareDevil, and Punisher. He wouldn’t go after people that can shatter buildings with a punch. He’d go after people running drug cartels and involved with gang activity. About 85% of people in the MHA world would die to some bloke with a gun, so have him fight those people instead of the ones that can’t. He doesn’t have to be a line light hero because that was never his goal to begin with. He just wanted to help people. He can also use technology to fight people since the tech in MHA is extremely advanced, but keep in mind that Izuku doesn’t have the funds to create all the things he might want to, so he’d have to stick with some more basic stuff until he can afford the materials to build something better.

29 notes · View notes

musette22 · 1 year

Note

Minnieeee 💕💕 how about this Sebastian and this Chris? Or Stucky, if you prefer. Seb is at a local diner, just ordered some food, when he hears a noise outside, a man on his motor cycle stopping right outside. He turns around on his bar stool, and he finds himself unable to look away. This is the most gorgeous man he’s ever seen. He’s definitely hungry now.

He forgets about the food he’s ordered and gets ready to go up to the man outside. He’s just going to shoot his shot. He walks up to him, smirking a little. He’s definitely putting a little extra swing in his step.

When gets right in front of the guy, he looks him up and down shamelessly. “Hey gorgeous,” he says, “ain’t seen anyone like you ‘round here before. Let me buy you dinner?”

The guy grins at him. “Those lines usually work for you?” He asks.

Sebastian pulls him in by his open shirt. “‘S worked fine for me so far.”

The guy’s eyes twinkle in amusement. “Oh yeah? You been using them on every poor unassuming man driving by?”

Seb presses a kiss to his lips. “Just on the gorgeous ones, honey,” he teases as he pulls away. “You get everything we needed?”

Chris pulls him back in for a kiss, biting Sebastian’s lip a little for his teasing. “Yeah baby,” he says, holding up the bag from a nearby gas station. “Now come on, I was promised dinner.”

They probably get dinner to go, have a picnic somewhere in a field, before they go on the rest of their little road trip, just the two of them. Sebastian thinks this trip is probably the worst idea ever, because seeing Chris on a bike drives him crazy, but luckily Chris feels the same - that’s what all those motel and b&b (and the occasional field) stops are for. So really, not the worst idea ever at all.

Ummmmmmmmmmmmmm Maya??? Hello? Quick word? Here I am, just minding my own business on this Thursday evening, and then I open my inbox to THIS? 😭😭 I love this so much I'm literally wiggling in my seat, IT'S SO CUTE 🥺🥺🥺

I absolutely adore the little plot twist, which just makes it even cuter if you ask me. Seb thinking to himself 'DAMN, I can't believe this grade A hunk is all mine', while Chris is probably thinking 'God, I can't believe this bold, cheeky cutie is al mine' 💗💗

This reminds me of that post about the guy who asks out a girl at work and she accepts and his friends are like 'yeaaah!!' and then it turns out they're already married and really, that just makes it cuter 🥰 Still so in love after all this time, just like these boys 💘 I love love love this ficlet, and the visuals aren't half bad either 👀 Fluffy haired boyfriends in denim and on a bike??? UGH. Incredible. Love you Maya, boo!!

#evanstan #rpf #minnie answers

27 notes · View notes

sherbet-shark · 2 years

Note

What would you if there'd be a fic where Jamil teaches the reader how to cook? 👉👈 😳

A Sizzling discovery

Trigger warnings: Jamil thinking about his eternal servitude, semi-angst vibes, comfort(?), talks of assassinations, gender-neutral reader, sass exchange between reader and Jamil

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: Where Jamil teaches the Ramshackle leader how to cook after the young man in question sees the magicless dorm leader’s spying lesson.

Author’s notes: I am so sorry for this being so overdue I hope you can forgive me;-; but I hope that this is good for all of my fellow Jamil simps and italic means thoughts. Reblogs, comments, and likes are more than welcome!

Jamil stood tall, looking down at the wooden cooking board as he held an eggplant; his grip on the fruit was firm as he started to slice with a newly sharpened knife in his other hand. As per Kalim’s insistence, he wanted stuffed eggplant with lamb and walnuts, but the white-haired boy wanted to create the dish himself to Jamil’s chagrin. The Scarabian duo ‘argued,’ but eventually, the taller boy won and marched to the kitchen. The scene of pots hanging cleaned counters and stowed away ingredients was a familiar sight before him.

He never loved cooking. It reminded him of how he was forced into something after one of Kalim’s many assassinations attempts when they were young boys. The number of times he burnt his hands and cut his fingers was countless for a man that didn’t care as much for the hard work his servant put in. Always begging for more food, more decorations, more help, be it academically or otherwise. His job was to be Kalim’s teacher, cook, bodyguard, vice dorm leader, and his ‘friend’ or rather a responsibility. Yet, as he grew and matured, it became part of him, his skills improved, and Viper found himself indifferent rather than seeing it as a chore as he thought in his youth.

The handsome man found that this forced upon skill was also a boon to his family. He could help his mother when planning meals and then tutor his little sister, begging Jamil to teach her. The elder brother found that this deftness in the kitchen became yet another place where he had to hide his individuality. Always be by the book, don’t stand out, and don’t draw attention to himself, which was forced upon him and grew to be his mantra. This mentality leaked into his culinary dishes, making them look rather bland, no color the bare minimum at best in terms of appearance. All because of the cruel, twisted thing called fate, making the raven-haired boy serve an arrogant naive little boy. Kalim had a wide-eyed sentiment wrapped in his head that everything would be better and they could be friends, no, rivals. The injured man sharply shot that proposition down as the Asim heir started to see his childhood friend clearly without his rose-tinted glasses, recalling that ‘minor’ incident made resourceful student sneer with displeasure.

As if Jamil wanted to be friends with someone that made him lose his childhood, losing his freedom as if he wanted to be friends with someone as stupid and tactless as Kalim-Al-Asim. But ever since the Octavinelle leader and co exploited his overblot and plot, he had to reclaim his reputation with the dorm and make amends. But really, what did Jamil expect for him and his family to be free from generational servitude? Or how he was told to be lower than Kalim for all of Jamil’s life by his parents, thus making him hide who he is to even himself? Would it all be ok after that? For everything to be as it was? According to the young heir, yes, but that's another thing this pragmatic young man gave his forethought on, the raven-haired man would never be free unless Kalim wishes for it to be so.

He huffs as his thoughts cloud his mind. Dark grey eyes glance down at the medium-sized slices of the fruit; he continues to work until he stops midway. He thought he heard something. “Who's there?” He called out, caution dripping from his words. Jamil turned his head to the doorway, grey eyes narrow in concentration and focused toward where he thought he heard something. The miracles of being trained for every instance he surmised.

“It’s me, Jamil. Uh, Dorm leader of Ramshackle?” The person that witnessed your magical mental breakdown and had to march through the desert for who knows how many days? You bite back that bitter snarky remark as you slinked out from the wall concealing your presence and into the light. You were still understandably mad about being locked up in the luxurious dorm and marching a scorching desert for miles. But that flaming anger turned more into something that you can hold over him in a secure and private area when you could, of course. You scratch your neck, caught red-handed.

There you stood under his scrutinizing gaze; he didn't look pleased from your spying session even though you peered into his memories, a glimpse into his life and of how things were unfair to him from before his birth. You couldn’t understand all of him, and oddly enough, you didn’t mind that fact. Even before Jamil’s plot, that wasn’t where your interest in him sparked. No, it was far before that. When the string of interferences for the Spelldrive tryouts started, you met him. That was when you were interested in this man; now that you put thought to it, it was such an odd and ironic thing. Jamil Viper was a mysterious puzzle that intrigued you; whether this intrigue came from anything romantic was anyone’s guess. But after his overblot, you tried to help him recover and lift the responsibilities from his shoulders. That was what drew his attention to you. The cautious vice dorm leader thought it was odd of you to help him after everything. Jamil was skeptical yet interested in this magicless person.

“I can see that; what are you doing?” Jamil folds his arms across his chest with his eyebrow arched in his signature. ‘I’m done, look, and his voice had a touch of snark. You shifted your weight from leg to leg; you felt the intensity of his stare and felt ashamed as quickly he caught on. I was sure I didn’t make any sound, in any case. “I Uh… oh god. This is weird to ask, but um, I wondered if you could teach me how to cook. I can do something in return for you, so there's some in it for you.” You weren't stupid to think that Jamil Viper would help you learn to cook out of the goodness of his heart, nor were you naive enough to think that and come in empty-handed, but that didn't mean your nerves didn't shoot up as you tried to look his face. The sophomore’s face shifted even if it was a small fraction of a second; he looked taken aback, then his mask of calm composure reappeared.

Jamil hummed as he listened to you and unfolded his arms, and he tilted his head in thought, bringing his hand and nestling it under his chin. The attendant had to admire how the dorm leader came into this situation prepared; you got used to how this school worked and its students, too, more so than someone he knows. But what else can he do with those malleable words of yours, make an exchange of manual labor for today? That suggestion made him roll his charcoal eyes, remembering how another of his peers would work in this situation. But regardless, he could use that as a guise to see what you’re like. Being bound into work would inevitably make him gather information right from the horse’s mouth rather than ask obscure questions from his peers and first-year students.

“All right then. Well, I still need to finish this, and I could use your help with the other part of this dish. Don’t worry. I’ll watch you and finish up and tell you how it’s done with those walnuts.” Jamil smoothly replies after thinking of possibilities as he watches your eyes gleam with eagerness at his answer. It was a familiar sight, and usually, he’d heave a tired sigh. But it took him off guard. It was endearing to him to see that smile from you. He urged your form to come out of the Kitchen’s doorway and towards him. With hesitant steps, you approached him and planted your feet where he pointed and grabbed the bowl of walnuts as the second-year resumed his work and told you to get more ingredients and slowly started to chop up the garlic in your hand.

“Have you made this often?” You try to cut through the silence between the two of you as you grab a significantly smaller knife than Jamil’s and glance at him for support. The atmosphere felt too quiet, but as you scrambled for something to talk about, your lips moved on their own and asked the first thing that came to mind, and you felt the awkward feeling building, and you cringed at that sorry excuse for a conversation. Jamil hummed in response as he made sure his small glances were subtle and could be mistaken for checking in on your progress. No injury happened on his watch, adding another item to his ever-growing list of responsibilities.

The vice dorm leader replies as he finishes brushing the fruit with oil and places the slices on the tray and into the oven. He rose and turned his head to your place near the counter. “On the occasion, Kalim says he’s been craving this and thankfully for you. It’s an easy dish, and I’m done here with this part. Then while we wait and start on the second half.”

“Oh, that’s good, and thank you for accepting to teach me to cook. Um. If and when you find the time in your busy schedule, maybe we can turn this to—” You sheepishly gather your words and try to acknowledge that the young man had a life and things; jumbled rambling takes place and fills the air. You didn’t want to seem like you were ordering him, but you still wanted to learn, but you also didn’t want him to feel pressured. He had so much on his plate, and you wouldn’t be surprised if Jamil recommended you to Trey’s cooking and baking tutelage. Jamil was so busy with his studies as a student at the prestigious school, being caretaker of his dorm and his childhood friend was a hefty toll on his limited free time.

Yet, he shook his head, intricately woven braids with gold chimed, calming music to your ears. As he opened his mouth to interject, “I don’t mind at all, Prefect. I can text you when Kalim wants food or preparation for a banquet. Of course, in that case, you may leave if it’s the second option, but in that case, there would be others to pick up your slack, and you’d be more than welcome to stay after our preparation. What do you say?” Was that a slight smirk you saw creeping on his lips, or was the lights playing tricks on your flustered self? You would’ve missed it if not for your eyes fluttering to his face to gauge his reaction. The second year found your scramble for words amusing and added to your humble charm but still managed to sneak in some pointed remarks.

“I- uh really? Would you do that? That’s great! Thank you. Thank you! I’ll do my best to help you, but I’m afraid I can only do simple parts of the dishes if you don’t mind.” You eagerly nod; strands of your hair fall in your face. Your cheeks hurt from smiling at his acceptance. However, your inexperience ebbs at the back of your mind as you told the scarabian student, hinting at possible hindrances to any time constraints if you put together the food.

“That’s what I said before, wasn’t it? If I’m not there to help, another student can help keep watch on your progress if you are helping out for a banquet, but I’d imagine I would let you handle more advanced dishes when you see improvement and become confident. For the most part, these lessons will be one on one and more tamer, so to speak,” Jamil explained with more evident snarkiness with an equally prided look on his face as you sighed and rolled your eyes at his behavior, but what else did you expect? Jamil still had his ego and pride for him, and you knew that much. He stood beside you, gazed down at your half chopped garlic, and arched his brow, unimpressed as he nudged your arm. “Is that all right with you, now? Shall we continue?”

“Well, go right ahead, Mr. bossy. I’m in your hands, so play nice, and I’ll be nice too.” You scowled at his face if he was still feisty too, but unknown to you, Jamil was curious to see if you were oblivious to his remarks, and he was more interested to see your replies. He opened his mouth to help advise you and see you resume your chopping. You found a sizzling discovery, and you couldn’t wait to find out more about this revelation.

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #disney #Jamil Viper #jamil x reader #Twst Jamil #Twst Jamil Viper #mentions: Kalim #reader insert #sherbet writes #Sherbet’s scenarios #twst x reader

155 notes · View notes

call-me-rucy · 3 years

Text

About Desmond Sycamore

This is the year 2021 and I’m not done talking about this man and his amazing tearjerking plot twist, so thanks to popular demand, here’s the 1k essay.

About his name

This post is brought to you by my brain, who, after 8 years, finally had an epiphany on what the meaning of Sycamore’s original surname is. Well, I say meaning. More like “way of writing”.

As you may know, Desmond’s original name in the Japanese version is “Foster Sahaiman”, originally “Fosutaa Saahaiman”, but that’s the regular Japanese way of spelling Foster so no problem there. Now, about the surname. Most common ways of spellling I’ve seen is either directly like it is in Japanese or, trying to English-ify it by ignoring a bunch of sylabes and going with “Simon”.

I finally found a way to write it in “English”, not ignoring any syllables.

My take is “Sirhighman“. Foster Sirhighman. It’s English sounding, non-existent and tbh sounds like the kind of name Hino would give to such a character. Basically, named him “Dr. Adopted Important-Chatacter”. And then again, we’re talking about the same character than later renamed himself “Desukooru” aka Deathcall (you can pry my headcanon of that being the intended meaning from my call death hands), so, in my opinion, it checks out.

About his colours

Back in the day, before we even knew what the sixth game would be titled, I already had the idea that it would include information about the professor’s early childhood. It was only natural, as the first time we’d heard about Layton’s past had been the end of the first trilogy and then in Miracle Mask we had explored his teen years. We were working backwards to a great and final backstory to close it all. The only problem I had with this deduction was, what would he get from this backstory? From Claire he got the “professor”, the “gentleman”and the hat; from Randall, he got the archaeology and the puzzling solving. If you removed that, all that was left of the character was just a man called Hershel Layton! , I remember thinking, annoyed, not knowing that that “Hershel Layton” was in fact the answer I was looking for.

On an apparent change of subject, I’d like to point out that Takuzo Nagano is an amazing character designer. He’s responsible for most Layton character designs, including Layton, Luke, Flora, Emmy... and of course Sycamore. The main characters are designed so that you can tell who it is with a glance. Blue? Luke. Yellow? Emmy. Orange and light brown? Flora. Dark Blue? Dark Future Luke. Except. Except. Sycamore shares the black and red palette with Layton. And when I say shares, I mean it.

Here I picked the colours to compare: in the scene, their skin, hair, suit and red details colours are extremely, extremely similar. In the credit images they’re downright identical. So much I had to put the shoe colours too so that I wouldnt confuse whose line is whose.

Slow clap for Nagano for designing two such visually different characters even though they share most of their colours.

Desmond’s suit is also (understandably) heavily inspired by Descole’s disguise: see the purple buttons, similar to Descole’s purple ribbon and how the shoes are literally the same. Real fun that Level-5 decided to make obvious from minute 1 of AL (aka the moment Raymond shows up, an then Desmond’s suit and voice) that these two were the same person only to then leave us with the existencial question of “Was Sycamore’s real identity Descole or was Descole’s real identity Sycamore?”.

Where am I going with all this? I’m not certain myself, I’m not particularly good at formalizing my ideas but imagine for a second that you have played all Professor Layton games with the exception of Azran Legacy, and you have no idea who even Sycamore is. And then I present you the following image, tell you it’s an image from the game you haven’t played, and I ask you to point to Hershel.

You’d do it right.

You’d correctly point to the figure with brown hair and dressed in orangey-red and go “That’s Hershel”. And that fact drives me crazy.

Because it there’s one thing Hershel Layton had before Claire, before Randall, apart from his name, it’s his colour scheme. I can only think of two instances before Azran Legacy in which Layton isn’t wearing anything orange or orangy-red (the fencing suit and a credit image in MM; no, I’m not counting Luke’s dream). Even future Layton in LF and the unused AA evil Layton designs had red in them!

So when Hershel gave his brother his name, he was giving him his place in the world, but, design-wise, he was also giving him his character place. The red colour we have learned during 5 games it means “Professor Layton” and “main character”, was not his own but given to him along with the name. Hershel Layton only starts wearing red and orange AFTER he is Hershel Layton, because those colours are the ones inherent to the character named Hershel which he wasn’t before.

It’s also interesting how they both got the same black. Story-wise, Layton wears black to match his hat, who was given by Claire, but she might have chose the colours based on clothes Layton already owned, as seen in the last credit picture of Unwound Future. But design-wise it’s just because he was thought like this. He was the main character and presumibly the first designed and they thought black was nice. I guess Sycamore’s black it’s also a nod to Descole but, for all that, Sycamone could have been in green. Or purple. Or, if you want it plain looking, just brown. Also Descole has a darker black in his cape and shoes, they could have gone with that. The point is: they didn’t need to copy paste Layton’s colour palette into another archaeology professor, but they did, and it’s entirely justified and supported by the story and that’s just beautiful and really clever.

That’s it! Hope you enjoyed reading, feel free to add your own comments on the subject! :D

#professor layton #desmond sycamore #jean descole #azran legacy #azran legacy spoilers #the return of rucy the layton infodumper #im not apologizing for the length #hershel layton

139 notes · View notes

starberry-skies · 2 years

Note

bestie what it is community please tell me about it

GASP someone to infodump to okok so. basic knowledge community is ur classic sitcom but!! the twist is that its constantly making fun of sitcom tropes (and itself) its really meta at some points but ill get into that laterrr. it all takes place in a community college and ill just go over the main characters for now bc i work in the morningjsjdjdn

jeff- hes an ex-lawyer w daddy issues and a huge ego. his character is okayyy but def not my fave.

britta- described in the show as an "anarchist cat owner". her heart is always in the right place, but shes just... bad at executing some of her ideas (side note: my favorite quote of hers is "you cant blame him, thats like me blaming owls for how much i suck at analogies")

abed- where to begin. hes the best character (who lowkey started my gender crisis) but he's introduced as "quirky weird kid who makes movie references and movies of his friends". important note is abed is v much hinted to be on the spectrum but they never say it outright,, oh also community was made in like. 2010 so keep that in mind. anyway i could be projecting (i am) but abed just knows everyone and himself really well so he just acts a certain way to make everyone and himself happy. he makes movies thru out the series and it gives a fantastic insight om how he sees the world. he takes movies and tv very seriously and i love him for it <33333

troy- my beloved. hes like... himbo at its finest. he starts off as a dumb self-centered jock but eventually evolves into kind and forgiving air-conditioning repair Man. hes bffs w abed but lets be honest theyre in love. like. ill get into that later djdjdsskejdifjfj

pierce- hes an old man bigot and i hate him. thats all you need to know

shirley- christian single mother who's super passive agressive and guilt-trip-y. i like her character but theres not much else to say abt her?

annie- if youve seen brooklyn 99 then imagine like... a younger amy whos also a (headcanon) lesbian. annie JUST got out of highschool (and a pill addiction) and shes just looking for someone to love. shes really organized and she plans her whole life years in advance and she kinda hates herself for it. she was gonna be in a relationship w jeff but the fans were like,,, no??? theres like a two decade age gap???? so they kinda stopped that.

which brings me to my next point::: Troy And Abed Had A Better Relationship Arc Than Any Of The Straight People And They Weren't Even In A Relationship.

ok im SUPER biased here but stay with me. they have a SONG. they share a favorite SHOW. they DRESS UP LIKE THE BEST FRIENDS FROM THAT SHOW CASUALLY. your honor they are soulmates even platonically. at one point in abeds films, annie looks at the camera and he goes "annie dont 'jim' the camera". but im all of abed's films, troy 'jims' the camera... and abed lets him. this doesn't sound like a lot but TRUST ME theres more (also its now 3am so brain is kinda fuzzy lmao).

ok so we got the cast: plot wise? theres a lot going on. the show suffered a lot of growing pains and was notorious for goin over budget. also the creator/head writer (dan harmon) literally always procrastinated till the last possible second to write scripts (also he sxually hrassed someone but he apologized pretty well apparently). but he was a GENIUS. so much so that when they fired him, the show dropped in quality so drastically that they had to bringing him back. abed was basically his self insert btw and thats why when he did leave abed's character went out the window. dan left for season four, which everone calls the gasleak year, bc al the characters were so fucking out of character. i personally dont think season 4 was that bad but. i can see where ppl are coming from.

whoops i didnt say the plot. ok so the whole thing is jeff, remember hes an EX lawer, apperantly faked his law degree so he has to go to community college to get one. on the way he bonds w a ragtag group of misfits he slowly learns to love. they start as a spanish study group, but by the end theyre a community to save the school.

britta and jeff honestly shouldve been the endgame but they fucked it up when they tried to pair jeff w annie. troy and abed are so fun to watch, everyone else is kinda just there.

i heard one person (i think it was @/peachy-pear is there url??) describe community as "the first four seasons are about troy and abed, and season 5 and 6 are about the lack of troy and abed" which like. yeah exactly.

community gets super meta at some points, taking jabs at itself (someone saying "i was under utilized as a character") or jabs at other shows (abed has a whole rant abt how autism is treated like a "super power" which is really good).

ok im really fucking tired and for dome reason i keep thinking about clips from super mario odyssey so i should proooobably sleep lmao

sorry ab the long post i just. like this show so muchhhhhhh

#long post #community #ask #quillsink #im so sorry i jsut dumprd this on u out of nowhere snf this still probably didnt expsin anythingxnnfjfmf #infodumping ^^

8 notes · View notes

digital-corruption · 3 years

Text

I. Think. I'm. Finally. Done. Editing! It didn't help that this week has been very strenuous at work and I've been falling asleep right after dinner. Thank you for your patience.

Ahem...

⚠️ The following content contains bucket tons of smut. It is not suitable for people under the age of 18 so if you are under the age of 18, GET LOST. There is no plot here so by skipping this you will miss nothing.

Haunted by the Past Part 77.5

As soon as the hotel room door shut behind Jake, even before turning on the rest of the lights, he was grabbing and pulling at my clothes frenziedly. I had to help him to keep him from ripping them off my body. He came so damned closed to ripping my panties. Since all of my effort was spent keeping him controlled, I now found myself naked and pinned against the wall by a still fully clothed Jake. One hand held my hands about my head while his other hand went between my legs all the while he sucked and nipped at my neck. He inserted one finger, then a second, and rubbed furiously at my insides.

“Mmm, Jake, slow down, we have the room for the entire night,” I moaned.

“I don’t think you understand,” he whispered in my ear. “Tonight you are mine.”

Jake withdrew his fingers before I reached my climax. He clumsily unzipped his pants and pulled them down to reveal his hard, throbbing penis. He released my hands to lift my legs up and around him as he pushed his cock into me. Relentlessly he pounded into me against the wall. Desperately I tried to control my screams of pleasure.

“Don’t hold back. I want everyone to know. I want them to wish they were us,” he grunted.

I moaned at the top of my lungs, which drove Jake in frenzy. His fingers dug into my thighs as he pounded even heavier into me. My eyes rolled back as he pushed me over my edge and I came all around him. Jake pulled out and let me gently back down. He grabbed my hand and pulled me over to the far side of the room. With one move he pulled back the curtains to the night cityscape. With the next move he pressed my face and chest into the window, having bent me over so he could take me from behind. His fingers ran down my back, lightly grazing his nails like he was fighting the urge to leave deep scratches. His fingers stopped at my hips where he grabbed them roughly and slammed back into me.

Within no time, Jake was back to pounding into me, but my legs were getting weaker. My knees started to shake. I pushed back against the glass and arched my back a bit. Jack grabbed my head by the roots of my hair and arched me further. I was at his mercy and I accepted it. I didn’t just accept it, I loved it. I craved it. When he stopped suddenly all I could do was whimper.

“Let me hear you ask for it,” he ordered with a slap on the ass. “Let me hear you beg for it.”

“Jake please,” I moaned.

He slapped me again, “Jake please what?”

“Jake please fuck me,” I continued.

Another slap, “I’m already doing that.”

“Jake please cum inside me. I'm yours,” I groaned.

Jake snickered, “You are.”

He pulled harder on my hair, forcing me to arch more and pulling my head further away from the glass as he rammed ruthlessly into me. We both moaned loudly, uncontrollably. I came heavily again and he shortly after. Our mutual messes dripped down my thighs while I was kept there, presented in front of the window while Jake twitched inside me.

There was a knock on the door and the soft call of “Room service.” I had completely forgotten that we had ordered it downstairs in the lobby. Jake pulled away and moved to the door, grabbing his pants as he went. I weakly sat down on the bed still in a complete daze. After swiftly pulling his pants back up, Jake opened the door and pulled the room service trolley into the room. The door closed and Jake decided it was time to turn on the rest of the lights for the room. As he pushed the trolley towards the bed he grabbed the bathrobe from the closet and tossed it to me to put on.

“I can’t help but feel that things are a bit uneven between us,” I commented as I put the robe on.

“What are you talking about?” Jake looked at me confused as he sat down on the bed next to me.

“You’re fully dressed and I’m not,” I frowned.

Jake smirked devilishly, “No sense wasting time putting your clothes back on when I'm just going to tear them off again as soon as you finish eating.”

Jake removed the two covers from our dishes. He ordered a simple spaghetti with meatballs while I had a roast meal. While I leaned forwards to dig in, Jake leaned back and watched me eat.

“You’re not going to eat yours?” I looked at him puzzled.

“Mine's too hot,” he replied.

I shrugged and went back to eating mine. While I ate, he barely touched his, only eating small amounts of it. By the time I declared myself full, he had barely made a dent in his.

“You’re done?” asked Jake as I eagerly drank the water.

“Mmhmm,” while swallowing. “You still barely touched yours. It should be a good temperature now.”

“It is,” he responded darkly.

He leant over and kissed me tenderly while pushing me back on the bed. Once he had me lying down, he pushed aside the robe and knelt up between my legs to pull off his hoodie.

“Your dinner's going to get cold,” I laughed.

“No it’s not, you'll keep it warm,” Jake reached over and moved his plate beside me on the bed.

“What are you-" I was interrupted by Jake dribbling his spaghetti onto my abdomen. “Jake!”

“It’s a good temperature now?” he teased. “We both agreed that you’re mine. Therefore, I'll eat off you if I want to.”

With that Jake leant down keeping his eyes locked on mine as he slurped an entire noodle from one end slowly, causing it to slowly drag across my abdomen. As soon as he had slurped the entire thing he licked the sauce off my skin. I squirmed under him, but he held me still as he moved to the next. He had so much spaghetti left and he intended to take his sweet time eating one piece at a time off of me. The next time he dribbled the spaghetti across my breasts, sneaking nipple licks and sucks in. It was absolute torture. I wanted nothing more than for him to be finished and give me release from the heat he was building. However he had a very large bowl and he was making it last. I closed my eyes tight as the sensation of his mouth and tongue running all over was driving me insane. It was endless.

After a while I realized it was only him, he had long stopped eating his pasta and he was now just playing with me. He looked up and made eye contact with me again. He smirked and moaned as he licked from the base of my abdomen all the way between my breasts, up my neck to my chin. He repositioned his body over me, then began kissing below my ear. His fingers drifted down between my legs and rubbed gentle circles around my clit. I moaned uncontrollably as he left wet kisses down my neck. Jake’s breathing became heavier, raspier. He dragged his bottom lip back up my neck and nibbled on my earlobe. I ran my hand up the back of his head then raked my nails back down.

Jake pulled away and removed all of his clothes. He then pushed my legs up and spread them wide apart, giving himself full access to push in. He groaned loudly at the feeling of being inside again then leant forwards to kiss me while he started rutting into me. I wrapped my arms and legs around him to keep him close. We looked deeply into each other’s eyes. I was so lost in his I didn’t notice his hand drifting to my neck until he started squeezing gently. His face twisted as I gasped. He leant forwards and kissed my lips sensually as his hand gripped a bit tighter. There was so many mixed signals from him, like he couldn’t make up his mind how he wanted to handle me.

“I don’t think you understand how crazy you make me,” he whispered, releasing his grip on my neck.

“I have an inkling,” I smirked.

“Because of you I am now free,” he spoke softly. “And yet all I want to do is tear into you. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Does it have to make sense?” I questioned.

“You'll stop me from hurting you, won’t you?” he pleaded.

“Yes,” I muttered before crushing my lips onto his.

He moaned against my lips and slid his tongue into my mouth. Our tongues tangled as his hand shifted from my throat down to my hip. His fingers clawed up my skin. I groaned with pleasure against him. He grinded more passionately into me. My hands clawed at the back of his shoulders. He grunted deeply and pulled away. He turned me over forcefully. His hands grabbed my hips, pulling them up into the air as he slammed back into me. I screamed out in pleasure as I nearly orgasmed on the spot. With the second thrust hitting into my cervix, I did.

“Oh, fuck!” Jake cried out as I came around him.

He reached for my arms. Gripping one in each hand he lifted me up and fucked me in a frenzy. I was no more than a ragdoll in his control. My body started to go limp as my mind emptied. I could not form any thoughts other than how much I loved being used by him. He let go, letting me collapse into the bed as his hands gripped my hips roughly. His fingers dug into my skin. I pushed myself up on my arms so I could push back against him. One of his hands ran nails down my back possessively, then slapped my ass. He grunted and growled like a feral beast. His pure lust kept flooding into me, overwhelming everything else. The next orgasm would be it, it would be my end. I would not be able to function after. I moaned louder and louder as it built up until I was screaming in ecstasy as it washed over me. Jake rammed heavily into me before flooding me with his cum, crying out as he did.

I slumped onto the bed, my body quickly shutting down to sleep. Jake twisted me around to my side so he could spoon me. My eyes were so heavy that I couldn’t keep them open. His entire body wrapped around me and held me close to him. As I drifted off to sleep, he whispered sweet nothings into my ear.

I woke up the next morning still in Jake’s tight, loving embrace. I glanced at the clock in front of me and frowned.

“Go back to sleep,” Jake grumbled.

“It’s already 9,” I pointed out. “Check out is at 10.”

Jake groaned, “That’s not even enough time for one more round.”

“You've had enough rounds,” I laughed. “We live together, remember?”

“Yes, but then I have to care about the messes we make,” he reasoned. “Come on, I’ll help you to the shower.” Jake rolled out of bed groggily and walked over to my side.

“I can get myself to the shower,” I frowned. I went to stand up, but my legs nearly gave out so I sat back down.

Jake chuckled as he helped me stand, “Will you accept my help now?”

Jake walked with me to the bathroom. He filled a glass with water for me to drink while he got the shower temperature ready. Like an absolute gentleman he helped me into the shower. The shower ended up taking most of the hour as we could hardly keep our hands and mouths off each other, but we did eventually make it out of the room by 10.

#duskwood jake #duskwood jake x mc #duskwood jake x player #duskwood smut #duskwood

77 notes · View notes

theveryinsignificantpotato · 3 years

Note

hello!! may a request an alastor x reader where the reader is charlie’s older sister?!

I am sorry this took a weirdly long time, I had to rewrite it literally four separate times before I had a semi-solid idea for a plot, and this is where it got me

I do sincerely hope you like it!

The Magne Match Maker

She was lucifer's oldest and most powerful daughter, holding a reputation for being a high energy leader who didn't take any shit, and often stirred fear in the hearts of those around her. Everyone in hell knew who she was, Alastor alone had read about her in papers, seen her in paintings and portraits with her family, and even caught a glimpse of her on the picture show once or twice in passing. He found himself knowing of both her and her reputation when they met, so the shock wasn't from her personality or anything of substance - he just hadn't anticipated how much prettier she was in person.

Despite her initial skepticism with his relations to her sister's dreams, she never shunned him, but rather allowed him closer in an attempt to grasp any hidden intentions he had. She allowed him to talk and dance and joke with her like he did with everyone else that allowed him to, and he found that she herself was brilliantly funny, charismatic, and quite the dancing partner, she was bold and fun and all around gorgeous - and Alastor would never admit just how quickly she had him wrapped around her little finger.

Charlie watched it all go down too, from the moment her sister arrived at the hotel she had a premonition about those two, and as the weeks passed their chemistry became more and more undeniable. Her sister, who was usually stubborn and quick witted, seemed to turn to putty in Alastor's hands every time he swept her into a dance, she'd blush and lean into his grip, and has a smile that just wouldn't leave regardless of how much she tried to force any other expression into its place. Alastor himself even seemed hesitant any time he had to remove the demon from his gaze and found that his face flushes against his will any time she'd laugh at his jokes.

This went on for months, both parties infatuated with the other while doing nothing to officialize any sort of relationship.

Charlie had to do something

While y/n had accepted the idea, Alastor was thrilled at the principal of a ball! So many bodies crammed in one room in the midst of an event would surely result in some delicious chaos, and even if there wasn't any, perhaps he could treat himself to a dance with the queen-to-be!

Said demon herself was more excited at the ability to use the event as an excuse to go dress shopping with her little sister (dad had her off on business so often it seemed she never got to see Charlie anymore) it had been a long time since she'd been to a formal event and who better to consult than her! The Magne sisters would surely rule the event with their outfits.

Boy did they, Alastor was stunned when he saw y/n, who entered with Vaggie and Charlie, the three of them were talking and at one point when y/n threw her head back in laughter his long-dead heart seemed to leap back to life. He had never meant to stare, of course, she just completely caught him off guard with her striking appearance. Both Magne sisters wore dresses in the same style with skirts that met the floor with a gold trim, charlie's was primarily black and pink - like her typical outfit, and her sister was wrapped up in her own favorite colors, golden fabric trimming both dresses. He himself was quite dressed up, an old fashioned suit adorning his thin frame (red suited him best, he thought), his bowtie was replaced with a hand-tied bow, and a silken vest showed slightly beneath his coat. Her eyes finally met his after a few moments, and he reveled in the way her cheeks instantly flushed upon seeing him. It wasn't long then, before he approached her for a dance, earning an excited squee from Charlie.

"You are gorgeous as always Ms. Magne, I would be eternally grateful if you'd grant me a dance." He asked sweetly, taking her hand and bowing to press a kiss to her knuckles

Her face flushes even more and she looks to Charlie who nearly shoves her sister into his arms in reply. He is barely fazed, only moving to ensure she was steady before returning to his previous position, "I'd be honored to" she says finally, her words barely leaving her mouth in a breath.

His smile widens and he immediately begins guiding her to the floor where many couples were already moving to a jovial rhythm, proudly showing her off to those who saw, as if staking claim to her right then and there. As usual, she was a wonderful dancer, and he adored every second he had with her in his arms, twirling and spinning her in time with their fellow dancers, even she seemed to be having a blast. He was so caught up in the moment that he barely noticed when the music slowed to the next song and she ended up curled up into his arms with her head to his chest. His left hand gripped her right one gently, and his other hand was held softly to her waist as he led her between the other dancers.

"You have a heartbeat." She observes in a soft voice

“That I do." He hums in a jovial tone, sending a delightful chill down her spine

"My father and mother don't, I have just never heard one before…" she says softly, and her face flushes slightly once again, "I don't know why I brought that up, I was just thinking and I guess I started talking."

He shook his head “Nonsense, I’d love to know whats going on in that pretty little head of yours,” He hummed continuing their soft sway across the floor, “Many people find the sound of a heartbeat to be relaxing, while I have met others who rejected the idea of a demon with a pulse, I’m curious of what your opinion is.” He continued the topic, hoping to keep her talking

“I like it.” she says contently, “I think I could always listen to it.”

Now it was his turn to feel blood rush to his cheeks, and he was silently thankful that she couldn't see his darkened flesh from her angle against his chest

"It's funny how much I disliked you when we first met," she continued, "I'll admit, Charlie is the only reason I let you stick around at all - and it seems that it's because of her that I'm here with you now."

He hummed, "She is quite persistent regarding you and I, isn't she?" He muses, his eyes shining with amusement when she finally picked her head up to see him

"Quite," she says, mirth decorating her features, Charlie was naturally very excitable, but her biggest downfall was her inability to be discreet - she didn't know just how much her proclaimed OTP knew of her set up, and the two of them got quite the kick out of watching it all unfold. "You don't have to listen to her ramblings, mister, I don't wanna hear you complain!" She said with a laugh

"Who said I was complaining? Your sister is quite entertaining, her little matchmaker game is one of the highlights of my days at the hotel!" He replies, "And you, Ma petite chou, play quite the role in that, too. Your smile shines brighter than the sun ever dreamed!"

She makes a face, unable to hide her light blush at his compliments, "I've never seen the sun, Al- and did you just call me a little cabbage?"

He laughs, "It's a term of endearment, chér, the french use it to relate the subject to something small, round, and cute, which you my darling, are." He flirts, that familiar sparkle of amusement manifesting in his eyes once more, "and why have the sun when you exist in this world?"

She rolls her eyes, her cheeks still burning slightly, "Why do you say such things to me? Charlie cannot hear, so there is hardly any cause for you to continue this game."

He seemed confused for a moment, "game? Oh darling, you wound me with your accusation. I may be a demon, but I am a man of my word, and though I admit I have a flair for the dramatic, none of my actions toward you have been anything short of genuine." He confesses, and the look on her face was one of complete shock.

Then in the most amazing twist, an excited smile graced her features

"So you're saying that Charlie is absolutely correct about us and after all of it, you really do like me, and I am the most oblivious being on this plane just like she said."

He blinked, "now I'm not-"

She rolled her eyes again, shaking her head, "shut up and kiss me, you silly cabbage."

He laughed then, humming "as you wish, mon drôle de petit chou" before spinning her about and pressing a sweet kiss to her lips

Before she could even process the situation she was in, she heard her sister squeal in delight at the sight of her parallel to the floor in the radio demon's arms, and she couldn't help the excited smile into Alastor's own at the sound.

#hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #fluff #anonymous request

245 notes · View notes

quickspinner · 3 years

Text

The Truth Hurts

(I’m sorry I know that title is super unoriginal but it fits so well)

Spoilers for S4E1 Truth

Also not especially a fix it fic, more of an aftermath fic, so prepare for pain.

I’m late but this is for the LBSC Sprint Challenge prompt 2. “So, if you are too tired to speak, sit next to me because I, too, am fluent in silence.” I actually only spent two sprints on this and then I thought I was done enough, but I did add quite a bit more trying to bring it to a satisfactory close. I think I still fit pretty closely to the time restraints plus editing though. Except I’m already a day late so the editing was not very heavy on this one. Hopefully I didn’t miss too many errors or word repetitions.

Luka pain (sorry) and Couffaine sibling solidarity. Special apologies to @airi-p4 because I didn’t fix anything, I just made it worse. 😅

Warnings for Dad Pain and abandonment issues.

He woke up numb. Which wasn’t a bad option, all things considered.

Then he rolled over. And there was the face. Staring from his wall, like it had been for, what...seven years?

The face of his father.

He wasn’t so numb anymore. Luka shoved the covers off of himself and sat up, staring at that face.

For a few minutes last night, heartbroken and sick at everything that had happened, Luka had known what it was like to have a father. One who cared. Jagged had hugged him. Ankara’s hugs were tight and hard, but she still had a woman’s body, soft and curved, a little plump with age and childbearing. All Luka could think of as his father embraced him was how bony he was. The metal clink of Jagged’s jewelry was nothing like the quiet click of Anarka’s beaded bracelets, and his arms were thin, his body broad-shouldered but thin, without any of Anarka’s cushioning. Luka had never really spent time imagining what a father’s hug felt like, but it was different from a mother’s, and that was good enough for him at the moment.

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t needed a hug just then. Badly, in fact.

It all felt like such a dream; something from a movie plot. His father, his idol, suddenly one person, and promising to write a song with Luka, it...it was overwhelming. It was like every little-boy daydream come true.

But it wasn’t a dream, and Luka wasn’t a little boy anymore. So he wasn’t al that surprised when Jagged left.

Because he had a party to go to.

Because he’d left his family long ago for a rich and famous rock star life, and he had never once looked back.

I know how to turn feelings into an awesome song .

Luka lunged up out of bed, turning over the pile of stuff at the end of his bed until he found his laptop. With it in hand, he turned and reached to snatch the earbuds off his nightstand amp, and then paused with them tangled in his fist, thinking.

“Luka?” Juleka mumbled, sitting up in her bed.

Luka ignored her. As much as he loved her, he couldn’t take care of her right now. He couldn’t. He threw his earbuds down on his bed and went upstairs instead, jaw set, shoving crap out of his way carelessly until he unearthed the wiring for the sound system.

He hooked up his laptop with shaking hands and blurring vision. He could barely breathe as he queued up his entire Jagged Stone collection, chronologically, from memory, because he was officially Jagged Stone’s number one fan and it wasn’t even hard.

Luka cranked up the sound system, and pressed play. Jagged Stone’s very first album blared from the speakers above him. Luka skipped the first song hurriedly. He wasn’t ready to face that memory just yet.

“What in the seven seas—” he heard behind him, and he turned, fixing his eyes on his mother. He wasn’t even sure what kind of face he was making, but she stopped in her tracks.

She knew, all this time . She knew that these songs were about her, were about them .

You are the donut of my life, Jagged’s voice howled from the speakers. The donut. Sweet, but heavy. Bad for you. Not something you ate every day. Not something that nourished you or made you better.

God, how it must have hurt Anarka all these years, hearing those songs over and over and knowing.

It was hurting her now, he could see.

Luka could have stayed below. He could have used the earbuds. He could have spared her. He could have suffered privately.

He wasn’t sorry he hadn’t. Not this time.

Anarka sighed through her nose, and then turned and walked away, fists clenched.

He’d feel bad about it later. It wasn’t like he didn’t have enough to be sorry for after yesterday. Might as well lump it all in together. Luka turned back to his computer, and pulled his legs up, wrapping his arms around them and setting his chin on his knees as he closed his eyes to listen to the blaring music. To the truth .

Even thinking the word twisted his stomach and made him feel sick. But that’s what this was, wasn’t it. The truth about his father’s feelings. Luka almost wanted to laugh. It explained so much, now. The sentimentality of Jagged’s early work. And here, around his third album, here was where he moved on . Where he got over them.

I abandoned everything, but not my dreams .

Here was where he began to take on the persona of the true rock ‘n roll artist. Where he convinced himself it was all for the best because now he could make pure art, now that no one—now that Anarka and Luka nad Juleka weren’t holding him back .

My guitar is my only family.

Goddamnit, Luka loved that song. He buried his face in his knees and gripped his hair with both fists.

He felt hands on his back. Two hands, flat against him, rubbing slightly. Soothing. His mind flew, irrationally, to Marinette, but when he raised his face enough to look over his shoulder, it was Juleka sitting there behind him, her hands resting on his back, her shoulders curled inward as she peered at him through her hair. Of course. Because Marinette had no reason to be here anymore, and he’d chased his mother out. Of course it was Juleka, who had never wanted to know the truth, who had preferred not knowing to being disappointed.

Luka was starting to see her point.

And now he had forced this, all this on her. The truth she had never wanted to hear screaming out in stereo sound.

God, he was such an ass. He might be angry at his mother but none of this was Jules’ fault.

Juleka moved her hands hesitantly to his shoulders, and leaned against his back, resting her cheek against him. Luka lifted one hand to cover hers, and put his head down on his knees again, pulled a little bit out of his own selfish pain by her presence. He appreciated her silent forgiveness.

Soon he would have to get up. The world wasn’t going to stop for his shattered heart, and Luka would have to get up, and put on his brave face, and deal with things like Luka Couffaine did. Honestly, head on, by telling the truth as he saw it. He owed it to Juleka to help her work through it too, since he was the one that forced the knowledge on her. Silently he vowed not to let her be overlooked. Jagged owed it to her to at least look at her and acknowledge her. If she didn’t want anything to do with him after that, then that was her choice.

Juleka’s head nudged his back, and he sighed. She moved her hands again, this time putting her thin arms around him and hugging him tight. Luka took another long breath, and leaned back into her a bit, as Jagged’s Most Rockin’ Hits Vol 1 began to play.

Under the moon, deep within the woods...

Luka closed his eyes and swallowed hard. “I broke up with Marinette,” he said quietly. “Or maybe...we broke up with each other. I don’t know.” He sighed shakily. “I guess we just...weren’t meant to be. Right now.” He swallowed again against the lump in his throat. “It’s probably for the best. I’ve...got a lot to deal with right now anyway.”

Juleka had tensed when he said it, with surprise, he thought. But she listened, and hummed a wordless acknowledgement, and hugged him tighter.

If his tears dripped on her arms, she didn’t complain. The back of his shirt was feeling a bit damp, anyway.

The truth hurt. He’d always known that, but he also believed in the healing it brought. Better to face the pain head on, where you know it’s coming, than let it fester and burst on you when you weren’t prepared for it. Luka had enough experience with denial to know that running away only left your back bared to the knife.

Juleka’s face pressed a little harder between his shoulder blades.

Luka sighed, and reached out to turn the music off. He turned towards Juleka so that she leaned against his side, and he put his arm around her, and they leaned on each other in the suddenly deafening silence.

#quickspins #lbsc sprint challenge #lbsc sprint fic #lukanette #couffaine siblings #luka couffaine #juleka couffaine #daddy issues #abandonment #angst #hurt/comfort

49 notes · View notes

aroyalpaininthecass · 3 years

Text

I’ve been thinking a bit more about Kaworu, Shinji, and 3.0+1.0 today. So of course, spoilers if you haven’t seen it below.

I was happy that Kaworu finally just about spelled it out for Shinji that he was his alter ego, with the “I am you” comment. I don’t know how many people know the alter ego idea behind Kaworu...there’s an old post somewhere that discusses it, I know I elaborated on the idea in my breakdown of the manga’s “Twisted Night” scene.

But, if you think about it - start with his design. He’s handsome, taller, has “good hair”, casual/laid back, confident. Building on that, Shinji sees that he is treated specially, he’s powerful, but mostly very calm and composed, and calculating. Very seldom acts on emotion only, there’s almost always a secondary motive to everything he does. Never shows his whole hand even when he may not be right. Never hesitates to make a decision, even when it’s an unpleasant one. (I’m thinking of the kitten here.)

In any case, if you’re on board with that, think about it now with 3.0+1.0′s emphasis on coming of age for Shinji. Kaworu is Shinji’s idea of his own ideal adult self, and as of the end of the movie, Shinji has successfully “become an adult” (by getting rid of the terrible emotions and EVAs that stunted his development). And the very last scene shows Kaworu on the other side of the tracks.

If you’re thinking as Kaworu as his alter ego, as in someone who Shinji needs to become more like to survive his ordeal to “become an adult”, wouldn’t it make sense why they’re separated once Shinji “grows up”? Thematically, as an ideal, he wouldn’t be necessary anymore. Shinji would already have become the adult he needs to be.

When you think about that in context of the rest of the series, wouldn’t it now make sense why Kaworu keeps dying? Each time he dies, it’s Shinji failing to grow, failing to mold himself to those ideals he sees in Kaworu. So Kaworu dies, and so does (most of) the rest of the world (usually), because Shinji has given in to his impulsive and emotional side that keep him in his childhood.

It’s the time he breaks out of his emotional impulsiveness and selfishness to become an adult that Kaworu survives.

Additionally, with the train as a transitional metaphor, Shinji et al seem to have finished their journey, but Kaworu’s plot ended with needing figure out what happiness really means instead of what he thought it would be. His being on the other side of the tracks may mean he still has more journeying to do...

#NGE 3.0+1.0 #NGE 3.0+1.0 spoilers #Kaworu Nagisa #Shinji Ikari #NGE #Neon Genesis Evangelion

11 notes · View notes

liliyawisteria · 2 years

Text

Chapter Four: Road Trip

Contents: Liliya and Sage embark on their trip to Porrima and finally have a chance to get to know each other a little better.

Pairing: Sage x Liliya

Word Count: 3,287

Notes: This chapter was too much fun to write! It’s mostly fluff, but I’m excited to write the rest of their journey to Porrima. I hope you enjoy! Also if anyone has any ideas on how I could sneak a masquerade party into the plot of the story somehow, please let me know 👀

Sage sat at the bar nursing another tankard of ale after he’d dropped Liliya off back at Anisa’s office. Part of him was glad to finally be alone after the day he’d had, but he found himself missing Liliya in her absence. Time seemed to stop when he was with her; he kept getting lost in her laugh, the way she smiled at him, not to mention her big, expressive eyes. The thoughts of her were almost more overwhelming than the ones dredged up by the mysterious woman who had attacked them earlier. Sage’s stomach twisted as he recalled her words, replaying them over in his head.

He found more truth to them than he’d have liked to and now felt the urge to run far away from Liliya. She was only going to get hurt if she kept hanging around him. But he wanted so badly to protect her, to be able to make her laugh over and over again. So he stayed, contemplating his choices at the bar as he downed another beer.

He was on his fifth tankard when he heard someone step beside him. “Hey, stranger.”

Sage swiveled on his stool to find the redhead from last night dragging another stool up next to him. His eyes raked across her from head to toe as he swallowed hard. The dress she wore this evening was even more revealing than the last. He forced a grin at the woman as she settled in her stool and leaned toward him, propping her head up on her wrist. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“I’m always here, doll,” Sage laughed, taking a deep gulp from his tankard.

Ordinarily, he’d already be leaning back in towards her and making a move, but something was different this time.

“So I was hoping,” the woman mused, looking up at him through long eyelashes and half-lidded eyes. She bit down on her lip and reached out to him, tracing a teasing circle on his exposed chest. “How about that rain check? Before I head back to Porrima.”

Sage inhaled deeply at the question. He’d never been one to deny such an offer, but he knew that these thoughts of Liliya would plague him. He managed to offer the woman a little grin. “Eager for a piece of me, are you? Tempted as I may be, I’m afraid tonight’s no good, darling.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly at his words. She lowered her voice to a sultry whisper. “This doesn’t have anything to do with that mouse of a woman you ran after last night, does it?”

His cheeks reddened at the mention of Liliya and he grabbed his tankard, downing the rest of his drink in an attempt to hide his face. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, love.”

She hummed, leaning in close to whisper in his ear. “She’s a fool if she hasn’t already dragged you into her bed, handsome. Here I am practically begging, but you’ll hardly even pay me any attention.”

His eyes narrowed at her pout. “She’s no fool.”

The woman sighed and sat back. “I suppose I’ll see you around, then. Have fun with your little mouse.”

Sage glared daggers into the back of her head as she walked away, slightly annoyed at himself for nearly sleeping with her the night prior. He pressed his palms to his forehead with a groan as he realize what he had just turned down. He’d never done that before. An image of Liliya laughing popped into his head suddenly and his stomach fluttered. He ordered another beer and sat back in his stool, resigned to yet another sleepless night.

***

Liliya lounged on the sofa in Anisa’s office the next afternoon thumbing through the pages of a massive tome about Relics while she waited for Sage to make an appearance. She and Felix had decided to begin a study of them in the hopes to uncover why her Relic had been able to reach her across realms. She massaged her temples with both hands as she attempted to decipher the dense text in front of her, to no avail. From what she’d read so far, this shouldn’t have been possible. What had Felix done to make it so?

Her train of thought was interrupted by the clinking of armor. She looked up to see Sage towering over her shaking his head.

“Should have known you’d be studying,” he huffed, though she thought she saw a glimmer of fondness in his eyes.

“Well, if you’re not going to teach me, I have to learn somewhere, right?” She teased as her eyes made their way back to the text. She groaned as she began to read another sentence. “You think Felix has any more *interesting* books I could take a look at?”

“Sure he does,” Sage grinned with a wink.

”But not about any of that boring stuff. He’s into more *colorful* novels in his free time, if you catch my drift.”

He couldn’t possibly be talking about the same timid mage she’d met. “Wait, you mean to say *Felix* reads smutty books?”

Sage’s grin widened. “The one and only. I came across his collection once. You should have seen him, his face was redder than a tomato.”

Liliya laughed and shook her head at Sage’s expression. “Hmm, guess Felix and I do have something in common after all. I’ll have to ask to borrow some.”

Sage’s face flushed at her unexpected words as she returned her gaze to the thick tome on her lap. She could almost hear the gears in his head turning as he attempted, but failed at a retort. She gasped as the book was plucked from her by a gauntleted hand. Sage squinted and brought the book close to his face for a moment before swiftly tossing it onto Anisa’s desk with a grimace.

Liliya raised an eyebrow, folding her arms and twisting into a seated position on the sofa. “Did you come here for a reason, or just to steal my books?”

“Books are boring,” he huffed, then turned to her, his eyes twinkling. “What’s not boring is adventures.”

“Adventures?” She asked, knowing he was getting to something.

He hummed in agreement. “We’re heading to Porrima starting tomorrow morning, the old fashioned way, so you’d best get packed up. Nights are cold so bring layers. And be sure to ask Felix for any books you’d like to borrow before we leave. Let him know I am *not* taking a portal.”

He spun on his heel and made his way out of the room, armor clanging in his wake. Her face flushed at his words and the fact that they would be traveling together alone. She enjoyed the time they’d spent together thus far, but she’d never been left alone with him for more than a few hours. From what she’d heard, Porrima was at least a week’s travel from Mournfall by foot.

She busied herself that afternoon by gathering her small collection of belongings into a leather pack provided by Anisa. It wasn’t much, but they were *hers*; a small journal and a pen, her dead cell phone, a few colorful scrunchies. They gave her some small comfort as she packed a few extra sets of clothing and undergarments Felix had left for her the evening prior.

Finding nothing else to add, she decided to find Felix to ask about the books. She would certainly need some form of entertainment during the long journey when she tired of Sage’s constant flirting. She smiled at the thought of him but quickly shook her head; their relationship was strictly business, she told herself. He was flirty like that with everyone.

She couldn’t help her mind from wandering to thoughts of the silvery haired mercenary as she wandered the tower in search of the mage. She finally found him in an obscure room on a higher floor with a cup of tea and his nose in a book.

She leaned in the doorway and smiled at the man. “Whatcha reading there, Felix?”

Felix jumped up, nearly spilling his tea, and slammed the book shut, swiftly stuffing it behind a pillow on the sofa. “Liliya! Nothing, I was reading nothing.”

Liliya hummed, amused. “I was just looking for you. Sage told me about your collection of books… I was just wondering if I could borrow a few for our trip to Porrima.”

Felix’s face flushed a deep red at her words, but he stood and made his way to a large trunk at the end of the sofa. “Ah, y-yes, of course…”

He opened the trunk, revealing a grandiose collection of beautifully bound books. Liliya’s eyes widened at the sight and she rushed over to admire them. She plucked a few intriguing titles from the pile and leafed through them, raising a brow at some steamy sentences that caught her eye. Felix was still blushing furiously, twiddling his thumbs and keeping his eyes down.

“You don’t have to be shy, Felix,” she teased. “Everyone loves a good, steamy romance tale every once in a while.”

“Yes, I- ah, just never expected for someone to ask to borrow them. Take what you wish, but I do expect them to be returned.” He pivoted and scurried out of the room.

Liliya laughed to herself and spent a moment deciding between a few of the tomes, finally settling on a couple that seemed intriguing but were lightweight enough to carry with her in her pack. She made her way back to Anisa’s study, books tucked under her arm.

Sage had returned to the room and was in the middle of preparing food rations when she stepped in. He glanced up at her, a sly smile tugging at his lips as he noticed the books in her arms. She raised a brow at him and gingerly stepped over his preparations, tucking the tomes into her pack.

“You’ll have to tell me all about those once you’re finished, Liliya,” he purred with a grin.

“You can read them yourself, you brat,” she said, shaking her head.

“You could always read them *to* me,” he said in a suggestive tone.

“In your dreams.”

“Oh, I can tell you all about my dreams-“

“Sage,” she warned, and he shut his mouth, though a blush painted his tanned cheeks. “So, how is this going to work? Are we camping the whole time?”

“Mostly,” Sage replied, busying himself once more. “We’ll set up camp at night, Anisa found a couple bedrolls and a tent for us so it shouldn’t be too cold. Though I know a few ways we could warm up if we get chilly…”

Liliya shot him a withering look and he chuckled. “I’m just messing with you. C’mon, it’ll be fun! I might even let you hold my sword.”

She perked up at this. “Really? You’re finally going to teach me to fight?”

“Easy there, don’t get ahead of yourself. We’ve a long ways to go before we can actually spar.”

Liliya huffed, earning her another laugh from the tall man. She settled on the sofa with a blanket and closed her eyes, listening to the crackle of the fireplace as Sage continued to pack their supplies up. The sun had set by the time he was finished.

He gazed up at her sheepishly. “I’m crashing here tonight, so we can get an early start in the morning.”

“Alright,” Liliya yawned, curling up in her blanket and closing her eyes. “But no funny business, mister. I’ve got my eye on you.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Sage chuckled under his breath and laid out a bedroll for himself on the floor, watching the steady rise and fall of Liliya’s chest until he nodded off to sleep himself.

***

Sage poked at the fire he’d built with a spare stick as Liliya settled against a nearby log, pulling her cloak closer around her.

It was the second night of their journey to Porrima and things had been uneventful thus far. They’d begun at sunrise the morning prior and had spent the day trudging through the thick forests until they’d stopped to make camp for the evening. Liliya had been quiet throughout the day and had fallen asleep quickly after they’d stopped.

Today, though, she had been energetic and adventurous. Sage watched with wonder as she scurried through the forest, climbing on rocks and balancing on fallen logs. She seemed extremely interested in the forest’s flora, stopping nearly every time she saw a new flower or mushroom. Sage huffed and rolled his eyes whenever she did so, but found himself smiling at her fondly when she wasn’t looking. By the end of the day, she’d gathered a robust bouquet of wildflowers.

She was now arranging her flowers quietly as Sage stoked the fire. He’d set up their small tent earlier, and now they had a bit of time to warm up and relax after their day’s travel.

“Do you have any twine?” Liliya asked suddenly from her spot on the log.

Sage glanced at her over his shoulder with a quirked brow. “I think there’s some in the supply pack. What do you need twine for?”

She smiled warmly at him and held up her bouquet. “I want to hang these up to dry. It’ll be a nice souvenir, to remember our trip.”

A souvenir? Why would she want to remember a trip with him? He felt his face heat up and hoped she couldn’t tell in the dim light. Still, he poked at the fire once more and then reached for the supply pack, digging around until he found a small spool of twine. He tossed it at her. “Catch!”

Liliya looked up quickly and caught the spool in one hand, setting her flowers down. She began to unravel it. “Thanks.”

“Nice reflexes there,” Sage commented, nodding to the spool she’d just caught. “That’ll come in handy during a fight.”

“If you ever even teach me,” Liliya teased, sneaking him a smile as she wound a length of twine around the stems of her bouquet. She tied the ends into a bow and then held it up proudly upside-down. Sage studied her face, alight with pride at her work, and committed it to memory. “Will you hang it on the tent for me?”

Sage smiled and shook his head at her, but reached forward, gingerly taking her flowers in his hands. “You are so strange.”

She laughed as he walked to the tent and hung the bundle from one of the support posts, fighting a sudden urge to swat at it.

“I think you like it,” she teased, and she wasn’t wrong. Sage couldn’t ever predict what Liliya was going to do or say next, or the feelings that flooded him when she did or said them.

Sage made his way back to the fire and plopped down next to Liliya this time, sidling up to her so their shoulders were nearly touching. She glanced at him with a smile and then closed her eyes with a groan. “My legs are so sore. I am not used to walking so much.”

“Better get used to it quick then,” he said with a chuckle. “This is nothing. Once we get training, you’ll feel muscles you never even knew you had.”

“Sounds lovely,” she grumbled.

The pair sat in silence for a few moments and listened to the crackling fire before them. This time it wasn’t uncomfortable though. There was no tension between them tonight. Sage froze as he suddenly felt a pressure on his shoulder and looked down to see Liliya leaning against him. He held his breath for a moment and then relaxed, hoping she wasn’t close enough to hear his heart hammering in his chest.

He hesitated for a moment and then cleared his throat. “So, ah, tell me more about Arth and how you ended up here. Felix’s explanation was sort of…”

“Lacking? Also, its ‘Earth’,” She finished his sentence and corrected him with a giggle. He felt her shift her weight slightly, almost as if she was nuzzling in closer to him. He was thankful she couldn’t see the red on his cheeks.

She sighed after a moment and he felt her shake her head softly. “Honestly, I’m not sure of much else other than what Felix explained. I was at the unveiling of my favorite video game- you wouldn’t know what that is, of course. It’s so confusing. The game is set here in Astraea, but for it to be an actual place…?”

Sage’s brow knit together as she spoke, but he kept quiet and let her continue on, ignoring the consistent urge he felt to reach out and stroke her hair. It looked so soft.

“Anyway, I was at the convention and this beautiful staff rolled towards me out of nowhere, so I picked it up, of course. Then poof- darkness. When I woke up, Felix was there. He seemed to think I was someone else. Then he sent me through a portal to Anisa and they decided to find you. You know the rest.” She finished her story and stared at the fire.

Sage hummed in contemplation, then grinned. “What’s Ar-Earth like? Bet you don’t have any devilishly handsome mercenaries hanging around you there.”

Liliya laughed and shook her head. “Can’t say I do, no. Earth is… strange. Technology is much more advanced, though I can’t say we’re better off for it. There’s this thing called the Internet where people can interact. Sort of like letters, but you can communicate in real time, and anonymously. It’s fun sometimes, but people can be real nasty.”

Sage’s mind swum as Liliya explained the foreign Earth concepts to him. She didn’t seem to have much good to say about it so far. He felt his heart jump as a small part of him wished she liked it better in Astraea. He was quiet for a moment more.

“I really don’t mean to be a dick, so please don’t take it that way…” He started slowly, and glanced down at her as he felt her shift to look up at him with a quirked brow. “How do I put this lightly? You sound absolutely crazy.”

She stared at him for a moment and then burst into a fit of laughter. He couldn’t help but join her, thankful she hadn’t taken offense to his statement. “I know! It’s so different here. But it’s nice, quieter. Less busy. I bet you can see so many stars out here.”

She looked up to the sky at the heavy canopy of trees that blanketed the forest and sighed. Sage felt his face flush as his next words fell out of his mouth without warning. “We’ll find a nice clearing one of these nights so you can see ‘em.”

Liliya nuzzled into his shoulder, he was certain of it this time. “That sounds nice, I’d like that.”

Sage was secretly glad she had agreed and not teased him this time. He found himself happy any time Liliya smiled, and was eager to show her the stars of Astraea if that’s what she wanted. Liliya yawned beside him.

He sighed. “We’d best get some sleep. Got another long day ahead of us.”

She hummed in agreement and removed herself from his shoulder, sitting up with a stretch. “You’re probably right. But don’t think I’m forgetting about the stars.”

He watched her make her way to their tent and settle on her bedroll, placing a hand over where she’d just been pressed against him as his stomach fluttered. He put the fire out quickly and glanced up at the sky once more with a grin before following her inside.

#sage lesath #fictif last legacy #last legacy #last legacy sage #fictif #fictif sage #last legacy fictif #sage last legacy #sage lesath x ofc #sage x ofc #sage fictif fanfic #fictif fanfic

4 notes · View notes

ariainstars · 3 years

Text

Congratulations, We Fell for Another Love Bombing or Thank You, Disney, You Did It Again

Sigh. Luke Skywalker is back. And Din Djarin and his child had to say goodbye. I never thought I would curse and say “Oh no!” when Luke appeared in that fateful corridor.

I wonder why the Disney studios are doing this - trying to "make up” for the oh-so criticized sequels, I suppose?

The Jedi have made their time. It was shown and proven over and over again that their attitude is wrong and needs to change, and Luke was the last of the old school Jedi. Again, a Force-sensitive child is all but kidnapped by a Jedi: he obviously did not like to go. Mando is no longer the hero of the story, he was stripped of his agency and all of his personal choices were questioned and valued for null and void. But the Dark Saber is in his hands now, so he’s the heir to the throne of Mandalore I guess. Like he ever wanted that.

This show, which grew to be so well-beloved in only a few episodes, now is not “The Mandalorian” any more. Its new title is “Luke’s Skywalker’s Comeback”. Hardcore fans may be out of their minds with joy, but for us, who admired Mando both as a badass hero and as a father figure and loved the dynamics between him and Grogu, the whole purpose of the show is destroyed. And here I naively had thought The Rise of Skywalker was bad enough to teach the studios not to repeat its mistakes.

~~~ more under the cut ~~~

Star Wars ought to be a fairy tale. It is and always was one. I can understand that the prequels had to end in a tragedy, we all knew that from the start, but why the sequels? And now, why must this generally acclaimed and beloved tv show again appease hardcore fans of old with Luke coming to save the day, cancelling in a matter of minutes what the story had built up within two entire seasons - the relationship of the two protagonists, heart and core of the narrative, as it had been with Rey and Ben Solo? And when both of them had their relationship just getting started - Rey and Ben kissing, Din calling Grogu by his name and the latter seeing him and touching his face? Why make Rey a queen without her king, and Din a father without a son?

Again, a Force-user is denied having a home: „Jedi training” matters more. By Luke of all people, the guy who never was trained in the first place (only very briefly), who except for a few lessons with Obi-Wan and Yoda was self-taught in the Force, and never understood that his strength lay with his compassion and his connection with other people, not with his alleged „superpowers”.

Think back to how Anakin, Luke and Rey were before they met the Jedi: unaware of their powers, compassionate, idealistic, brave. The Jedi mindset tainted their characters and lives, making them believing that they are (or have to be) untouchable and invincible, compelling them to live for duty instead of love, condemning them to a lifetime of loneliness. Will the Jedi never learn?

Though I practically grew up with the classic movies, I loved The Last Jedi; I can accept that Luke failed, and also that Han and Leia did. Nobody is perfect, and the Jedi mindset as well as the universally accepted idea that „Jedi” is a synonym for infallible saint-like hero was wrong in the first place, else the Empire never would have risen. Making Luke not the cavalry who came to save the day - until the battle on Crait, that is - but a man who failed and picked himself up again was much more meaningful, and I know not a few fans who felt inspired by this. Luke had saved his father choosing love over power, not the contrary. Some fans just never get it. To appease them, why not simply give him a new storyline of his own, instead of making him intrude in other Star Wars related shows? Why stop the new stories in their tracks just to bring him back?

Instead of seeing Luke as the grand kickass hero in a tv show that never had anything to do with him until now, it would have been more to the purpose to finally shed light on the thirty years between his father’s and his nephew’s death, to explain us where the Jedi and the Skywalker-Organa-Solo family failed to make such an outcome possible - the granddaughter of Palpatine taking over with their own blessing. There must have been a huge build-up between the end of the original saga and the fateful night at the temple when Luke briefly panicked looking into his nephew’s mind. Many fans still are convinced that „Kylo Ren just chose to be bad” because we hardly know how the relationship between these two was in the first place. (A very easy plot twist would e.g. have been Snoke warning Ben that his uncle sooner or later would turn on him, frightened by his power. The fulfilment of that prophecy would have made the night at the temple much more impactful.)

I understand that the studios want to tease us, to make us watch the other shows, too. But honestly, I’m getting tired of feeling duped. Tired of getting attached to new heroes to have their purpose smashed just so the Star Wars dudebro fans can sleep quietly at night because „some Jedi will take care of it”. First the characters from the sequels, now the ones from The Mandalorian. You get to love the new characters, you root for them to find happiness or at least some closure, and then, at the last moment, poof!, the hero of old comes back and the story development stops right there.

It is not right and it never was for the Jedi to take Force-sensitive children away from home, to enforce „you have to become a Jedi, like it or not” on them, to teach them not to have attachments, to make them focus on the Light Side thereby bringing the Force out of its much-needed balance. While Ahsoka saw that Grogu has formed a strong attachment to Din Djarin, Luke obviously did not, or he did not care. The irony is that he always wanted a father, and knows the pain of losing a father you’ve just found.

The Mandalorian felt like a consolation after Episode IX, a blessing for the fans for whom heart and soul are more interesting than nostalgia and „Jedi superheroes”. Now it’s just another kick in the guts. It’s painful and embarrassing to get to love characters so much, to get invested in their story so deeply, and then to realize again that they seem to mean nothing in the shade of the heroes of old. Ben Solo died young and miserable and Din Djarin and Grogu can now, I suppose, be miserable too. Can someone please explain to me why after the classics, no Star Wars film or show had an uplifting ending any more? With the possible exception of Solo, which was a nice filler but not a really important storyline. (I do not count Episodes I and II, they officially had a happy ending but it was tainted by the knowledge of what was to come.)

Fans are not blind. We saw the parallels between Darth Vader and Din Djarin as well as the differences - both being cool and tough but the latter not disdaining to be a caring father at the same time. The entire show lived from the dynamics between the gruff but kind bounty hunter and the innocent-looking powerful child, ever from the first episode. Two years of build-up for nothing, as it was with the four years of the sequels. Mando has to relinquish Grogu, Rey loses Ben. What was all that for? Both Mando and Rey are fighters, they have done nothing else their entire lives. What is to become of them now that they have nothing to fight for any more, nor anyone to live for? Except staying on a planet that is foreign to them and, for all they know, inhabitable or at least inhospitable?

With Rey and Ben Solo, the situation was different: she had proven good intentions but bad attitude (arrogance, violence, judgement) over and over, unable to deny her heritage, and even impaled her „antagonist” once while he was only defending himself. He had been the head of a criminal organization for years, and had committed patricide. Of course there are nuances to these characters and I still believe that they would have deserved another chance; I understand however that would have been unfitting to let the sequels end giving them a happy ending.

But in the case of Din Djarin, a man of honor, who has made friends and brought peace wherever he went throughout the galaxy? Grogu, the last surviving padawan of the old Jedi temple, who saved both his and Greef Karga’s life despite the danger for himself? What did they do to deserve being ripped apart like that?

So, all I can say: thank you, you did it again. And, once more, just before Christmas. I wish at least these depressing endings would be released at some other time.

I would dearly want to see a galaxy that finally learned from its faults, where family and attachments and Balance and free choice are not contrary to being a Jedi. I am in my late forties and I’m beginning to give up hope that I will live to see it. By now I am wondering whether George Lucas himself will live to see it.

I always loved Luke. He is one of my favorite heroes. But now he’s become an insensitive know-it-all who suffered from his own daddy issues to the point that he almost died crying out to his father for help, yet did not learn not to separate fathers from children and vice versa and, on the contrary, is doing it over and over again. He did not even tell Mando his name, or where he could reach him. We don’t have a clue as to if, when and how the Clan of Two will meet again.

I get it that since this show is set five years Return of the Jedi, it would have been difficult to ignore Luke’s existence altogether. And of course, we can rest assured that Luke will do his best for Grogu. But still: he has made his time. I wanted to see the new heroes going their own way, not hanging on the sleeves of the former generation. Mando is a man of honor, he had promised to bring Grogu to his own kind and he relinquished him despite his own wishes. (Not to mention that technically, since he identifies as a Mandalorian, by being a Jedi Luke is his enemy.) Why did Luke have to take the child away? His greatest strength always was that he was first and foremost himself and only in the second place a Jedi. What became of his trademark compassion?

Before The Mandalorian, we have never seen a healthy and working father-son relationship in the saga. It was incredibly refreshing and heart-warming to see these two traveling through the galaxy and living through adventures together; also, contrarily to Yoda, Grogu saw a lot of the bad things happening in the galaxy with his own eyes, which certainly was good for his character development.

But in the end, both he and his „father” did not go anywhere. Like Rey in Episode IX, they found a) power and b) a surrogate place, but neither got what was actually his heart’s wish - a home. I can’t understand why. Deliberate cruelty? We never knew whether Han and Leia and Ben felt how painful it was to break up their little family for the sake of „Jedi training”. You bet Din and Grogu did feel that pain and loss.

Both as a person with a heart and a brain and an almost lifelong Star Wars fan I am sickened by the readiness of the studios to end all that this well-made show had built up, for the appeasement of Jedi worshippers who just don’t want to see that the Jedi mindset needs urgently to change. It can’t be that difficult to renew them for the better; there is no necessity to erase the Jedi completely and there is nothing bad with making them grow wiser and stronger by finally understanding and accepting the importance of attachments and family ties. Yes, I realize that being a father also means learning how to let go; but here we are speaking of a literal child, not of a young adult who chose his own way in life.

I thought that George Lucas knew why he sold his franchise to the Disney studios, given their tradition in telling stories about family and friendship. This development is not a triumph, it is unworthy both of the studios and of the entire Star Wars saga. I’m tired of producers bowing down before fans who see every shred of the saga through „Jedi are always right”-tinted glasses respectively who value coolness over compassion even though it always was the saga’s central message.

Whatever happens in Season 3, countless fans will only be watching it asking, „Where’s Luke?” If Grogu should choose to join Mando again, everybody will be like, „But how can he want to leave Luke Skywalker of all people?” Some already see Grogu die prematurely, killed by the oh-so-bad guy Kylo Ren, for no other reason than to just to further prove how evil he is. In which case both Ben Solo and Grogu will have lived and died for nothing except for leaving a lot of heartbreak behind.

There must be another and better way to honor the legacy of both Luke Skywalker and the original trilogy than to think up new heroes and then destroy their purpose for the sake of old times’ glory. Lucas himself had said that Star Wars is basically for twelve-year-olds. It seems not: it’s for the fans who were twelve years old forty years ago, when the first movies hit theatres.

There are enough voices crying out for the sequels to be erased from canon. Who knows? This may be the next step into the past instead of the future. The sequels were hinting at a better future (Balance), Grogu was, too (family). But the grand past is so reassuring. The sequels tried to tell the audience to grow up and learn to do without their heroes, to see that even they were flawed and that the new heroes could grow beyond them. Fie on them, said the hardcore fans. Now it’s the turn of the younger generation, who got to know and love the saga with the sequels or The Mandalorian, to be like „WTF”.

Rogue One also had been a huge disappointment to me. Not that I found it badly made, but I went into a depressive mood for three days for the same reason: I did not like that I had grown so attached to all of these characters only to see all of them die. The infamous Darth Vader scenes and the design with the huge hints at the classic movies were no consolation. Nostalgia does not make me happy. Heart does. Rogue One, the sequels and The Mandalorian were all, in the end, deprived of all human feeling except loss and regret and many, many thoughts about what might have been.

The Mandalorian was an excellent story on its own. It did not need Luke Skywalker. It is and ought to be Din Djarin’s story, who lost or gave up everything because he was afraid to lose the child: and now he did. It’s not comforting that he lost him to the alleged Good Guy. Luke of course won’t turn a hair on Grogu’s head, but he can’t offer him a home, we already know that. Ahsoka saw the attachment between the two and she knows the dangers of it; Luke does not know what drove his father to his terrible fate. If the sequels remain canon, then we already know that Luke will not allow his pupils having and keeping healthy attachments. And that does not promise well for the child’s future.

Unless the studios commit the madness of officially erasing the sequels and starting the saga anew, we can only hope that the child will not stay with Luke for long since it’s a good five years before he will start his own Jedi temple. Maybe he will die of a broken heart, poor little guy. And Din Djarin might become the new ruler of Mandalore, though sad and alone. But who cares: Luke is back. Please: I did not subscribe to Disney+ wanting to see Schwarzenegger movies. The lonesome hero can ride into the sunset for all I care, out of sight and of mind. Star Wars’ greatest strength always was its heart.

My own take was that Grogu is meant to be a healer, and since Luke is not, there is no way he can teach him this particular skill in the Force. Anakin was a pilot and a mechanic, Luke and Ben also were pilots. None of them were Jedi by choice. Grogu is older than Luke and he was already trained at the old Jedi temple: he’s more likely to be a teacher to Luke than the other way around. Grogu as the first Force-user who values attachment and family over power and Jedi training, that would indeed have been a new hope. This backpedaling is shallow and useless. Even if Luke sends Grogu back to Din Djarin, this won’t teach him not to take a child away from its home, since only a few years later he will do the same thing to his nephew. (Although it would admittedly be an interesting plot point to see a small Ben Solo interacting with Grogu for a while.)

Please give us back The Mandalorian the way it was, with its characters and dynamics. The themes and messages of The Last Jedi already were almost all aborted in The Rise of Skywalker; we didn’t sign up on Disney+ to see the exact same thing happen with The Mandalorian. I for my part am fed up with this kind of love bombing followed by a quick and coldblooded let-down. Star Wars may be a cult, but it need not be the kind of cult where you get hooked and then unwittingly follow a carrot hanging before your eyes. I thought the exaggerated Jedi cult was mostly made by the fans: the studios did not need to jump on this ship. This is not the Way.

Now everything I feared is flaring up again - fans jubilating because “the Jedi are taking matters in hand” instead of accepting the failure of the Jedi mindset at last; and even insisting that since things are going so well, all Disney needs to do is to cancel the sequels from canon and everybody can be happy again.

Please, please, give this tormented galaxy a chance to heal at last. We don’t need Luke Skywalker to save the day by killing all the bad guys. We don’t need the oh-so-powerful and perfect Jedi. We need faith in the Force. We need a home. Don’t take it away from us again. Thank you.

P.S. If we see Luke again in Season 3, at least give the role to a live actor. That digital “rejuvenation” made him look wooden. Luke’s best trait, apart from his compassion, always was his smile.

P.P.S. What’s with Boba Fett claiming Jabba’s throne? I thought Jabba had a son. What in the galaxy happened to him?

P.P.P.S. I don’t mind kickass women, but honestly, I’m getting somehow tired of them. What became of the ladies of Star Wars, the diplomats, the good queens, the loving mothers, the accurate librarians, who contribute to the galaxy without killing (or hurting) anyone? I’m feeling kind of underrepresented here...

53 notes · View notes