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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

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Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 23 - ao3 -

Lan Qiren woke with a start at the sound of something slamming to the point of cracking – a door thrown too hard, perhaps, or the shattering of a piece of furniture under the strength of a powerful cultivator.

Dazed at having been woken so abruptly at such a late hour, he at first thought that the sound was an aberration of some sort, someone making too much noise by mistake, even some cultivation maniac doing exercises in the middle of the night that had briefly lost control, but then the sounds continued, crashing and slamming and even indistinct shouting.

Indistinct, and unfamiliar, but still recognizable – that was Wen Ruohan’s voice.

Lan Qiren had never heard him shout before.

He stood up, instinctively checking over his clothing and fixing his forehead ribbon, and padded out towards the door to the hallway. The array used to create enough silence to let him sleep was glowing faintly, doing its work against overwhelming odds, but Lan Qiren didn’t hesitate to dismiss it and pull open the door, poking his head out to see what was going on.

“ – what use are you?” Wen Ruohan was shouting, some distance down the hall. “Good-for-nothing bitch! What do you think I got you for in the first place?”

He was standing outside his wife’s door.

Lan Qiren had not seen Madame Wen on this visit, other than in passing. He’d been relieved to discover that he had heard accurately and that she had not suffered on account of what she had done, except perhaps as a result of her husband making clear that he would give her exactly what he had promised her out of their marriage and nothing more. Despite that, every time she saw him, she generally had an expression that resembled smelling something bad, and he didn’t especially want to deal with her irrational jealousy.

(Lan Qiren could understand and even appreciate the truth that she had shown him, but it didn’t mean he appreciated the reasoning behind her actions - just as Wen Ruohan might appreciate the cunning and ambition demonstrated by her actions, and begrudgingly acknowledge that the real fault for their divide was his own actions, but not feel any more inclined to her as a result.)

Lan Qiren thought he might have to deal with her more, particularly on the few times he had visited little Wen Xu, who was already a size or two larger than he’d started out – it was simply shocking in terms of how much time had passed since he’d had his argument with Wen Ruohan – but he found that the child was largely being watched by servants, not the Madame, who was busy ruling the social scene of the Nightless City. Whether that was true or merely an excuse, by now it was clear that they were in mutual agreement that they did not want to spend any time in each other’s presence.

She was also, very clearly, refusing to let Wen Ruohan into her bedroom.

Lan Qiren couldn’t blame her: he’d never seen Wen Ruohan in a state like this. His clothing was mussed up, his hands clenched, his face red, his aura frighteningly strong and overwhelming, his monstrously powerful qi roiling the air in the hallway into an incipient storm – and even from the distance he was standing, Lan Qiren could smell the distinct odor of strong liquor, suggesting that Wen Ruohan had overindulged in alcohol at some point after Lan Qiren had gone to sleep. Based on casual mentions in prior conversation, Lan Qiren knew that Wen Ruohan’s cultivation level was so high as to render him largely unaffected even by significant drinking, but the fact that he had bothered to try to seek solace in the wine jar suggested that there was something incredibly wrong with his mental state.

It wasn’t a qi deviation - the violent emanations were unsettled, but not distorted - but it wasn’t good, either.

Wisdom would counsel that Lan Qiren keep back and not get in Wen Ruohan’s way.

Righteousness, on the other hand…

Anyway, Wen Ruohan was his sworn brother. What sort of brother would Lan Qiren be if he took only the good and not the bad?

“Da-ge?” he called, stepping out into the hallway. “Da-ge, come away from there.”

Wen Ruohan turned to him, and his expression was frightening. “Fine. You’ll do,” he growled, and it was only because Lan Qiren had grown wiser and stronger that he realized what was about to happen and dodged before Wen Ruohan could grab him, darting back into his room.

Wen Ruohan followed him in.

“What happened?” Lan Qiren asked, still backing away. “You were fine at dinner – what happened since then?”

For some reason, that set Wen Ruohan off again, turning his attention away from Lan Qiren, and he grabbed the table and threw it into the wall, smashing it all to pieces.

“That fucker,” he snarled, his eyes blank and distant. He wasn’t angry at Lan Qiren, that much was clear, but he was filled with ceaseless rage, and he was taking it out on everything around him. “That fucker got married! He’s got a son!”

Lan Qiren blinked. “…what?”

Smash went the cabinet, and all the various things on it. At least Wen Ruohan hadn’t started in on the paintings, which were the only aspect of the room Lan Qiren actually cared or worried about.

“Who got married and had a son?” Lan Qiren asked, even though he knew it would only inflame Wen Ruohan further. At this point, it was clear that Wen Ruohan’s had gotten stuck in his chest, like black blood that needed to be coughed; he needed to vent his anger or else it would curdle within him and he would suffer. “Normally that’s a good thing, a cause for celebration. Why is it bad here?”

“Because it’s Lao Nie!” Wen Ruohan burst out, and Lan Qiren rocked back on his heels in shock.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t known that Lao Nie had been unusually distracted these past few months, even most of a year – the way he’d ignored or disregarded Lan Qiren’s letters about the situation with He Kexin, the breezy and almost manic tone of his replies to Lan Qiren’s brother, which Lan Qiren had seen, it all spoke of distraction and carelessness, all typical of Lao Nie, albeit of far greater severity than usual.

Nor was it truly a surprise that none of them had been informed: the Qinghe Nie had always been idiosyncratic about their personal details, unusually secretive and fiercely proud of it. They did not share their birth date or even year, other than for arranging a marriage. If Lan Qiren had thought about it, he wouldn’t have been at all surprised to find out that Lao Nie would have married and had a child all without having shared any information on the subject until afterwards.

Only…

“But aren’t you – with him?” he asked, and knew immediately that he had asked the wrong question.

Wen Ruohan roared and smashed yet another thing, sending a palm strike through a dresser and denting the stone wall with the power of it. “He’s mine,” he spat. His eyes were even redder than usual, the sclera becoming red alongside the iris; it made him look almost possessed, almost as if he really were having some sort of qi deviation. “He’s mine, damn it! Who is he to give himself to another? And he didn’t even tell me…!”

They were definitely in a relationship, Lan Qiren confirmed to himself. His guess had been right. There could be no doubt about it. And yet, despite it all, Lao Nie had –

No, he couldn’t even express surprise. Lan Qiren knew Lao Nie, knew what he valued and how he valued it: Lao Nie had always been passionate and powerful, strong and superior, friendly and often kind, and yet at his core he was ruthless, careless, and selfish, just like Wen Ruohan was so often selfish. He did not concern himself overmuch with questions of righteousness, other than to the degree necessary to win glory to his sect as one on the righteous path. After his sect, which he valued most of all, he was an indolent pleasure-seeker, with terrible taste in partners, the more dangerous the better; Lan Qiren had seen him flirting with people left and right long after he’d concluded that he’d entered into a relationship with Wen Ruohan.

In the past, Wen Ruohan hadn’t seemed to mind. If anything, he’d even encouraged him, looking smug and amused by the flirtations, taking the other man’s victories as his own; during one incident that Lan Qiren could recall, he’d all but applauded when Lao Nie had successfully wooed some rogue cultivator and taken her back to his bed, turning instead to his own separate amusements after.

Then again, that wasn’t a marriage.

(Of course, Wen Ruohan himself had also gotten married…)

“How dare he,” Wen Ruohan said, panting a little from his own exertion, clearly more moved by the feelings raging within him than any type of physical exhaustion. “How dare he – does he think I’m desperate? Pathetic? Does he think I’d run after him, begging and humiliating myself..? I don’t need him at all!”

He turned once more, and this time his gaze focused on Lan Qiren.

“I have something of my own already,” he murmured, and this time Lan Qiren wasn’t fast enough to stop him as he caught him up in his arms, slamming his back against the wall.

Lan Qiren tensed, suddenly for a moment back in his rooms in the Cloud Recesses, looking up at a different brother who wanted to hurt him – but no, Wen Ruohan wasn’t the same, Wen Ruohan liked him. He was acting out of fury, not malice; there was no He Kexin here to goad him on, nothing like that.

Even the force of being pushed against the wall hadn’t actually hurt – Wen Ruohan had been careful even in his mindless rage, making sure that any impact was cushioned by his own arms rather than Lan Qiren’s back; Lan Qiren hadn’t even had the breath knocked out of him.

“Da-ge…!”

Wen Ruohan didn’t want to hear him. He put his hand on Lan Qiren’s mouth and pressed down, cutting off speech at once. They were pressed together so closely that the movement inadvertently dragged his sleeve onto Lan Qiren’s throat, almost making him gag, and he instinctively tried futilely to kick his way out – it didn’t work, of course.

Wen Ruohan pressed up against him, the front of his body burning like flame against Lan Qiren.

“You’re mine,” he said, reaching in to nuzzle the side of Lan Qiren’s head with his cheek. “My blood brother, bound by oath and blood; my shining pearl, untouched by the world. All good things should belong to me.”

Lan Qiren reached up to try to push away the hand at this mouth, wanting to speak even though he did not know what he would say, and at first he thought he’d done it. But then suddenly he was in motion, his back landing hard on the bed he’d been given, the impact softened by the blanket Wen Ruohan had wrapped around him when he’d brought him back to the Nightless City from the Cloud Recesses. Shocked by the unexpectedness of the abrupt movement, he gasped, a wordless inhale rather than any coherent words.

Less than a heartbeat, and Wen Ruohan was on top of him, pressing him down. His body seemed even hotter than usual, as if his whole spirit were aflame, his qi boiling in the air around them until Lan Qiren had the impression as though he ought to be able to see steam; his hands were hot where they pressed down on Lan Qiren’s shoulders, his lips burning as they pressed against his collarbone, and between his legs there was something hot pressing against him, too.

And still, Lan Qiren – was not afraid.

He wasn’t sure why. He’d been terrified when it had been his brother who had stood against him, disgusted when it had been He Kexin pawing at him in ways he did not and had never wanted, but Wen Ruohan, who was bound to him through nothing but a tricked oath…

“Da-ge,” he whispered. “Please stop.”

Wen Ruohan stilled. He didn’t get up or pull away, but he didn’t make any further movements.

“Please let me go.”

Wen Ruohan’s breathing was harsh in his ear. “You, too, little Lan?” he asked. “Just like him, making me think – don’t you like me?”

“I do,” Lan Qiren admitted. He might be stupid when it came to social interactions, might be slow and miss things that were obvious, but even he could figure out what Wen Ruohan meant, with his confession of how Lan Qiren lingered in his thoughts and in pressing him down on the bed like this while mourning the loss of Lao Nie, his lover. And maybe sometimes he needed Cangse Sanren to point things out to him, but most of the time he knew himself. This past week had made clear enough that he enjoyed Wen Ruohan’s endless indulgences in a spirit that was more than just pure brotherhood. “I do like you. But I don’t like – this.”

Wen Ruohan was silent for a long moment.

“Not this, with me,” he finally said. “Or not – at all?”

“At all,” Lan Qiren said. He had thought when he was younger that he might change, but he was increasingly sure that he wouldn’t, that this was just what he was like. “I was never like the others my age. Even Yueheng-xiong, who I would’ve thought loved nothing but mathematics and explosions, has found himself distracted by the shape of the one he likes. But not me. I don’t yearn the way they do. I can love a person’s spirit, but I never much cared for the flesh.”

“Love,” Wen Ruohan echoed, his voice oddly uneven. “You speak of - love?”

“…isn’t that what we’re talking about?”

Wen Ruohan laughed, a jagged and choked up thing, and then he pulled away, letting Lan Qiren go, sitting up on the bed and burying his face in his hands. The qi around him was still too-hot, overwhelming, pulsing with his feelings, even as his shoulders shook and he stared blankly at the wall; any other man, and Lan Qiren might think he was crying, but he could see Wen Ruohan’s face through his fingers, and there were no tears there.

Perhaps he’d forgotten how.

Lan Qiren slowly sat up himself.

He could still feel the mild stiffness of old healing injuries, but he ignored them and got up off the bed, going to the one side table that had yet to be destroyed – the one where he’d laid his guqin to rest. It turned out that Wen Ruohan had only destroyed the things he himself had put into the room; he hadn’t touched anything of Lan Qiren’s.

Lan Qiren settled in front of his guqin and began to play.

Out of all the compositions he had created, his favorite was the one he had first created at the Nightless City, that strange hypnotic melody that brought to mind spilled pearls, but unlike some of the others he’d worked on, it had never felt fully completed. The music wrapped itself around the listener, at first intimate and then oppressive, a heavy stone in their chest and pressure on their skull, growing darker and darker, just as he’d written it – but now he played onwards, elaborating on the theme in ways he hadn’t planned or expected, letting the solemn notes brighten, the overwhelming pressure turning from suffocating into safe as it became clear that it would cause no harm, the storm passing by overhead and leaving things clean and clear and better, the lingering euphoria of finding oneself supported, rather than alone.

When his fingers finally stilled, Lan Qiren looked up and saw Wen Ruohan sitting there with his back straight again, hands resting gently in his lap, eyes closed as if in meditation and face calm once more. His qi no longer coiled around him, lashing out; it had settled once more.

“You will,” Wen Ruohan said without opening his eyes, “be an excellent traveling musician, little Lan. People will fight for the right to hear you, and you will never go without an audience.”

Lan Qiren hesitated, not sure what to make of such a compliment, or what Wen Ruohan meant by it. He’d only intended to play something to help him settle his qi and soothe his rage, which he’d clearly accomplished. He hadn’t even meant to play that particular song, other than in the way that he tended to default to it when he had nothing else specific in mind. It had always been unsatisfying, like an itch, but now it finally felt complete.

“Da-ge –” he started to say, not knowing what he would say next, but at any rate he never had the chance to continue.

“When you do finally go to fulfill your dreams, leaving the dust of the world behind you, I hope that you visit the Nightless City often,” Wen Ruohan said. His tone was still calm, settled, but not, Lan Qiren observed, peaceful: there were all sorts of seething emotions underneath it. “But for the moment, I think it is better if you return to the Cloud Recesses.”

Lan Qiren hesitated once again, this time feeling a little hurt. “You don’t want me here?”

“I do,” Wen Ruohan said, and his lips curved into something that was not a smile; it seemed almost painful a shape to contort into, and his eyes reflected no humor at all when he opened them. “Very much. Ah, little Lan, if only you knew…despite that, I would still have you go. Having made my views on you clear to your brother, it should be safe, and I do not want you to see what beast I make of myself when I am denied.”

Lan Qiren bowed his head a little. “About Lao Nie…”

“I know what he’s like,” Wen Ruohan said. “I’ve always known, from the start. If you had asked me a few days ago, I would have said that I did not have any illusions…”

He smiled bitterly.

“It seems that I misjudged myself.”

“I’ll go,” Lan Qiren said. He didn’t especially want to, but Wen Ruohan wasn’t in a rage, nor lashing out unthinkingly. To refuse him would be to deny him, to treat him as if he could not make his own decisions, and that, he thought, would be worse. “If you want me to, I’ll go, and later, I’ll return.”

Wen Ruohan said nothing, but he watched as Lan Qiren pulled on some more clothing, not caring which one it was, and did his hair back up in the simplest style, favoring speed over substance; he packed away his guqin and his sword and one of the paintings that he had liked best, but took nothing else – after all, it wasn’t as if he were going away for good.

He made it to the door before hesitating, then turned back to look at Wen Ruohan, who was still watching him.

“Is there anything…?” he asked haltingly. “Something I can get you…?”

“Send one of the maids to me,” Wen Ruohan said. “Any of them, it doesn’t matter which. If they’re still hanging around in the family quarters after an eruption like that, it can be seen that their ambition has overcome their good sense, making them a perfect match for me. It would be a shame to deny them the fruits of their victory.”

Lan Qiren didn’t quite understand, but he knew enough to get the gist; he felt his cheeks and ears go hot. Still, he had offered, and it wasn’t something he was willing to do himself, so there was really no basis for refusing to pass along the request. He nodded and slipped out – as Wen Ruohan predicted, there was one of the maids lingering at the far corner, looking around in blatant curiosity. She was pretty enough, Lan Qiren supposed, with an upturned nose and a slightly arrogant air, her clothing carefully arranged to be just a little mussed in a way that Lan Qiren understood most men to find attractive.

“Your sect leader is in my room,” he told her, and she blinked at him. “If you go to him now, he’d probably accept. Up to you, though.”

She stared at him for a moment, then nodded. He left, his head held high; when he glanced back anyway, he saw her going into his room, hair patted down and clothing even more carefully arranged – Wen Ruohan hadn’t been wrong when he speculated as to her ambitions. The life of a powerful sect leader, Lan Qiren supposed: desired but never known, as distant from those around him as Lan Qiren but as a consequence of his position rather than his inclination.

He would definitely return, Lan Qiren decided. Perhaps he would even make the Nightless City the first destination on his travels. After all, why should he not? Was Wen Ruohan not his sworn brother, too?

Yes, Lan Qiren thought. That was right.

Wen Ruohan deserved to have someone possess him as he longed to possess others.

#mdzs #lan qiren #wen ruohan #my fic #my fics #spilled pearls

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cellsshapedlikestars · 3 years

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If you are accepting prompts--how about Sansa and Jon being on opposite sides of a political contest? Prime Minister Rhaegar Targaryen is forced to call a referendum for Northern independence, as demanded by the Northern Nationalists party. He is campaigning in the North for a United Westeros, taking his second wife Lyanna Stark and their son Jon along, toshow how hollow all talk if Northern independence is. However, this means that Jon keeps running into his Stark cousins, particularly Sansa Stark, who accompanies her parents to every debate and campaign rally...

I've been sitting on this for a while (and yes, I do see all the anon prompts, I promise!) and I've sort of been writing this on and off since I got it. The thing is, I have no point of reference for these politics, I'm assuming you wanted something like the Scottish independence movement, which I have almost no knowledge of as I am a dumb American who can barely handle American politics without spiraling into anxiety and depression. So, I've sort of talked around the specifics and hopefully I haven't gotten anything too crazy wrong.

Also, you mention his Stark cousins, but... well, I cannot do modern incest. I can handle them being cousins in olden times where it was acceptable & common (I can't even handle the sibling incest aspect in any time period), but I was writing this modern and that's a hard nope for me. I know it's a fairly predominant part of this fandom and if it's your thing, absolutely have at it! There is no kink shaming in this house. It's just not for me and I couldn't write it, sorry!

Also, as usual, this turned out longer than I intended since these are supposed to be drabbles mostly. But 'drabbles' for me always end up like 2k words

Jon sits in the window seat of the jet, headphones on and turned up. Somewhere behind him, he knows his parents are sitting, likely talking strategy. He knows dad wants him to join in, but Jon's in no mood to talk politics. It's what got him in this situation to begin with.

That stupid reporter. Jon's stupid response.

Jon! How do you feel about Northern Independence?

I say let them.

It's what he believes, honestly – if the North wants independence, why not? The rest of the SK treats them like shit anyway, why not let them break off, like Dorne did? It's not a naming issue – they're still called the Seven Kingdoms despite losing Dorne decades ago, so what if they're technically only six now? Jon knows it's about more than that – it's economics and politics and... well, pride. The SK can't lose another piece of their kingdom – nevermind that piece has been conquered and beaten down multiple times over hundreds of years. Northern Independence isn't a new concept – it's just been met with military resistance every time and stamped out. But they aren't in the middle ages anymore.

For a moment he turns his head to look behind him – to see mom with her head bowed in conversation with dad and something ugly twists in Jon's stomach.

He knows dad only married mom because she got pregnant – because his political career was just taking off and a mistress and bastard would have ruined him. And mom, she'd been so young, she's convinced herself he married her for love. Jon swears that mom used to be different. She used to argue with Rhaegar all the time about politics, he even remembers her bringing up Northern Independence when Jon was just a kid. But over the years she's had to play the perfect wife for him and somewhere along the way it just... stuck. Mom isn't his mom anymore. No, mom is what Rhaegar's political advisors want her to be.

So even though Jon had wanted to protest this trip, there's also a part of him desperately clinging to the hope that when they get North, mom will snap out of it. When she's home, maybe she'll be his mom again.

Especially since the leader of the opposition is an old friend of hers.

Ned Stark.

Dad doesn't react to much, he's a politician to his core, so seeing him get riled anytime Ned Stark is on TV is notable. In fact, there's a rebellious part of Jon that already likes Ned Stark simply for the fact that dad hates him so much. There's more to like than just that, Jon knows – Ned Stark seems like one of those politicians that's doing the job because they want to make a difference. They're rare, nowadays, but Jon's been surrounded by politicians his whole life and he can spot the do-gooders from a mile away.

He thinks it's partly why dad hates it – Ned Stark doesn't use the same underhanded tactics Rhaegar's used to, and from everything Jon's heard, there's nothing to use against Ned. The only skeleton dad's advisors had ever found tucked away in Ned Stark's closet had been that his wife, Catelyn, had originally dated his older brother Brandon, who died in a car accident. They'd begun dating and married shortly after - a minor scandal that hadn't gained any traction, considering they've been married for over twenty years with five children.

Dad was hoping to get somewhere with the youngest daughter, Arya, who always seemed more wild than the rest of her siblings (except maybe the youngest, Rickon). The problem is that she's never done anything really wrong and the North loves her. The oldest son Robb is as perfect a son as any politician could hope for and Jon sometimes wonders if dad would rather have Robb than Jon.

The other two sons are still fairly young and going after them would only make dad look like the bad guy. Then there's Sansa.

Jon remembers her from growing up – not that he'd ever met her, but they're both kids of prominent politicians and he's seen her in photos since she was old enough to walk. A proper lady, he remembers even the southern press naming her. Perfect, just like her older brother.

A hand on his shoulder jolts him out of his thoughts and he turns to see mom, who motions at him to take off his headphones.

“We're landing in a half hour and your father would like to go over your role,” she tells him with a perfect, bland smile. (She hasn't been his mother for a very long time.)

“I know my role,” he says and he can't help the bitter tone to his voice. “Stay quite, don't talk to the press. Pretty easy to remember.”

“And yet you still managed to nearly undermine my entire campaign with one flippant remark,” dad's voice calls over from his seat, low and smooth, though Jon absolutely hears the annoyance underneath it.

“Oh, he's just a child,” mom says, trying to play the peacekeeper like she always does.

“He's twenty, he's hardly a child,” dad starts, but Jon doesn't listen to the rest. He pulls his headphones back over his ears and looks back out the window and tries to pretend he's anywhere else.

…

By the time they reach Winterfell Castle, Jon is in a bad mood.

Not that he hadn't been before, but he's not allowed his headphones in the limo and so he'd had to listen to dad talk nonstop about his two favorite topics: Jon's failure as a son and how much he hates Ned Stark. And the way mom doesn't even try to defend Ned Stark like she used to infuriates Jon even more.

Jon hates his tuxedo and he hates that they barely had any time between landing and having to get ready for this dinner and he hates that he's going to have to smile and shake hands with a bunch of people who hate him on principle, simply for who his father is. For what his father represents.

When he does step out of the limo, he ignores every photographer and reporter that shouts his name, eager to get any sort of scandal out of him.

He doesn't blame them for this, he's given them enough over the years – not just his apparent support of Northern Independence, but everything else he's done to gain his notoriety. His reputation as a heartbreaker and a playboy that's mostly over-exaggerated, that time he punched a teacher (though to be fair, Thorne deserved it)... Teenage rebellion, they'd written it off as, but he's no longer a teenager and he knows he should grow up and stop doing things to piss off his father at some point.

(His favorite one had been sleeping with that investigative journalist when he was seventeen. She'd been older than him by a good few years and he'd known she was using him to write an article, but he was using her just as much to infuriate his father. His only true regret is that Ygritte's article hadn't done any real lasting damage to Rhaegar's reputation.)

Inside, there aren't any reporters but there are politicians everywhere and that's worse. He does the bare minimum to not cause an issue – he shakes hands and says hello, though he refuses to smile while doing it. They already hate him for being Rhaegar Targaryen's son. They already hate him for being Northern-traitor Lyanna Snow's son.

He keeps an eye on mom to see how she's doing and his heart twists painfully in his chest when he sees her. She has a bright smile on her face and anyone who didn't know her would think she's fine, but Jon can see how pale she is under her makeup. This is the first time she's been back in the North since she married dad and he has a sudden, sharp pang of hatred for Rhaegar – for getting her pregnant, for marrying her, for never letting her go back. For turning her into this.

He can tell the moment Ned Stark enters the room because mom freezes. And sure enough, there he is – beautiful wife at his side, the three adult children with him. Robb, Sansa, Arya. Jon's eyes scan over them – Robb with his perfect hair and smile, an easy way about him that's always come through even on camera. Sansa standing poised and almost too beautiful to believe – Jon's only ever seen her on film and somehow she's even more unreal in person. Arya, who by all accounts hates politics as much as Jon does, stands firmly by her family and Jon gets the sense she only hates the system, not her dad. Not like Jon.

As Jon scans the room, he can see other families here that he recognizes – the Greyjoys, including Robb Stark's best friend Theon. The Manderlys, the Karstarks, the Ryswells, the Boltons, the Mormonts. More families than Jon cares to remember.

There's a sense of someone behind him and he turns just enough to see that dad has come up to stand next to him. For a moment, dad just stands there before turning his head ever so slightly and bringing his mouth close to Jon's ear and he says so low Jon can barely even hear it - “if you do anything to embarrass me tonight, there will be consequences. If you do anything that makes it seem like you support this pathetic independence movement, there will be consequences. Do you understand me?”

Jon feels blind rage that winds so hot in his chest it makes him shake and his vision narrow. He has to close his eyes and take a deep breath before he can answer, and he grits out, “of course.” Dad nods and moves away, putting on his best politician smile as he goes to greet Howland Reed.

Mom shoots him a concerned look, but Jon ignores her. He can feel it building in him – that rebelliousness the press likes to talk about so much. He wants to hurt Rhaegar. For everything – for his mother, for all the people dad's stepped on and hurt. He wants to embarrass him, consequences be damned.

Just as he's thinking this, his eyes catch on copper hair and bright blue eyes.

Sansa Stark.

Darling of the press. Perfect Northern princess.

It takes root in his mind, against his better judgment. What would make Rhaegar more furious than an affair between his son and the daughter of Ned Stark?

Jon can't imagine Sansa would be amenable to the suggestion, not like Ygritte had been – there is no mutually beneficial agreement here. She would never agree to do something that might embarrass her father (and once again, Jon is reminded of the, pun intended, stark difference between his relationship with his father and the Stark children's relationship with Ned. Jon has never even met them in person and he knows this).

So he can't approach her with any sort of offer or plan. No, he'd have to pretend it was real.

He's going to have to seduce Sansa Stark.

#jonsa #prompt fic #ask #oooh boy do i know nothing of politics #and political families #do not @ me #is this boring?#probably #jonsa fic

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bigskydreaming · 3 years

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And another thing, he said as if its ever just ONE more thing, hahahaha look, fuck you numbers, I’m not about to be limited by the likes of YOU.

Anyway.

Anyone else think its kinda weird that in all the many years of “Dick not so secretly resented Jason because Bruce adopted him and made him Robin and that’s why they were never close” fics.......there seem to be a big whopping zero that take the fix-it approach:

“What if Bruce had been aware of the tension between the two because he’s not actually a Dumb Dumb McStupidhead and thought to himself, gee, if only there was something I, the parent, had the power to do about this resentment from one brother based on something I, the parent, did for the other brother who never did anything because he is not the parent and also he did nothing wrong? What if given that I and my actions are the actual problem here, I, the parent, he who holdeth both the actual power in this family as the parent and the power as the problem-causer, to address the problem.....like what if I got off my ‘matches with Batman’ butt and.....did...something? About it?”

Like.....oh I don’t know, just spitballing here....maybe explaining to Jason just what it was Dick was resentful about when it came to Robin and that Jason wasn’t the one Dick was actually mad at, which more than likely would have prompted the extremely empathetic at this age Jason to take Dick’s side and be like wtf, you gotta fix this B.

Or maybe like, going to Dick and expressing how sorry he is that he didn’t consider how Dick would feel about any of this and that he’s let it go unaddressed for so long since then, which more than likely would have NOT resulted in Dick continuing to hold a grudge against an innocent third party but rather be like thank you this is literally all I ever wanted, a fucking acknowledgment that you’d hurt me and that my being hurt mattered to you?

Or if the problem is more Dick being resentful that Bruce adopted Jason and not him, maybe Bruce explaining this to Jason and that Jason wasn’t the one Dick was actually mad at, which again, more than likely would have prompted the extremely empathetic Jason to go umm, wtf are you talking to me about this for then, if you think he’s upset about that why the fuck aren’t you going to talk to him about it and tell him all this stuff about regretting not adopting him before now and sparing him this hurt instead? Like what are you waiting for old man, your fucking helicopter to come pick you up? NOW. Go NOW. You’re not getting any younger, geez Louise, why are old people so dumb.

Or maybe like.....Bruce going to Dick and expressing how sorry he is that he didn’t consider how Dick would feel about.....look, you see where I’m going with this, right? You get it? Its not actually all that tricky to grasp?

Or hell, maybe even just in a fic where Jason nurses his own resentment over the fact that he’s heard so much about Dick and looked forward to meeting him and yet months and months go by since Jason’s adoption and in all that time his alleged big brother apparently can’t even be bothered to come introduce himself, RIP Jason’s feelings, guess he can’t possibly matter all that much to the guy, way to welcome him to the family......

I mean, its not like THAT thought neeeeeeever comes up in fic, so its like, hmmm, counterpoint, but where are all the fics that take the angle of rather than let Jason think he doesn’t matter to his predecessor and let Dick take all the blame for this impression when there’s LITERALLY nothing Dick could do about it since he found out about Jason from the freaking newspaper months after the adoption and only after Jason debuted as Robin.....maybe Bruce, could again, just like....start a conversation. And be like Jason I seem to have inadvertently given you the wrong impression here, but trust me, Dick not coming to meet you before now had nothing whatsoever to do with you and was purely because I never actually told him about you.

Again, cut to Jason, the actual brains of the family at this point in time, staring at Bruce with his mouth hanging open:

“Wait, so you’re telling me that after the two of you had this big fight and you haven’t seen him in like eighteen months, AND after his eighteenth birthday came and went without you bothering to even call him and let him know you still wanted him in your life despite him no longer legally being your ward, AND after you went and took me in and adopted me......you never at any point picked up the phone and said hey kid that I raised and consider family and still want to be part of my family no matter how long its been since we talked......I just thought you should know, given that we’re still family and all, that our family is now bigger, because that’s information that is kinda key to give to people you consider family, as NOT keeping them in that loop could kinda sorta maaaaaaybe give them the impression that you DON’T think of them that way or else you would have thought this was relevant information for them to have?”

Bruce: I’m not sure I see where you’re going with this.

Jason: How are you this dumb. No but seriously. HOW.

Anywho, cut to me, twiddling my thumbs here all super casual like.....

But HMMM, isn’t it WEIRD how fandom, which is totally better than canon, and definitely does not have patience for that unnecessary family angst porn DC is so obsessed with and just wants these goshdarn idiots to be a FAMILY, like......neeeeeeeeever utilizes the transformative power of fanfic and their much more reliable takes on Good Parent Bruce Wayne to like....have Bruce....do something about the problems between past Dick and Jason? In any of these fics? And instead has him just....let the opportunities to make things better for them, AND HIMSELF in the process, just like.....sail away into the rear view mirror, waving a hand at them as they pass, content to let things fester and worsen until cut to after Jason’s return, like.....oh gee, really wish something could have been done about the relationship between Dick and Jason way back when, maybe Jason could have benefited from another close relationship in his life then and maybe Dick might not be as bad off now if he wasn’t burdened with unnecessary guilt over having had human emotions when he was a teenager?

So so SO weird that this angle never comes up or gets tackled in ANY fics that emphasize Dick’s alleged history of being an asshole to Jason and the reason they were never close or barely knew each other. I mean, its such an EASY and OBVIOUS fix to all that, don’t you think?

Unless, of course.....in the fics that make an emphasis of this fandom created dynamic.....its not actually considered a problem to fix at all.

But rather, this manufactured dynamic IS the fix, to what they see as the ACTUAL problem......any kind of real or explored focus on what Bruce actually DID and didn’t do, that caused the resentment they’re all too happy to show Dick nursing, but seem keeeeeeeeenly deft in avoiding any exploration of him FEELING. Except of course when it comes to a reason for him to feel even guiltier BECAUSE of it.

Its almost like we would have had a ton more variety in how fics depict the early years between Dick and Jason, perks of this oh so easily arrived at fix-it angle.....unless those fics were always doing exactly what they intended by keeping every one in the comments sections so busy commenting on what a jerk Dick was in that chapter or in the older events that chapter mentioned, that they just so happen to never really spend much time considering Bruce’s inciting choices back then to be AS worthy of comment or criticism.

Idk you guys, I just happen to find it kinda hilar in that ‘what a weird coeenkeedink kinda way’ that so many of the things a lot of fandom are EXTREMELY loud about holding against Dick (whether Dick did or not actually do those things in the first place)....just so happen to be the very things that most of these same people REFUSE to ever hold Bruce accountable for, or admit that he actually did.

Y’know, like how Bruce never actually fired Dick as Robin, that was just a retcon (when there’s literally been more versions of events where Dick WAS fired than WASN’T at this point).....but meanwhile, Dick very much definitely did FIRE Tim, that was exactly how that went down.

Or how similarly, Bruce neeeeeever actually kicked Dick out, let alone made him give back his keys, but Dick DEFINITELY kicked Tim out of house and Gotham.....even though Dick literally did none of that and in fact was living at the penthouse the whole time he was Batman, meaning Wayne Manor was perfectly available to be Tim’s home base the whole time, if he’d wanted it.

Or how Bruce has never lifted a finger at his eldest, or thrown any kind of a temper tantrum, because he is a good person who would obviously never ever do that, BUT if the son he spent the longest time raising just so HAPPENS to end up with a reputation of having a hair-trigger temper, going off at the drop of a hat, blowing things all out of proportion and lashing out physically whenever he’s overwhelmed emotionally.....well, that certainly has nothing to do with Bruce or anything he’s ever done, lol why would it, BUT its definitely something that needs to be commented on time and time again because it very much did happen all these times in canon, whereas all these times you’re talking about with Bruce are very clearly out of character writing because see, Bruce just isn’t like that, uh doy.

Or how Bruce definitely wasn’t being problematic as hell when it came to his non-interactions with Dick back when Jason was living with him, but Dick’s non-interactions with Jason are 10000x more worthy of comment and criticism. And Dick’s responsibilities towards the emotional wellbeing of the kid he didn’t pick to be his family and wasn’t even actually legally family with at the time, let alone actually obligated to, are definitely the same as Bruce’s responsibilities to the emotional wellbeing of both the kids he did actually pick to be his family and did actually make obligations to. Thus the one is definitely more deserving of a call-out post than the other....wait, what? Dammit, I was SURE my math checked out on that one this time. Well fuck a duck, now I am THOROUGHLY flummoxed by all this.

Yup.....

Just really funny in that lmao ‘actually not at all sorta’ way, how its the extremely PRECISE things that so many fans absolutely REFUSE to acknowledge Bruce ever doing, that they just can’t help but ‘expose’ as a mere retcon, bad writing, ooc behavior, writers just ‘not getting who Bruce Wayne is,’ etc, etc, whenever it does get brought up by other people....

It just so happens to be these very specific things that come up time and time again as the things people just WILL NOT LET GO when it comes to Dick doing them.....even when.....in most cases he didn’t even actually do them! Not because they were ‘mere retcons’ or just ‘bad writing’ or ‘ooc behavior’ or ‘writers just not getting who Dick Grayson is’....but because they literally. Did not. Happen. Until fandom for some reason - ‘despite’ HATING canon for having Bruce do THESE VERY SAME THINGS - put their own interpretative or transformative spin on things and MADE those things happen in such huge numbers that a lot of new fans coming into fandom by way of fics honestly believe that THESE are the canon moments and its the ones attributed to Bruce that are just fans of other characters having their sour grapes moments.

I mean....

You gotta laugh.

Anyway. So I mean, unless I’m just totally reading the room wrong, I’d have to hazard a guess that the only real reason we NEVER see fics addressing things the way I outlined in my earliest examples at the start of this post.....is that a whole lot of fandom just kinda decided over the years that it was just waaaaaay easier to just redirect peoples’ ire at other characters, away from Bruce, than it was to go to the trouble of like....actually ADDRESSING Bruce’s pesky little canon mistakes.

Cuz see....writing a happier, more united Batfam in the years before Jason’s death is only a fix-it fic if the problem you’re fixing is the family’s relationships.....and not ‘Bruce acknowledging - let alone taking ownership of - his mistakes.’ If the latter is the REAL problem, well a more ‘together’ family isn’t something you actually need at all....you just need someone else to pin its divisiness on.

But I digress.

Aaaaaanyway.....now standard stock disclaimer that as I’ve always always always said....I don’t actually hate Bruce nor do I have anything whatsoever against Good Dad Bruce.....my issues are always just with peoples’ approach to his canon mistakes or poor writing being to double down on the problem but just make it someone else’s. And that one little thing where the Smartest Man In The World can come up with a way to fight Doomsday with a paper clip and some chewing gum, but goshdarnnit if he’s not completely helpless and powerless when it comes to fixing his own mistakes or interceding in his childrens’ emotional problems.

(As in by just y’know, parenting them. Sitting them down for a conversation. No, bugging their apartments and calling that his love language doesn’t count.)

Also, an Honorable Mention Pet Peeve goes out to all the fans who love to dismiss Dick Grayson stans raising this issue because ‘this sort of thing happens with all the characters’ when lololololol, no, it really actually does not. Given the weeeeeeeird similarities and parallels in the very specific things we tend to gripe about Bruce doing in canon and others tend to gripe about Dick doing in fanon, like, I’d actually think some of you would be a bit more empathetic about how much it sucks seeing your fave character condemned for stuff like this, given the lengths you go to when avoiding acknowledging Bruce doing it. But then again, that would defeat the point of attributing all that to a Bruce scapegoat instead of a Bruce in the first place, so I mean, I guess not actually.

But whatevs. I guess I’m just not able to grasp the nuances of how people criticizing or even fixating on some of Bruce’s worse actions in canon gains the ire of fans who are like, I am just here rolling my eyes at you guys for being so addicted to your shitty misery porn that you like, just loooooove going with the takes where Bruce is just the worst person ever and a totally shitty dad....

While meanwhile.....many of those exact same fans.....

Two seconds later: Now if you don’t mind, we have to get back to making up scenarios and bad faith interpretations that paint Dick as being just the worst person ever and a totally shitty brother or son. But in a not-that-we’re-addicted-to-shitty-misery-porn kinda way or whatever, because we’re obvs SO not, that’s YOU guys, this is totally different. We don’t LIKE doing this, we’re only doing it because we HAVE to. It has nothing to do with us not actually minding the writing or the content of what’s being written whatsoever, we just don’t like that it makes Bruce look bad, and as long as you keep fixating on how it makes Bruce look like, duh, what other choice do we have but to make someone else look worse instead? When you think about it, this is all your fault, really.

Anyway. You just gotta love the takeaway.

Us: Griping about something Bruce does in canon and how the writers portrayed it and any resulting followup.

Others in Fandom: manufactures a parallel scenario with Bad Brother/Son Dick Grayson out of a single out of context panel, tinfoil and some dental floss.

Fandom: These two situations are the same.

Us: Okay but see they’re really fucking not tho, is the thing....

#its a Friday night gripe #and Im feeling ripe....#wait. no #thats not a thing i take it back guys I promise Im not ripe I bathe Im hygienic #I Swear

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sylvanfreckles · 3 years

Text

Departing Shadows

You thought I'd forgotten, didn't you? Here it is, another rescue from my doomed fanfiction.net account.

Summary: Legolas arrives to winter in Imladris after an ill-fated patrol in Mirkwood. But when the prince's refusal to accept the truth of what happened affects his healing, Aragorn is determined to break through the shadows that threaten his friend's spirit. No slash. Second-place winner of the December 2005 Teitho contest.

This is one of the angstiest things I've ever written, so...it'll be right up someone's alley, I'm sure. Please check the warnings if you're concerned. It was apparently partly inspired by The Pretenders' "I'll Stand By You".

And like I always say. I may cringe, but I will never regret! On to the fic!

(I should warn you...I made up the horse's name just so Aragorn could call him Smokey. He first appeared in another fic that I'll post one of these days. His name might look decently elvish but it's total gibberish.)

...

"Legolas!"

Aragorn refused to let the knee-deep snowdrifts impede him as he surged forward to greet his friend. The prince had come to Imladris for the winter, arriving, it seemed, just ahead of the heavy snows.

"Hello, Estel," the blonde elf said wearily, dismounting from his horse and nodding to the groom that had come to take care of the animal.

"I see Smokey is well," Aragorn commented, referring to an old joke they had between them about the horse's name.

Legolas rolled his eyes. "For the last time, Ranger, his name is Simoliké."

Aragorn laughed, throwing an arm around his friend and pretending not to notice the elf's flinch. "It is wonderful to see you again, Legolas."

The elf sighed, relaxing just slightly as the man guided him down the cleared walkway up to the house. "Are your brothers home?" he asked with a hint of hesitation.

"They're out until this evening," Aragorn explained, biting back a grin as he remembered the twins' protests at being sent away the day the prince was due to arrive. "Ada wanted them to help some of the other homes prepare for winter."

He noticed Legolas seemed relieved to hear this, and wondered at the elf's reaction. Then again, he thought, knowing the circumstances behind the prince's journey perhaps it was not entirely unexpected that he would be hesitant to face the rather exuberant greeting that Elladan and Elrohir would cook up.

"How are you, Legolas?" Aragorn asked as they entered the house, turning his friend to face him.

Legolas looked down, and for the first time Aragorn noticed the dark shadows under the elf's eyes, the deep pallor of his skin, and the almost haunted look in his eyes. "I am fine," the prince said softly.

Rather than outright scoff the elf's answer, as he was used to doing, Aragorn simply nodded. "I believe my father asked to speak with you when you arrived," he said. "He's in his study...just leave your bags, someone will take them up later."

Aragorn walked the elf to his father's study, and was surprised when Lord Elrond asked him to remain. He sat easily in a chair, noting with some concern that Legolas was perched as though about to bolt.

"Legolas," Elrond greeted, setting aside the scroll he had been studying. "How is your father?"

"He is well, Lord Elrond," the prince replied, fidgeting a little.

"Are you aware that he sent me a letter to tell the reasons behind your arrival?"

Legolas flinched. "I had guessed as much."

"Can you tell me what it says?"

The younger elf frantically shook his head, his eyes wide. Aragorn looked on in concern, and only a restraining glance from his father kept him from jumping to his friend's side.

"Then shall I tell you?" Elrond asked, not even waiting for a response. "In his letter he mentioned that your patrol suffered a devastating attack by a party of orcs. All but three of the elves under your command were killed in battle, and those of you who survived were taken captive. The orcs recognized you as captain of that patrol and slowly tortured the other three survivors to death in an attempt to get information out of you. Is this correct?"

Aragorn's eyes widened, and he glanced at his friend. Legolas was trembling, his gaze fixed on Elrond as though afraid the older elf would attack him.

"Legolas, you cannot hide from what happened," Elrond said kindly. "Yes, six of your people are dead...six good elves that should not have suffered so. But you must not blame yourself, Legolas. You must face what happened and—"

But whatever else Lord Elrond was going to say was forever lost as Legolas chose that moment to bolt from his chair and flee the study. Aragorn was after him in a heartbeat, not so much to bring him back to Elrond as out of honest concern for his friend.

Luckily, in his haste Legolas was less stealthy than usual and Aragorn could easily follow him. He found the elf just outside the door, bent over on his knees with his arms around his stomach. Aragorn knelt beside his friend and wrapped an arm around his shoulder, pulling the prince's hair back as Legolas was violently sick.

"I can't, Estel," Legolas whispered, his voice shaking. "He asks me...I can't."

"What happened?" Aragorn asked. "You don't have to tell me if you don't wish to," he added as Legolas tensed. "I want to help you...tell me what I can do."

"I..." Legolas shivered. "I can't, not yet."

"All right," Aragorn nodded. "What do you wish to do, then?"

Legolas sighed and sat up just enough to lean against Aragorn. "I want to forget than any of this ever happened."

"I know," the human said soothingly. "But my brothers will be returning soon," he added, squinting at the setting sun. "Do you want me to tell them you've retired early?"

"No," the elf said, standing shakily to his feet. "I do not wish them to suspect something is wrong."

Ai, anyone who looks you in the eye would know that you are not well, Aragorn thought. "Perhaps you would like to bathe and rest before dinner, then?" he asked, ever mindful of all the lessons he'd received on being a gracious host.

Legolas smiled, and in that smile Aragorn finally saw a glimmer of the elf who was his best friend. "You would not mock me for my 'obsessive bathing'?" he asked.

"Not today," Aragorn said with a laugh. "I believe you know the way...or would you prefer me to escort you so you don't get lost?"

"No, Aragorn," Legolas sighed. "But if you could apologize to Lord Elrond for my behavior..."

"Of course," the human nodded. "I'll speak with him immediately," and get him to tell me just what is going on, he added mentally. "See you at dinner, then," he called before making his way back to his father's study.

"Come in, Estel," Elrond called, not even bothering to look up.

"Ada, what is going on?" Aragorn asked, not even bothering to pass on his friend's apology as he knew Elrond would not hold Legolas' behavior as offensive in any way.

Elrond sighed and motioned for Aragorn to close the door. "In his letter Thranduil told me that Legolas has refused to speak of anything that happened during his captivity."

"He said he doesn't want to talk about it," Aragorn said.

"He is burdened because he feels responsible for six deaths that were beyond his control...six elves who would have gladly given their lives to keep the secrets of Mirkwood safe."

"Did the orcs know he was a prince?"

"No, they thought he was only a captain. Had they known, however, they might have tried to use him as leverage. In that case the results may have been different," Elrond sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose with two fingers.

"Different?"

Elrond met the human's gaze, a depth of sorrow in his eyes that Aragorn had not expected. "When the deaths of his comrades failed to get him to speak, the orcs resorted to torturing Legolas. He spent three days in their grasp, until another patrol found and rescued him."

Aragorn sat back in shock. "He was tortured..." he repeated softly. "Is he going to be all right?"

"Only time will tell. I will say this, though," Elrond held up one finger. "If he does not come to terms with what happened he will break. His spirit is already shadowed, and I fear what will happen if he does not begin to release this soon." The elf-lord sighed. "I believe he is on the brink of fading."

The young man felt his resolve harden. "I will not let that happen," he said fiercely.

Elrond's gaze saddened further. "I hope so, ion-nin."

Aragorn turned to leave, but hesitated and looked back to his father. "You were wrong," he said softly. "You should not have confronted him. He is not ready."

The elf raised one eyebrow, his gaze tightening slightly. "And how do you know this?"

"He told me," the man said simply. "He will talk to us when he's ready...not before. For now, the best we can do is simply listen and wait for him to tell us. I dare say there have been enough healers trying to draw him out."

Elrond nodded to acknowledge Aragorn's argument, though the human could tell he hadn't convinced his father of anything. Sighing, he left the study and jogged down the hall to the one elf he knew he needed to see: Legolas.

Legolas was not surprised in the least when he came out of the bathing chamber to find Aragorn perched on his bed. He had almost expected the human to come barging in while he was still bathing, as though thinking that catching the prince unawares would make him reveal what he had gone through.

He shook his head, dispelling that thought. Aragorn would never do that to him. "Are you waiting for something, Human?" he asked, forcing a playful tone to his voice.

"Just wanted to see if you needed anything else."

Legolas sighed. "I don't want to talk about it."

Aragorn's brow furrowed in concern. "I wasn't going to ask."

The elf paused, trying to keep his hand steady as he reached for his hairbrush. "Why not?" he asked bluntly.

"I don't want to rush you," the man said simply. "I want you to talk to me when you're ready."

Legolas caught himself blinking back tears, his emotions stretched too far at this point for any sort of restraint to last. "What if I'm never ready?" he said in a whisper.

"You will be," Aragorn said confidently. "Take some time...take a few days to rest, if you like. You're safe here," the man added, resting his chin in his hand and studying the prince as he brushed his hair.

The elf sighed, setting the hairbrush aside and lying down on the bed. "I know," he murmured, fighting the bone-chilling exhaustion that seemed to follow him everywhere.

"My father's healers," he said after a few moments, "spent every day trying to convince me to talk about what happened...what I saw, what I went through. Every time I saw them I just started retreating further and further within. It was out of desperation that my father sent me here. He hoped your father could do something."

Aragorn grunted an acknowledgement. "He wants to help," the man said quietly. "And he could probably understand what you're feeling...but I know what you mean."

Legolas turned a curious eye on his friend, waiting for the human to continue.

"In my first months out with the rangers," the man explained, "we came across a pack of wolves. They were bent on destroying us, and managed to kill two of the younger rangers before we killed them. One of those men was my friend," Aragorn added softly. "The first human friend I'd ever made. We were near Imladris, so they brought the wounded here. I knew my brothers and my father had lost friends before...but having so many try to help me recover from my friend's death was just overwhelming and I shut them out. It wasn't until one of the other rangers simply told me that he would just listen if I ever needed to talk that I found myself willing to share anything."

He turned a saddened gaze toward the prince. "If you need to talk, Legolas, I will listen. And whatever you share, I will keep in secret as long as you wish. If you need me, I will stand by you through whatever you face."

Legolas sighed and nodded. "Thank you," he whispered, the world darkening as he drifted off to sleep.

Elladan and Elrohir cornered Legolas later that night in the Hall of Fire, demanding an account from their friend of his journey and the latest news from Mirkwood. Aragorn was relieved to see Legolas at ease, laughing and joking, but disheartened when he saw through the facade to the crumbling spirit within the prince.

He could see that the elf was exhausted, though he wondered if that was more due to the journey here or to the terrible weight he carried. "All right, enough," Aragorn declared, smoothly stepping in and maneuvering his friend away from his brothers. "You can speak with Legolas in the morning, the hour is growing late and I wish to have a word with my friend before he retires for the night."

Ignoring the protests from the twins—half-hearted and jovial though they were—Aragorn steered Legolas to a vacant balcony.

They stood in silence for a while, looking out as a light snow fell throughout the valley. "Everything is so peaceful here," Legolas finally said, sighing and leaning heavily against the railing. "Not like home...there is no shadow over Imladris."

Aragorn grunted softly in agreement. "You know, tomorrow the first thing my brothers will do is drag me out of bed and bury me in the snow. They've done it during the first snow every year, but I wasn't here for the first snow so they'll probably do it with this one. They used to try convince me it would teach me to walk atop it as elves do...but I've long since learned that was a lie."

Legolas chuckled. "And I suppose you'll wish me to come to your aid?"

"Of course," Aragorn grinned. "What else are friends for?" he added, and lighthearted though his tone was he hoped Legolas would understand the hidden message.

The blonde elf sobered immediately. "I know," he said quietly. "I have been struggling all day...here I have a friend who has promised to stand beside me no matter what I face, yet when it comes to facing myself I have not the courage to ask."

Aragorn's heart went out to the elf. "You don't ever need to ask, Legolas," he replied gently. "I will always stand with you."

"Always?" the elf asked, turning to Aragorn so the human could see the tears glistening in the elf's eyes. "I am afraid, Aragorn. Afraid to face what is inside of me...afraid that the memories will be too much...but most of all I am afraid that if everyone sees this they will know I am a coward."

The elf turned away, covering his face with one hand. Aragorn immediately pulled his friend into an embrace, letting the elf sob into his shoulder. "You are not a coward," he said firmly. "Fear is just another battle, Legolas. You must face it, and you can defeat it."

When his friend had calmed down enough to release his death-grip on Aragorn's tunic, the human gently steered the elf through a set of fairly empty corridors to his chamber.

"Now sleep," he ordered, taking a look around the guestroom in which Legolas was staying. Sudden inspiration struck, and he turned to his friend's pack and began digging through it.

"What are you doing?" Legolas asked.

"It is far too cold in here," the man complained. "Even for an elf...you'll catch your death of cold if you stay in here tonight," he stood up triumphantly, a set of Legolas' sleeping clothes in his hand. "Come with me," he ordered, grabbing the elf by the arm.

Ignoring his friend's protests, he ushered Legolas down to his own chamber where a fire was already roaring happily in the fireplace. "This is much better, isn't it?" Aragorn asked, swiftly changing into his own sleeping clothes.

Legolas raised one eyebrow. "My room is not cold, Aragorn."

"Well...maybe not to you but I'll rest much better knowing that you're not sleeping in a room so frigid it could freeze a dragon," Aragorn retorted, climbing into his bed. It was large enough for three or four people, so he knew the elf couldn't protest because of lack of room.

The elf shook his head in amusement, and turned his back to change. Aragorn's stomach somersaulted when he caught sight of a few still-unhealed wounds on the elf's back—marks left from a whip and burns the size of his thumb. Whatever shadow had fallen on Legolas' spirit had left his friend unable to fully heal.

Legolas finished changing and slid into the other side of the bed. "Happy now, Human?" he asked.

"Of course," Aragorn laughed. He blew out the lamp on the bedside table, and waited until Legolas' breathing evened out to slip into sleep.

And when the nightmares struck, as he had known they would, he was right there.

Lord Elrond paused outside of Legolas' room—the prince was a frequent enough guest that one of the rooms was considered his—and knocked softly. Not hearing an answer he quietly opened the door and peeked in, a bit surprised to see that the room was vacant.

Then again, he mused, he shouldn't have been surprised at all.

Chuckling inwardly he stealthily opened the door to his youngest son's room just enough so slip in, and couldn't hold back a smile.

They were still sleeping, Aragorn with his arms wrapped around Legolas and the elf's head tucked under his chin, as though his mere presence could beat back the shadow that hung about the archer's spirit.

It was the nature of their friendship—of the friendship of two friends closer than brothers—for each to protect the other.

This time, Aragorn was the protector...against whatever demons preyed on his friend's spirit.

Elrond held back a sigh as he approached the bed, not wanting to wake either prince or ranger. He knew what he had said in his study had sounded unfeeling and harsh, but he had been hoping to force Legolas to face what had happened. He could now fully see the distress his words had caused the younger elf, and standing at the end of the bed he could make out distinct tear-trails left on the prince's face from whatever horrors he'd endured in his dreams.

And his eyes were closed, as though that would keep the images away.

Elves could usually control their dreams, but Elrond knew that Legolas had been repressing memories of his captivity and those memories would seek to break through, mostly in the form of nightmares.

But perhaps...perhaps his son could succeed where all of healers of Mirkwood and Legolas' own family had failed. The love of a brother, extended without hesitation or condition, might be just what was needed to break through the shadow.

As though knowing he was being thought of, Aragorn opened one eye and regarded his father with a raised eyebrow. Elrond pressed a finger to his lips to indicate silence, and slowly retreated, pausing just long enough to throw a smile over his shoulder at his son and the sleeping prince.

He would not speak about these things to Legolas again, he decided, unless the prince approached him. Perhaps Aragorn was right, and the best cure would be to listen and wait until Legolas was ready to speak.

Aragorn had dozed off when his father left, but woke suddenly with a yelp when a pair of hands seized his feet and dragged him off the bed.

"EL!" he shouted, not knowing which twin it was. Laughing gray eyes peeked into his as the less-responsible twin perched on the bed.

"It snowed last night, Estel," the twin—Elladan—said cheerfully.

"It is far from the first snow," the human grumped, trying to wrestle his feet away from Elrohir.

"Ah, but it is such fresh snow," Elrohir exclaimed, chuckling and pulling Aragorn a few more feet when the ranger tried to sit up and pry his hands away.

"Couldn't the snow wait a few hours?" a fourth voice asked groggily as the prince sat up, awakened from his exhausted sleep by the commotion.

"Legolas! Help me!" Aragorn called, ignoring the surprised glances of the twins who had evidently not seen Legolas when they entered the room.

"Aye, help him!" Elladan shouted, jumping to his feet and grabbing Legolas by the wrist. He dragged the prince off the bed, ignoring the protests and finally managing to dump the blonde elf, along with several blankets and a few pillows, onto the floor.

"What do you say, 'Dan?"

"I say the smelly human needs a bath!" Elladan exclaimed. "Shall we go?" he added, easily flinging Legolas over one shoulder and opening the door.

The prince was helpless with laughter in spite of his protests by this time, as every time he tried to wriggle away Elladan managed to poke him in a ticklish spot.

Elrohir followed, still dragging Aragorn by the ankles. The ranger began protesting that they would have to go downstairs—surely Elrohir would let him walk that much?

But he had forgotten his brother's tenacity. Elrohir did let go of Aragorn's ankles, but only to grab him around the chest and haul him down the stairs backwards, leaving his feet to drag behind.

Elladan was waiting impatiently by the door when Elrohir finally arrived with his struggling captive. Together they took their prisoners outside, Elladan depositing the prince gracefully in a clear spot in the yard and running to aid Elrohir.

Aragorn shouted in protest, but was no match for the twin elves as they managed to bring him to the ground, burying him in the snow and wrestling with him until he was completely soaked, shivering in his sleeping clothes.

"A-ada will b-be angry with y-you if I c-catch cold," Aragorn muttered through chattering teeth, hugging his arms tightly to his chest to preserve some warmth. Why did he let them to do this to him every year?

"Ah, but it is winter and you have nowhere better to be," Elladan said with a grand shrug. "What better place than the healers' wing?"

Legolas laughed at this, still sitting aside atop a patch of unbroken snow.

"The prince is amused," Elrohir commented.

"Yes...perhaps before he judges this as amusing he should experience it for himself," Elladan suggested with a wicked grin and in a flash the two had jumped to their feet and ran for the prince.

To Aragorn's alarm, the prince reacted with wide, fearful eyes and turned to flee.

The twins laughed as they chased him down, gleefully giving him the same treatment they'd given their brother. But Aragorn heard Legolas' protests grow more frantic and fearful, until he was in a high state of terror and begging the twins to stop.

Ignoring his own discomfort, Aragorn plunged into the unbroken snow and drove his way forward to the three elves, angered when his brothers treated the younger elf's fear as part of the game.

"Get off him!" Aragorn shouted, somehow pushing both Elladan and Elrohir away. Legolas lay curled up in the snow, his arms over his head and his breath coming in terrified pants. "Legolas?" he asked softly, placing a hand on the trembling shoulder.

The prince recognized Aragorn's voice and launched himself up into his friend's arms, burying his face in the man's sodden tunic to muffle his sobs of fear. Aragorn was shocked to see a small amount of blood on the snow, and more on the back of the elf's tunic.

With a warning glance at his brothers to stay back, Aragorn wordlessly gathered up the archer in his arms and trudged back into the house, heading straight for the healers' wing.

The moment his son entered the room carrying the trembling elf, Elrond knew the twins' yearly prank had gone tragically wrong. He sighed to himself, pulling back the blankets on one of the beds and nodding for Aragorn to set the prince down. He would have to explain this to his sons later...it wouldn't be fair to them to leave them wondering.

Then, as Aragorn showed him the reopened wounds on the archer's back, his concern grew.

"Ada, he was terrified," Aragorn confessed in a low voice, hoping they were far enough away that the blonde elf couldn't hear them. "He was pleading for them to stop, but they were just joking."

"I should have told them," Elrond sighed.

Aragorn agreed with his own sigh, bringing a few rolls of bandages over to bind his friend's wounds. Elrond dispensed a servant to bring down dry clothes for his son and the prince, seeing that both were cold and wet.

"Legolas?" Aragorn asked, kneeling beside the bed to look his friend in the eye. Elrond glanced over and was startled to see the prince pale-faced, tears streaking out of tightly-closed eyes. "It's all right," the human said soothingly, placing a hand on the elf's shoulder. "It's over...they're gone."

The servant returned with the clothes, and Elrond politely turned away, pretending to be hunting for something on the herb table, as Aragorn helped his friend change before changing himself.

"A-aragorn?" the prince whispered.

"Yes?" the man was kneeling again in an instant, grasping the white-fingered hand that extended toward him.

"Will you stay?"

Aragorn smiled tenderly. "I wouldn't be anywhere else."

Several hours later, after hearing the story from their father and shoveling all the paths from the house to the various outbuildings, Elladan and Elrohir peeked into the healing room to see how the prince was faring.

Legolas was sleeping again, Aragorn in a chair at his side with a book in hand. He glanced up at his brothers and offered them an apologetic glance.

"We came to apologize," Elrohir whispered.

Aragorn shook his head. "You didn't know," he murmured.

"Still...when he asked us to stop..." Elladan's voice trailed off when he thought of how he and his twin had unintentionally hurt their friend. "Is he all right?"

"He will be," Aragorn nodded. "He finally told me what happened," he added with a sigh. "He slept a bit just after you...after we came in, but woke up after another nightmare. This time, though, he told me what it was about."

Elladan raised one eyebrow, unconsciously imitating his father. "Another nightmare?"

Aragorn nodded sadly. "He had four last night. Ada said it was repressed memories trying to break through, and now that he finally told me what happened it seems he's sleeping peacefully."

The twins agreed, both noticing that the prince seemed more at peace than he had been since his arrival. "I hope can forgive us," Elrohir murmured.

"He already has," Aragorn replied gently. "He knows you didn't mean to cause him pain."

Elladan nodded, eyes suspiciously damp-looking. "Well, I guess we'd better get changed if we want to be warm and dry for dinner," he commented wryly. "Ada has had us clearing the paths for the past few hours as punishment for reckless behavior."

Aragorn couldn't keep a broad grin from spreading across his face. "Doesn't he do that every year?"

"Aye," Elrohir shrugged. "I'm beginning to think it's less punishment for throwing you in the snow and more because he knows we'll actually do it."

"You do deserve it," Aragorn interjected laughingly.

Elladan just snickered. "It's worth it every year to see your face, though," he teased. "Come on, 'Ro, unlike some humans we don't enjoy playing in the snow," he added, leading the way out of the healers' wing.

Neither he nor his twin caught the devious smile spreading across their brother's face.

Clean, dry, and impeccably dressed, Elladan and Elrohir sat at the table in the dining hall merrily chatting with the other elves in the hall. Their father sat at the head, as usual, either conversing with the elves to either side of him or just watching out over the hall.

Legolas and Aragorn were not in their places, but given the prince's frail condition of late the twins expected them to be taking dinner in the healers' wing.

And so neither one suspected anything until two rather large buckets filled with snow were upended over their heads, the buckets left to sit like oversized hats.

Pushing the bucket off his head and shaking the snow out of his eyes in fury, Elrohir glared about the room to see who had done such a thing. His eyes lighted on Aragorn and Legolas, sitting across the table with suspiciously-innocent faces.

"Why, Legolas," Aragorn said in mock amazement. "I do believe it is snowing indoors."

Legolas nodded, looking up at the ceiling as though it were a wonder to behold and valiantly holding in his laughter.

His heart was lighter than it had been in weeks. Aragorn had listened, offered what strength he could, and simply stood with Legolas as he faced the fear in his soul.

And beyond that fear was the peace he had thought he lost.

Finally, the shadows were departing.

#lord of the rings #fanfiction #teitho writing contest #rescued from ff.net #aragorn #legolas #elrond #angst #hurt/comfort #friendship #aftermath of torture #platonic bed sharing

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ramblings-of-a-mad-cat · 3 years

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Oh great, McGonagall’s back to being a bitch again in this new TLSQ 🙄

Is anyone ready for another rant? Because I've got another rant.

My friend messaged me after this quest came out and simply said "Tell me this quest pissed you off too." I hadn't seen it yet, so I went to watch the footage. Having just finished...oh god.

Going into the quest, I wasn't angry. At first, I was mostly bewildered. Unlike the Torvus TLSQ, this one doesn't really beat you over the head with mean-spirited guilt-tripping. But it does follow the interpretation that MC is to blame for the chaos. And that idea is so ludicrous that I was genuinely laughing. To hear McGonagall say "Be that as it may, your actions have caused this." Was unintentionally hilarious. What actions? MC was a bystander. They were just hanging out with their friends. Badeea is the one who painted the Portrait, and it was painted for Jae. MC didn't do anything. But the rest of this quest will send them on a wild goose chase to appease everyone else.

Here's a question. Why does Badeea all but disappear from the plot when she arguably had the most agency in this problem? Why do Jae and MC get threatened with detention...and not Badeea? She literally painted the offending Portrait. That's not even getting into how silly it is to blame the students for this fiasco in the first place, but as long as you're going to...why hold Jae and MC accountable, but not Badeea? Why does MC have to paint the portrait that will be used to distract Sir Cadogan? Badeea says that it's because her paintings are what started this mess, and she's afraid of causing more trouble. Fair enough, but that doesn't really change the fact that she is the only character who knows how to paint enchanted portraits. She is the only one with any skill in this. That said, I wouldn't change this for the world because the fanged puffskein is adorable. Let me hug him. Let me hug him! He reminds me of my kitty.

The Portraits are to blame for this mess. That much is as clear as day. And yet no one is willing to hold them accountable. No one voices the idea that maybe this is their fault, and that maybe we shouldn't be prioritizing their wishes. This is the Peeves Arc of Year 5 all over again, and people didn't just hate that arc for being filler. Why is the Fat Lady not chastised for leaving her post? Why must we cater to her demands? Why must we go on a scavenger hunt that takes all day, why do we have to play by their rules? Pick up the damn portrait and shake it until the Fat Lady and the others take the hint. Hold the damn thing over a fire if you want to really scare them. (Ruthless? Perhaps, but Gail would do that. She wouldn't actually burn the Portrait but the Fat Lady doesn't know that.) Better yet, McGonagall could solve this pretty easily by invoking teacher authority. Even if that failed, at least she couldn't very well expect two students to solve the problem that she couldn't solve...which uh, why were MC and Jae expected to solve this again?

There are countless Portraits in t his castle. Why did the Fat Lady and others decide out of the blue to leave their posts for Badeea's latest painting? This is far from the first time she's made one. This can't be the first time a painting of the Three Broomsticks has crossed Hogwarts' halls. The Three Broomsticks also isn't that exciting considering that you can paint just about anything. Why is Gryffindor Tower sealed like a Cursed Vault without the Fat Lady? Can't Dumbledore open it with magic? Can't they get another Portrait to stand in? Y'know, like they did in POA when the Fat Lady left her post? There are obvious solutions here, and unlike POA, the Fat Lady isn't exactly fearing for her safety. She's just throwing a tantrum. Couldn't McGonagall dismiss her, or at least threaten to, over something like this? The question that burns in my throat again and again is "Why is this our problem?" The quest tries to create a justification, but mostly it doesn't really care to. The reason we have to help isn't because it's our fault, it's because McGonagall will punish us if we don't.

The Portraits are whiny and entitled in this quest, but that's not even the worst part. Holy uncanny valley, Batman, what in god's name was up with that art style? Violet and the Fat Lady look genuinely disturbing, like they came out of a horror game. And you have to spend extended periods of time talking to them. I won't lie, I got uncomfortable. At least it was a distraction from the madness that was this plot. Once it got to the part where MC had to recite a poem to "Percival the Prat" I just kind of put my tea down and had a moment of reflection on how far this quest had taken us, and all of the stupid nonsense that MC was doing to appease these portraits. And all because they were threatened with detention if they didn't sort all this out, even though it wasn't their problem...deep sigh. There's a theme in this quest about listening to your friends and respecting their wishes...but this is not realized well at all. MC tried to do a nice thing for Jae and had no way of knowing it would all collapse. This situation did not arise because they failed to specifically ask Jae if he wanted their help. (He kind of hinted that he did, in the first place.)

Jae. Oh Jae. You were pretty whiny in this quest, yourself. Moping about at the start and then blaming everything on the person who checked in on you. Look, on one hand, I felt genuinely bad for him. McGonagall threatening him with detention on his damn birthday when he's always in detention and specifically opened up about how this was the one day of the year that he didn't want to be stuck there...and what he do, exactly? Not what did he do that was wrong, what did he do, at all? He was given a present. He didn't ask for it. He was simply given a present, that happened to go extremely wrong. McGonagall, what on earth are you playing at? Jae literally did not do anything, and he's a Gryffindor, so he's just as screwed by the Fat Lady's desertion as the others. I know I sound like a broken record at this point, but wouldn't it have made far more sense for the teacher in this quest to be Snape? Might have taken a bit of tweaking, but it would have been worth it. Speaking of, they had the nerve to reference not only the Dragon Club quest, but the Torvus quest. Trying my patience, game...

But even though I felt bad for Jae at first, my sympathy evaporated when he was passive aggressive, and later directly aggressive toward MC. As if any of this was their fault. Okay, so they had the idea to try and help Jae on his birthday. So? What does that have to do with the Fat Lady abandoning her post, or the other Portraits refusing to play ball? What does that have to do with the obscenely unreasonable terms that McGonagall issued? She didn't just stick this task on Jae's shoulders, MC was roped in as well. They're in this boat together and Jae blaming MC, even in the low-energy way he goes about it...just rubbed me the wrong way. I know this day was important to him...and maybe my personal opinions are shining through, but...it's only a birthday. You can celebrate your traditions tomorrow, or the next day, just as easily.

Wasn't a fan of the ending either. I couldn't believe my eyes when McGonagall asked MC to describe "what they had learned" and that she would listen, and then "decide their fate." I beg your pardon but what?! That was not the deal we made. At all. By this point MC has been running about the castle, working their ass off, just to fix this problem that has nothing to do with them. They did everything McGonagall demanded of them. They actually succeeded at this fool's task. After all of that, McGonagall is still considering detention? I could ramble about how unreasonable that is, but I think that's pretty obvious. So instead I'll just ask...aren't Gryffindors supposed to be honorable? Isn't McGonagall the Head of Gryffindor? She's still claiming the moral high-ground as she breaks her word?

Beyond that, I hate this. I hate being told to kneel and kiss the ring. Might be taking this a bit too seriously, but it's the same nonsense as the Torvus TLSQ. The same final insult, where MC is forced to write up an essay about what they learned, about why they were in the wrong, and the asshole who started all this was in the right. Not only did MC have to put up with this endless nonsense, they have to show that they "learned their lesson" and agree that what they went through was right. Or it's off to detention with them. This is why I couldn't enjoy the final party. I wasn't invested in Jae's happiness, or in saving his birthday traditions. I didn't care. I don't even imagine Luca going, I think they'd just wish Jae happy birthday and head back to their dormitory.

Y'know, I'm not sure what they're trying to do with McGonagall. I've always said that Luca's character involves them eventually growing to distrust and dislike the Hogwarts staff, minus Flitwick. And I've always struggled to justify including McGonagall in that group. Because if you've the read the books, you know she's fucking awesome. But as of recent quests...I don't think it's going to be hard for me to justify it anymore. HPHM has given me plenty of ammo, plenty of reason for Luca to dislike her. After this, and the Dragon Club quest...The Teacher Appreciation TLSQ feels pretty sour.

#Jae Kim #Minerva McGonagall #The Fat Lady #Harry Potter: Hogwarts Mystery #Long Post #The Ramblings of a Mad Cat #Badeea Ali

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askaceattorney · 3 years

Text

These are letters regarding the situation that recently transpired. After this, we will no longer be answering any letters regarding politics. All of us agree that this blog needs to strictly stay out of politics. In truth, politics should never have been the center of this blog. After this, any letter regarding politics or the situation will be deleted.

This is a blog that focuses on answering letters to Ace Attorney canon characters. It does not discriminate anyone or any mod based on race, gender, sexual orientation, religion, politics, etc. and such actions are not tolerated. If you believe one of our mods is discriminating for whatever reason, show solid evidence and we will handle this privately. A support for a former or current president of a country is not proof of discrimination and neither are political memes posted on a personal account.

(More Politics Ahead)

Dear rogertheegg,

Co-Mod: Nope. Everyone’s welcome here, regardless of political leanings. I’m afraid I’m as clueless as you are about what exactly happened with the two former Mods (they didn’t even say anything to me about it), but it’s all water under the bridge as far as I’m concerned.

Mod Edgeworth: Absolutely not! I have never tolerated political discrimination. You are allowed to believe whatever politics you want.

Dear kunaiman,

Co-Mod: High five.

Mod Edgeworth: Thank you very much for your support.

Dear Mistakes,

Mod Edgeworth: I’m not going to go into anything else regarding my politics, but I will state my reason for outing myself: I’m doing this for Co-Mod. I do consider him a friend of sorts and I do not wish for him to have to suffer this blowback alone. So, if you want to state your grievances, go ahead.

Know this though, I am still the same mod you have met and have never hidden my character from any of you. My politics do not define my character and neither does Co-Mod’s politics define his character. The same goes for anyone else. I’m just someone that leans Conservative and voted for Trump. If that makes me a bad person, even if I do stand against any discrimination, then I will gladly accept it.

Co-Mod: So, here’s the truth about me, Donald Trump, the MAGA Committee, etc. (and this is from the horse’s mouth, so anyone who says otherwise is lying) -- I’ve never been a huge fan of the guy, but I supported the good things he did and wanted to do during his presidency -- creating jobs, draining the political swamp, promoting patriotism, and so on -- and for that, I feel no shame. I also wished he could’ve kept his big mouth shut about a lot of things, but overall, I saw him as someone who stood up for people who’d been largely ignored before he came along -- namely, middle class Americans. If you see him and his presidency differently, I won’t hold anything against you for it, so I respectfully ask that you do the same for me.

Dear Anonymous,

Mod Edgeworth: Don’t worry, I know who you are. You maybe under anonymous, but when we receive your letter, it isn’t anonymous lol. What we do is place your letter in photoshop and get rid of all your identity. Thank you for your support and I agree.

This blog will continue, even if it’s under a very few of us. I will allow everyone to display their grievances in the comment section. They have just as much right as Co-Mod and I do.

If there’s anyone I wish for you to support, it’s Co-Mod. He’s the one being the most effected by all of this. I don’t believe politics should have been involved or that we should have to justify why we believe in our politics. Neither have to do with our love for Ace Attorney.

Dear I’m still surprised,

Mod Edgeworth: I’m guessing this is for Co-Mod, because it doesn’t seem like you’ve read my own defense. I literally stated that both Co-Mod and I support LGBT and that the letters deleted because of shipping had nothing to do with any political beliefs. Beyond what I stated in my defense (despite what Co-Mod states below), I won’t say anything more. Non of us have to justify why we support a former president. I have my reasons just like anyone else. It doesn’t make me a terrible person and I will forever stand for everyone’s rights to believe whatever politics they believe.

Co-Mod: It’s a shame I have to say this on an Ace Attorney blog of all places, but where is your proof that I or anyone on my side of the aisle takes any enjoyment in seeing anyone dead or oppressed, whether in a minority or otherwise? I can only assume you’ve been listening to some skewed sources, or that there’s something huge I’m missing, because I’ve yet to see any right-wing groups reach that level of hatred. (And if you know of any, please fill me in. I mean that honestly.)

As for why I left same-sex attraction out of this blog, it’s simply because I see it as a divisive topic rather than a simply controversial one, (i.e. the death penalty, game piracy, etc.). I’ve also proven several times that I’m not very good at addressing it without people getting rubbed the wrong way, so I decided to play it safe and not discuss it at all. I’m happy to talk about it anywhere else, but a blog about Ace Attorney didn’t seem like the right place for it to me. On top of that, there are plenty of blogs about peoples’ same-sex ships all over Tumblr, so why complain about this one? If there’s a rule stating that Ace Attorney-themed Tumblr blogs are required to include those ships, I sure haven’t heard it.

I’ll admit this much -- like Phoenix, it’s something I can’t claim to understand, so maybe I still have some learning to do about it, but if I’m going to be accused of bigotry, I’d like to see some solid evidence of it. Assumptions don’t count in my book.

Dear Dailystir,

Mod Edgeworth: Thank you. I’m not going to address anymore than I already have. I will not and refuse to mention anything else on my politics. Just like how you said, I am more at the center in the political world. I lean more Conservative, but I am Independent. I consider both Republicans and Democrats to be two different wings from the same bird.

I’m also glad you do not consider being a Trump supporter to be in the same basket as being a racist, bigot or any of that. These days, I can declare myself as a supporter of Andrew Jackson (I’m not btw) and not be against Natives, even though he was the reason for the mass genocide of thousands of Native Americans. I can openly support Martain Luther King, yet not be considered homophobic, even though he was against LGBT. I can consider myself a Bill Clinton supporter and not support raping women, even though that’s what he did in office. Yet, the moment I declare myself a Trump supporter, I’m automatically Anti LGBT, a bigot, a sexist, a racist and a phobe of some sort, because Trump supposedly is? What a world we live in! I can’t remember the last time supporting a political figure or celebrity made you a terrible person.

As for Mod Vera and Mod Maya, I still wish they could’ve said something to me or Co-Mod, if they truly felt uncomfortable. I’m still willing to talk to either of them and hear them out. I don’t blame them for doing what they did. I don’t know them or what life they live in. I have talked to someone, who had faced bigotry and hate from Trump supporters in their area to the point of fear. I’ve even seen a Trump supporter bully an Anti Trump Supporter and I ended up reporting the bully, then calling them out for their behavior. I can say from experience that when you face real discrimination, it puts you in a state of fear to never express yourself or your identity. My family faced that and so did I. It’s the reason I’ve never revealed my race, gender or sexual orientation and can understand where Mod Maya and Mod Vera are coming from.

I think the real takeaway is to not judge anyone based on their politics, but also to not hate anyone who does. You will find bigotry on any side of the political spectrum from any group. To say there is none on any side is spouting ignorance.

Dear Anonymous,

Mod Edgeworth: It is sad, though even if I do understand where Mod Vera and Mod Maya are coming from, I still can’t justify them not talking to either of us first. They never spoke to either of us and assumed the worst out of both of us. They never asked us anything or mentioned their concerns. I’m certain, even now, they’re still assuming things.

Had they mentioned their grievances, I would have been willing to talk with them and work things out, but we were never given that chance. It kinda hurts, because they said they understood when I told them I was staying out of politics and was willing to admit that I supported Trump and am an Independent Conservative. Then, they pull the rug from under us and claim we are against ethnic minorities and LGBT. That’s why I wish they could’ve said something.

I’m still willing to talk to either of them, but I doubt they’ll want to hear from me. No amount of context is going to change that. If it did, they would’ve talked to me about it before leaving.

-The Mods

P. S. Co-Mod: As ugly as this can of worms is, it’s been a fun practice in defending my beliefs and decisions. Never underestimate that skill, everyone.

Mod Edgeworth: I still can’t believe this was brought out at all. I’m so sick of politics!

#rogertheegg #kunaiman #Mistakes #Anonymous #I'm still surprised #dailystir #Mod Post #Co-Mod #Mod Edgeworth

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warrioreowynofrohan · 3 years

Text

This is similar to one of my previous posts, but it has some new elements so I’m copying it over. This is the second of my posts on the core themes of each book in The Stormlight Archive. The first, on Rhythm of War, is here.

This post contains Rhythm of War spoilers.

Stormlight Archive Themes - Redemption in Oathbringer

If I pretend I didn’t do those things, it means I can’t have grown to become someone else. It cannot be a journey if it doesn’t have a beginning.

Redemption is a theme running through the entirety of the Stormlight Archive, but it is strongest and most central in Oathbringer- not only in Dalinar’s character arc but also in Szeth’s, in the start of Venli’s redemption arc, and - in a negative manner - in the arcs of Moash and Amaram. Oathbringer also, to my mind, encapsulates the philosophy of the entire series regarding redemption in one scene of striking symbolism.

The idea of redemption is Oathbringer is often paired, in analyses, with that of accepting responsibility for your actions - indeed, I almost titled this essay “redemption and responsibility.” And that is absolutely a necessary element that distinguishes the successful redemption arcs from the failed ones. But in thinking about it I realized that I had things in the wrong order - for both Dalinar and Venli, mercy is is what enables them to take responsibility, not the result of them doing so. They are both able to grapple with their actions and take responsibility for them, and this is what enables their redemption arcs, but in both cases it is a consequence of them already having been shown grace before they exhibited any change in behaviour.

When Dalinar visits the Nightwatcher, he has been a brutal conqueror for 23 years and then a drunk for the last five and a half. His sole redeeming characteristic is that he knows in his soul what he needs and it isn’t power or strength or to return to the man he was before Evi’s death, or the ability to blame someone else for his deed. He knows he’s guilty, and he begs for forgiveness. And what Cultivation gives him is not precisely that, but the chance to become someone better. It is crucial to remember that, while he forgets his actions and forgets Evi, that is not what asked for; his goal was not to be free of the knowledge of what he did, but the chance for it not to be the end of his story; the chance to be something other than the monster he knew he was.

When he rejects Odium’s offer to take his pain, on the battlefield outside Thaylen City, it is without any expectation of forgiveness or of freedom from his crushing guilt. Evi’s forgiveness is not something he has remotely earned or deserved, by that action or any of his actions; it is pure grace. When we talk about redemption arcs, “deserving” has nothing to do with it. Dalinar didn’t remotely deserve his. He knows this, and it’s why he’s ready to hold out the possibility of redemption to Amaram and, in ROW, to Taravangian - because if Dalinar can be redeemed, then the door is not closed to anyone. The difference is not in worthiness of redemption, but willingness to accept it.

And this is also seen in the beginning of Venli’s redemption arc. Timbre finds her and stays with her long before she’s demonstrated any positive qualities that would subgest fitness for being a Radiant. In the context of ROW, knowing that Eshonai bonded Timbre just before her death, I believe it’s because Eshonai asked her spren to look out for her sister. As with Cultivation’s gift to Dalinar, it is Venli’s bond with Timbre that enables her to become a better person, to make herself accountable to her people for her actions, to begin taking personal risks to do what is right.

Something similar is also present in Elhokar’s arc. Kaladin saves him before he’s done anything substantive to change, when Elhokar has only shown the first beginnings of recognition that he is not the person or the king that he should be or wants to be. He is capable of the change he exhibits in Oathbringer, the genuine humility and desire to serve his people, because Kaladin’s rescue gave him the chance to become that person. It’s not truly a failed or prevented redemption arc. He died, but he died trying to be better, and that matters.

The difference with Amaram, that prevents his redemption arc, isn’t that he’s uniquely evil. (Dalinar has also killed his own men, in battle-lust rather than in cold blood.) What prevents it is the rejection of the truth he knows in his soul: that he has done something horrifically evil, that he is in the wrong.

“No, he’ll never forgive me.”

“The bridgeman?”

“Not him.” Amaram tapped his chest. “Him.”

Amaram’s rationalizations during his fight with Kaladin are the consequence of him refusing the knowledge of who he is, or trying to escape from it. Ironically, Amaram previously put up quite a good pretence of willingness to accept responsibility for his own actions - he told Dalinar that after the war was over he’d be willing to stand trial for what he did to Kaladin and his men. I believe he meant it - but what he wanted, like Taravangian, was to be seen as, or see himself as, some kind of martyr, sacrificing his morality for the greater good. Which is a very different thing from the recognition that you’re wrong.

Moash’s arc is also one away from accepting responsibility - in his first chapter in Oathbringer, he feels terribly guilty for betraying Kaladin and recognizes thst he was wrong, and then he moves further and further away from this in every subsequent chapter, until Odium’s whispered lies - What happened at the Shattered Plains wasn’t my fault. I was pushed into it. I can’t be blamed. - begin to take hold. When he gives up his pain to Odium, he remains driven by the desperate need to hide from his guilt, and his campaign in ROW to drive Kaladin to suicide is driven in large part by the need to prove to himself that giving up hus pain was the only possible decision by driving Kaladin to make the same one. As long as Kaladin lives, he is proof of an alternative path. (Yes, a twisted death wish that regards this as mercy is also part of it.)

Moash, like Amaram, and Dalinar, and Venli, does receive an offer of redemption undeserved, not in Oathbringer but in the first part of ROW, in Renarin’s vision of him as someone who protects rather than destroys. He responds with terror - it can’t be possible, it needs to not be possible, because if another course is possible then his actions are not inevitable and he is responsible for them. (I know this vision has been compared to part of the magic system the Mistborn books, but to me it’s far more intuitive for it to be the Surge of Illumination, which we’ve already seen used by Shallan in a similar way in her drawings of Bluth, Gaz, and Elhokar, among others.) He spends the rest of the book trying desperately, and unsuccessfully, to extinguish that possibility.

And finally we have Szeth’s redemption arc. Szeth has never been in doubt that he is morally responsible for his actions, even when he did not concieve of himself as having a choice about them. I see his arc in the prior books as something much more nuanced than “just following orders” - that’s an excuse used by people who want to get out of making hard decisions, who prefer comfort and complacency. Szeth very much did not want to be in his position as assassin - he loathed it, and himself, and was willing to do anything within his power to avoid it; after killing Gavilar, he actively seeks out a life in obscurity as menial slave, concealing his abilities as far as he can, because that means he won’t be used to kill. It’s a life Kaladin spent years trying to escape from, and it’s Szeth’s idea of a best-case scenario. Szeth is in the position of desperately wanting choice, but conceiving of it as a privilege that he no longer possesses. I thimk this is connected to the meaning of Truthless - the underlying concept/rationale for the oathstone seems to be that literally anyone - any random person in the world - is capable of malimg better choices than you, so they, and not you, get to decide what you should do with your life. It’s near the end of his arc in Oathbringer - But it had always been nothing more than a rock - that he at last recognizes that he did have a choice about his actions.

Szeth, in his arc in Oathbringer, is very much motivated by the desire to do what is right and make right decisions, thpugh he is very out of practice at making any decisions at all. In the first test of the Skybreakers, he perceives that there’s something more important going pn that just chasing after wretched criminals, and that the warden’s immiseration of them is the worst crime of all. But it’s the second Skybreaker training session, with the practice fight using the balls of coloured dye, that gives us what I think is the heart of the theme of redemption both in Oathbringer and in the Stormlight Archive as a whole.

The contest feels a little out of place and low-drama - the recruits’ first test is killing criminals, and their second one is a game? But I believe it is absolutely crucial via the metaphor it communicates. Szeth starts out diing very well in the game - no one has hit him yet - and is actually enjoying himself for the first time in many, many years. And then he thinks this: He could not be happy. He was only a tool of retribution. Not redemption, for he dared not believe in such. If he was to be forced to keep living, it should not be a live that anyone should ever envy.

Other characters either accept both responsibility and redemption, or reject both. Szeth accepts responsibility, accepts guilt, tries to do right, even without the belief that redemption is possible.

And immediately after thinking that, he gets hit with the dye for the first time. He was doing well in the game when he was enjoying himself; now, when he rejects the possibility of redemption, he stops doing so well, and ultimately loses. Almost as if the universe were trying to tell him something.

And then, when he is bombarded with dye, runs out of Stormlight, and falls into the Purelake at the end of the exercise, he realizes something. It’s not actually about how many stains you have. He washes them off in the Purelake. And he wins the game.

To me, especially knowing Brandon’s religious background (and being a Christian myself), this is extraordinarily powerful symbolism of baptism, of the washing away of sin and entry into new life. It is stating the theme of redemption for the whole series. How many stains you have, what you’ve done in the past, doesn’t matter for redemption; what matters is whether you’re willing to accept redemption, accept the mercy that is offered, choose to be a new person. There is no such thing as being beyond redemption. The heroes of the story are not some perfect ideal, not the ones who manage to pick up very few stains. They are the ones who are willing to recognize that they have them and to wash them off; to recognize the wrong they have done and to change.

#brandon sanderson #the stormlight archive #rhythm of war #row spoilers #rhythm of war spoilers #dalinar #szeth #venli #moash #elhokar #redemption

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doorsclosingslowly · 3 years

Text

This Is the Time of Our Great Undoing

“Do you think Kaz could fuck someone in a full-body bondage suit?” Jesper whispers, more to distract Inej from what’s on the screen than anything else, but still—the idea won’t leave Kaz alone.

5.8k | modern AU | Kaz[/&]Jesper, part of a polycule

content note: despite the premise this is about cuddling, gambling addiction and existing during climate change

It starts the way most things used to start: with all of them piled onto ancient couches on the fifth floor of an otherwise empty building on the edge of Amsterdam, also called the Slat. These days, it’s harder and harder to get everyone together. Nina and Matthias are both in Rotterdam now, doing associate degrees that Kaz doesn’t care about. Wylan’s got room and board and a plan for the future and a social worker, and she already disapproves of Jesper as a bad influence so it’s not worth it, generally, for Wylan to come back to his old squat and hang out with the whole gang of ex- and current reprobates.

And Inej—fuck, Kaz wishes she was just a little less righteous, less concerned with how the world’s going to shit. She’s faced off against more cops now than he has, probably. Water cannons and charging horses and riot shields. She knows criminals all over the country, Europe, probably the world—but they’re the kind of criminals with morals and worthless targets, with bandanas and badly sewn patches, who will talk about Federici and sea levels and the Invisible Committee and use value if you don’t leave quickly enough. The kind that live on trees, as Inej’s going to do in a few days. The kind that don’t make any money. The kind that have even less of a chance of making it out of a job alive and free than Kaz does—and with the enemies she’s talking about, politicians, banks, Shell, he doesn’t even know if he’ll be able to extort her out of jail next time.

For now, though, they’re all together in the big room, watching some ancient movie on the massive 8k screen with mood lighting, etc, the works, that’s in the Slat courtesy of some MediaMarkt manager desperate enough to save her marriage to bribe Kaz into silence, but not so desperate she wouldn’t fuck two other women in the breakroom.

It’s impossible to know whose fault it is that they’re currently watching Pulp Fiction.

Kaz is inclined to blame Jesper, because most things are his fault in some way or another, and he’s supplying the login data for an old uni flatmate’s streaming accounts, which is where they found that film, front and centre, paid to rent until tomorrow. Who even pays for films? If that’s the calibre of people they send to university these days, it’s no wonder the planet’s going to the dogs. Jesper, though, swears he wanted to watch some goofy horror flick, so he’s splitting the blame with Nina and Matthias: Matthias, for growing up in a cult and having never heard of what’s apparently a film classic and mentioning that to Nina, who of course cooed over her boyfriend and insisted on it, even though actually none of them have watched it before either so it’s not like it’s an important cinematic milestone. Or just not b horror, crime, some weird arthouse thing with complicated morality… It’s weird and has crime but there is nothing to figure out, so Kaz is bored. It’s Inej’s fault, because instead of vetoing it she said yes, just because she has a heart-shaped soft spot for Nina. Wylan could have done his oh I’m still an innocent barely-two-years not a minor this looks bloody thing, and Kaz might not even have mocked him this time if he'd insisted on Jesper’s pick instead just so he could hide in Jesper’s arms for the most minor decapitations.

Jesper’s been talking through the whole film. Kaz got used to that a long time ago: the landing and failing of small non-sequitur jokes like rain against the window, whispered to Wylan who’s cuddled into his side on the left, or to Inej who’s burrowing under Jesper’s outstretched right arm. Sometimes Jesper thinks a quip will land better with Nina, so he shouts it over to the futon where she and Matthias are always just shy of engaging in heavy petting, and the really mean and bleak jokes he saves for when he’s made eye contact with Kaz.

Now, though: in this scene Mr Motorcycle and the gang boss are captured in a pawnshop and dragged into the basement, and Gang Boss gets raped. Inej’s hand is white-knuckled on Jesper’s arm, and Jesper’s talking non-stop. He’s talking about the flooding, and asking whether Inej thinks Doggerland will happen again but here, soon, you can never know when the scientists are so wrong about the speed of climate change, and apparently it all flooded in a day because something broke off Norway, and then he abruptly pivots to some demo where he bashed in a shop window and got new shoes, and then if she’s got dates for more street fights because then he’s in but please, don’t trick me into another book club, I don’t care about why the cops are bad I already know I just want to hit them—not topics Kaz would have chosen, exactly, but he’s rooted in his red leather armchair off to the side, not even able to hold her for comfort, not like Jes does now, and why didn’t they think to look up the content beforehand, why did they assume it was tame just because it’s an old film—and then, long after it’s over, Jesper idly asks, “Do you think Kaz could fuck someone in a full-body bondage suit?”

Wylan groans. Kaz wishes a sound existed that could express his own current emotion.

“You saw the guy, right?” Jesper turns over to Wylan, while still stroking Inej’s hair. “There was no skin on him. All leather. And that’s the trigger, so—might solve all our problems. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before!”

“I don’t see a huge difference,” Nina snipes. “Kaz is already in all-black, with gloves. Though I guess, that hood would hide his atrocious haircut…”

“Stop being so mean to Kaz, Jesper,” Matthias mumbles. “Although he does deserve it.”

Kaz downs his entire glass of vodka. When he tops his drink up for the second time—he exed the first refill right in the kitchen—he brings the bottle and some maracuja juice over and refills Jesper’s, too, because Jesper’s been anxiously glancing over at him, every moment he thinks Kaz has turned his head away, since he shot his stupid mouth off and actually, it’s—Kaz isn’t thinking about it now but it just might—maybe it could work—well, he fills up the glass to stop Jesper from worrying himself into yet another mental crisis and also so he can bend over Jesper’s ear and whisper lovingly, “I’m going to make the leather for the suit out of your skin.”

“We should look for an Ed Gein film next!” Jesper laughs, much more brightly than the joke warrants, and Kaz refuses to interpret the look on his face.

By the time Kaz gets back to the Slat, on a day roughly three months later, it’s long past two in the morning. He’s in a foul mood: of course Haskell won’t even reimburse him for the taxi he had to take because he missed the last metro. Of course he just told Kaz to take a night bus. Haskell won’t even apologize for the last minute details he wants included in his casino’s tax returns. The old man’s not even mentally capable of understanding the extra work he caused. Yes, Kaz is good at filing taxes creatively, exactly tailored for the business to pay nothing whatsoever and meticulous enough to never arouse any suspicion, but that takes work. Things have to balance. Haskell thinks Kaz just has to press a button, and that he’s paying Kaz so he doesn’t have to press the button himself, and that it’s only worth it because he doesn’t want to sully his mind with ‘the Spreadsheet Program’. Which is also why he’s loaning Kaz out to a friend of his, which he just remembered to mention today, for that guy’s mattress store slash money laundering business, so that’s even more work for nowhere near enough money.

Sometimes, Kaz amuses himself with the idea of sneaking in small ‘mistakes’. Enough for even the stupidest tax official to unravel the whole sordid scheme and land Haskell in prison for tax fraud, whereupon he’ll also be discovered to be involved with drug smuggling, blackmail, murder, … none of which will ever trace back to Kaz. But the one time he was livid enough to try, nothing happened. He’ll never manage to plunge the true depths of stupidity of an average bureaucrat, apparently, and is thus doomed to failure.

And anyway, it’s good regular money for little work. Usually. He can’t really complain. Especially not to his friends, because three are going legit, Inej will just rant about the uselessness of defrauding the Belastingdienst for a few measly million euros a year when the world’s being set on fire every day, and Jesper’ll tell him to quit, again, because they live in a squat after all. It’s not like they’re paying rent. Jesper’s never heard of forethought, or gratitude. He doesn’t know how many of his bills Kaz has paid off.

Kaz’s leg aches after the climb to the third story. Two more to go. As usual, right at this point he remembers the joke Jesper made eight months ago about fooling someone into installing a stair lift, and as usual, he dismisses it in disgust after two more steps. Stomps harder on the next flight of stairs, with grim satisfaction at the shooting pains in his knee. He doesn’t need help. He doesn’t need to move to a house with a working lift, and he doesn’t need a stair lift, either. Fuck you, Jesper. I’m the actual functional adult with a job in this household. I don’t need a stair lift.

That’s what he would throw at Jesper’s head, but it’s nearly three o’clock, and Jesper’s probably out. Over at Wylan’s, if he knows what’s good for him, but given how evasive he’s been all week, how manic… Inej’s still camping high up in some forest to save the frogs or something, but no news there is supposed to be good news. If the cops had chucked her off a tree house, it would have been on tv. About everything else, he can worry after he’s slept.

He doesn’t bother with the lights in his room. The streetlight coming in through his open curtains is more than enough, and anyway, he found the empty tenement he turned into the Slat five years ago, fully moved down here three years ago when he met Jesper, and he knows every single thing in his room by heart. The antique dresser he made Jesper and Matthias carry up with the threat of cutting off a finger for every scratch it received is next to the door, the place where he leaves his gloves and wallet and phone and cane. The coat rack beside it, where the hangers for his suit are, then the hamper, and at the foot of his bed the long black linen nightgown that Jesper’s never, ever allowed to see, and—

There’s a black shape on top of his bedcovers, Kaz realizes when he’s pulled on his nightgown.

Kaz takes his cane back. He hasn’t made any new enemies recently as far as he’s aware—none who know his name—but he was careless, brutal, desperate when he was a lone kid getting by on the streets, and those victims had gangs, families, business partners. Just because no-one’s ever traced little Kazzie the bastard rabid dog back to the Slat-that-wasn’t-then doesn’t mean a thing. The fact that the friends he started collecting press-ganged him into doing more behind-the-scenes embezzlement and fewer turf wars because ‘they’re watching us, they have all our faces and fingers and DNA on file and cameras everywhere and did you hear about that informer having kids with the activist he spied on?’ or the more pragmatic, ‘If you don’t stop fucking up your leg on purpose I’m going to send you to a kink party you fucking masochist’…

None of it means safety, not really, and Kaz is glad he’s alone now. They’ve all moved on, and even Jes… well, if he’d been here tonight then the whole squat would be trashed because Jesper doesn’t come quietly. And now, if he comes back to find Kaz gone or his throat slit… Jesper’s going to fucking collapse. He’s been one phone call away from going hysteric all week. Who knows, though—he has Wylan now, and maybe it’ll be the push he needed, the path none of them could ever find, to get his life back on a solid track.

All of that is presupposing that Kaz loses, of course.

And he does not intend to.

The weird black ninja on Kaz’ bed hasn’t reacted yet. They’re curled into a foetal position and they’re snuffling, quietly, because they’re asleep.

Not even assassins dressed up as b movie henchmen expect the toll taken by Per Haskell’s technical naïveté and utter disrespect for Kaz’ work-life balance, apparently. He got back home so late he missed his own murder. Well, then. Kaz hasn’t tortured anyone in two years and he may be out of practice, but the films he’s been forced to watch in the meantime have, if anything, made him more creative. He’ll teach them not to underestimate the brutality of Kaz Brekker, even when he’s moved up a few rungs in the ladder of Amsterdam’s underworld and landed a desk job.

He’ll—but Kaz hasn’t had to stalk silently towards his prey in two years, either. He’s underestimated the extent to which his lame leg’s gotten worse.

Also, someone’s pulled a box out from under his bed.

Kaz stumbles, and in the split-second before he catches himself on the edge of the mattress he wonders—will they have a gun? I can still bash them in the head before they fire, I haven’t gone that soft—and then the would-be assassin stretches out their lanky body as they wake up.

With their arms raised over their head, Kaz can see the bright white light of the street lanterns outside reflect off the gleaming black PVC fabric they’re wearing. Sleek and skin-tight, no ornamentation except a few steel buttons glinting at the crotch, and a full-cover leather hood over their face adorned with one-euro-sized rivets at the jaw, the forehead, the bridge of the nose, the large buckle around the neck. More buckles, at the back of the head and hanging off the right side at eye-height. The open silver zipper at the mouth reflects the streetlight, too, as does the padlock that hangs off it.

Oh no. Kaz knows that mask. Not even shoving it all the way back to the furthest corner under his bed allowed him to forget the way it looks.

Oh no.

Jesper yawns loudly. “Morning, boss. Evening. One of those. I thought you were finishing work early?”

“Haskell had some last-minute revisions to his tax returns.” Kaz sighs. “Don’t cook tomorrow. I’ll be out late for the whole next week—don’t expect me before three am. New client. I need to create a whole year’s documentations from scratch.”

“Just fuck him over, boss. He doesn’t appreciate you, and you don’t need the money. We live in a fucking squat.”

Sweet, financially illiterate nuisance Jesper, who probably doesn’t even know what that awful mistake he’s dressed in right now cost. The thing he’s dressed in. Which was hidden under Kaz’ bed. In Kaz’ room. Which they are inside right now. “You broke into my room,” Kaz rasps. “Again.”

“You know, Kaz,” Jesper replies with poorly feigned innocence, ”this thing is a little big for you. Fits me pretty well, though.”

“I told you I don’t keep cash under my bed. I told you that, the last time you tried to steal from me to pay off your gambling debts. I like my room organized as it is, and so I don’t keep any money here. Not under the bed, not in the wardrobe. And you won’t find any of my actual caches, because I’m smarter than you.”

“You’ve lied to me before.”

“You’ve stolen from me before. Remember last year? Remember you made Inej cry? I though you were clean. I thought you promised Wylan, when you asked him out, that you were done gambling. Maybe we all had too much trust in you.”

Jesper pulls his PVC-clad shoulders up to his en-leathered ears: a ridiculous sight, and Kaz doesn’t know what’s worse. That a bondage sex slave could actually look this dejected and humiliated and alone, or that Jesper does. He’s almost ready to call off the assault. It took a while to figure out, but as usual Inej was probably right, because she’s been researching and discussing the mental health industrial complex in general, and the traumatizing nature of modern life, with her comrades. Even though Kaz is neither the kind of person to touch people with kid gloves, and nor does he like thinking of Jesper as someone who needs that kind of handling—when Jesper’s in a shame spiral this deep then any criticism will drive him even deeper into the arms of the next casino. So the adrenaline and dopamine can wipe out everything else, or to feed his self-loathing even more by being exactly the person he’s terrified people think he is—Jes couldn’t quite explain it himself during the Intervention, except that everything is too much sometimes, even more too much and faster than usual.

He’s a pitiful creature. Kaz almost has pity. Then, though—

“It’s not working, boss. I know why you’re reminding me I fucking relapsed, again, and tried to steal from my best friend, again, and that I’m going to beg you to lie to Wy, again, but I still haven’t forgotten I’m wearing a bondage suit that you’ve been keeping under your bed for—two months now, is it?”

It’s just one month, actually. The manufacture and shipping took six whole weeks.

Two can play that game. Kaz might be very slightly embarrassed, but Jesper’s relapsed into the combination of addiction, theft and deceit that destroyed his life three years ago, and nearly did so again, two-and-a-half years ago and one year ago. “Careful. I haven’t even yet agreed to lie to Wylan, Jesper. About your problem. That you promised you’d tell him about.”

“Also, I notice it fits me, not Inej. Not Nina. Not Matthias. Not even Haskell, I bet. Me. Almost like it was made for me.”

Kaz ignores his insinuations. The answer’s obvious, anyway: yes, he did take clothes from the main washing pile in Jesper’s room and measured them. Yes, he used the measurements when he ordered a bondage suit. Yes, that’s creepy. Yes, a decent person would have asked. No, he’s not sorry. Jesper knew who Kaz was when he moved in with him. And it’s not like Kaz is the one who’s really at fault here. If Jesper just stopped gambling, he’d never have found out.

“Even attempted theft is illegal, Jesper. Completed robbery is worse. I cover my tracks, but you… you should be careful what you say now. They’re still looking for whoever robbed that jeweller last year.”

“Inej’s gonna cut off your head if you try. It’s like you never read her hoodies. All cats are beautiful, et cetera, Kaz. Thirteen-twelve. Keep up.”

Sometimes, the only thing that keeps Kaz from tossing Jesper out of the Slat is that Inej hates landlords and landlord-adjacents just as much as the pigs. If only he’d known back when he let the drunk penniless fancy uni boy who jumped into a fight to defend Kaz from some thugs—a fight Kaz would have won regardless—if only he’d known, before he let Jesper crash on his floor for a night or two, where all of this would end. “I’ll never mention anything about tonight again if you don’t either. Forget it. It was a bad idea. A failed plan. That’s all.”

“Without even trying it?”

“I will zip your mouth shut,” Kaz rasps. “I’ll lock it. I’ll throw the key into the harbour. Fuck you.”

Jesper, though, somehow got even mouthier when he put the bondage suit on. Less respectful. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. “Come on, Kaz,” he wheedles. “I put it on, right? So I’m fine with it, if you’re worried. Aren’t you curious? If our places had been reversed—well, if you’d found it in my room you’d have murdered me, so we’re not exactly identical, but still. Come on, sit down next to me. This is—PVC right? Good job choosing me. Inej would hate it. So much plastic.”

“It’s less like skin than leather.”

“Not complaining, Kaz. I have some juice with a straw over there to keep me hydrated in case I sweat like a pig, but I haven’t, yet. I can probably camp out in this for a few more hours.” He tries a patented Jesper I’m flirting in an over the top way to make you laugh which is my flirting style for when I’m genuinely worried about the reaction because this way I can pass off exasperation and mockery as the response I intended look, probably with fluttering eyes, but since Kaz can barely make them out through those open zippers and the rest of his face is a complete mystery, it falls flat. It looks ridiculous, though, so it also works, and Jesper has the nerve of complaining about Kaz’ eight-dimensional chess plans. He’s worse. He’s worse, and animated by Jesper’s ridiculous, familiar movements the bondage suit doesn’t look like a pathetic attempt anymore. Not like the desperation of an emotional cripple. It just looks like Jesper, with an extra layer on his skin. Jesper, probably making a duckface, purring, “Don’t you think I’m sexy?”

Kaz looks away. “Are you serious right now?”

“Of course,” Jesper replies instantly, as if there was never any reason to doubt him. As if he doesn’t blame Kaz for doubting, simultaneously. As if Kaz is allowed to try. To fail. To fuck up, risk hurting him. There is a reason why Kaz never even considered someone else for the suit. “Come on, get on the bed.”

“We have to talk with Inej first. And with Wylan.”

“One-track mind,” Jesper replies, and just like that Kaz is ready to murder him again. “We’re not fucking. We’re not doing more than normal, except maybe touch. We don’t even know yet whether this helps you. I’m not risking it. We’ll just try touching, and if you think it’s triggering, we stop. We’ve got all the time in the world to work up to more. Until this city sinks into the ocean and the grid collapses from heat, which might be tomorrow, so. Or the fascists win.”

“You’ve been listening to Inej.”

“I do try to keep up.”

“Well, stop. Or listen more carefully, until the end, when she gets to the doomerism is the opiate of the masses part.”

“Just get on the bed, Kaz.”

Kaz puts his bent good knee onto the mattress and pulls himself over to Jesper. The fabric of his linen smock rubs against his heated skin: not like corpses, not like that, not like Jordie and he won’t even think about him or this will be over but—it just feels like his own familiar coarse age-softened nightgown that Jesper hasn’t even made fun of yet, his thin nightgown that in a second will be one of only two layers between him and Jesper.

He rolls over so he can sit down next to Jesper, at first. Daringly, he leans an arm against his best—well, they’ll figure that out later.

“Okay?” Jesper asks. He has to crane his head a lot to look through the thin eye slits of his bondage mask at Kaz’ face, and even then he’s probably mostly seeing the gleaming teeth of the eyehole zippers. And still he leans forward forty-five degrees and twists his torso and neck so he can look up into Kaz’ face, carefully keeping the arm that’s touching Kaz as motionless as possible, because he’s being careful with Kaz. Kaz has told him a thousand times he hates being coddled. He’s not a poor little abused dog, he’s a vicious murderer who destroyed his leg and his ability to be close to people while he was murdering, that’s all he ever told Jesper. That lie. And yet—even if he’s only fooling himself because this scene is so patently ridiculous, and the psych ward he got sent to once for the crime of rough sleeping while underage would stamp every single thing about what they’re doing as deeply unhealthy, and he can’t see Jesper’s soft concerned expression under the hood… Whatever it is, Kaz feels warm all over. He feels good. Safe.

Jesper can tell, apparently. “Want to touch my chest? Or climb into my lap?”

Kaz moves over, carefully smoothing down his nightgown before he sits down on Jesper, angled so he can lean with his left arm pressed against Jesper’s chest. It’s safer, somehow, than giving him the back, but perhaps someday…

Jesper loosely wraps his arms around Kaz. They’re just there, barely touching, the hands lax on top of Kaz’ right knee. You can leave at any time, they say, I’ll let go as soon as you’re uncomfortable, and Kaz would have known that regardless. Jesper’s never usually this still, unless he’s lost in concentration: and Kaz, who’s seen how gambling can destroy someone’s life, how it is currently destroying someone’s life, would still bet everything he has ever owned that Jesper’s concentrating on every single aspect of Kaz’ body language right now.

It’s not necessary, though. Those hands are gleaming black PVC. They don’t look or feel anything like Kaz’ memories.

He drops his own naked right hand onto Jesper’s gloved one. Joins them. Anchors Jesper. “How much do you owe this time, Jes?”

A beat. Jesper’s face drops down towards Kaz’ lap. Trying to hide his shame, and he’s forgotten that he’s wearing a full bondage mask, that Kaz can barely make out his eyes through the slits of the zippers. If he’s trying to deny everything, Kaz will just beat it out of him. He’s done it before. A year ago, when it was bad, but Jesper promised he got it under control. But Jesper’s promises were never worth much, not for this. If they were, they’d never have met.

“Four grand.”

“To?”

“Tom Geels. One of Big Bol’s old friends—”

“So he put you up to—”

“I was already playing when he walked up to me, Kaz,” Jesper grinds out. Aware that he could save himself from at least a little of Kaz’ disappointment by casting Bollinger as the tempter. Simultaneously aware that Kaz promised to feed Bollinger to a marine propeller last year if he ever took Jesper gambling again. Noble, to try and save Bollinger’s life—or to save Kaz from committing another murder—not that either of them deserves his loyalty. “I’ll pay you back, Kaz. I’ll have the money. Give me—give me half a year, Da’s still sending me—sending me rent money, Christ, he’s—I’ll save it. No, you’ll get it straight as soon as I get it, and in six months, you’re paid back in full. I promise.”

“We’ll figure it out. I have some jobs I could use you on. Nothing big. Intimidation, mostly. Some breaking, some entering. Boring stuff, not even worth mentioning to Wylan I should think.”

“Thank you.” Jesper’s forgotten all his restraint. He’s kissing Kaz’ forehead, or rather kissing the inside of his mask that’s pressed against Kaz’ forehead. He’s wrapped Kaz tightly in his long bondage arms too, painfully twisting Kaz’ shoulder and elbow and wrist because Kaz is still holding onto his hand. It’s that welcome pain, and the texture of the bondage suit that Kaz still isn’t completely used to, that keeps him from breaking Jesper’s nose. Keeps him—he isn’t back in the North Sea. He isn’t with Jordie. He should be, but he isn’t, and even if it comes…

Inej taught him about grounding. None of them trust the system as far as they can throw it, so she didn’t send him to a shrink when they started dating, unlike he feared, but—she said they helped her, those grounding exercises she found on the internet, and so Kaz has been diligently practicing breathing techniques and focusing his awareness on details of the present moment. Five things he can see: well, it’s dark, but the way what little streetlight gets through reflects off the folds of the suit on Jesper’s bowed stomach is quite interesting. His own knees. His hand, still clutching Jesper’s. The cane, on the floor. The floor. Five things he can hear: early morning traffic, Jesper’s breath, Jesper trying not to sob out loud in relief or shame or a mixture of both, the rustling of fabric, the squeaking of fabric. Five things he can feel: The old ache of his leg, always. Jesper’s hand. Jesper’s thighs. The hard buttons at the flap over Jesper’s crotch, digging into his side.

Somehow, Jesper’s noticed his shift in focus. At least he’s stopped crying now. “You know, you could have just asked how big I am if you wanted a suit with a dick pouch,” he teases in a voice that almost manages to sound happy. “I wouldn’t even have been suspicious.”

“Just because you have no boundaries, Jes, doesn’t mean I have to sink down to meet you at your level.”

Jesper takes a big breath. To forestall the whole Who bought this bondage suit argument Kaz elbows him in the stomach, hard. Once Jesper’s done coughing—a wriggling movement against Kaz’ side that he’s never even felt before—he mumbles something else, though. “I texted Da my new number. He called last week. Wanted to know how I was doing,” and oh. That makes sense. That’s what did it. “Apparently I’m graduating in seven months, according to that fake schedule you made me so I could keep my lies straight. He wants to come to the graduation. He asked me whether I have a job lined up.”

“I could hire somebody to fake you a degree,” Kaz offers. This should be Inej’s job. She shouldn’t be off somewhere, saving grasshoppers. She should be here. She’s the one who tried to talk Jesper into coming clean to his father, last year. All Kaz knows, all he has ever done, is to keep digging, and it’s worked for him. So far. “It’s all the rage now I hear. Cheap, too. No-one will find out. Just don’t become a politician in Germany.”

Jesper sighs. The air kisses the back of Kaz’ neck. “I don’t even care anymore. I could have a degree, or not, it all doesn’t matter. Universities are a scam to regulate economic class relations anyway. I don’t know that I can keep lying forever, or get a job, just so I don’t have to tell Da I betrayed him. Because nothing matters anyway. We’re collectively throwing the future down the drain. It’s not like anyone needs another mechanical engineer when we hit four degrees. I don’t know what we need. I just know everything I know is pointless.”

“I’m sure Inej can hook you up, if you want to blow up a coal power plant.”

“But what about you, then? What would you do?”

“I could have you kidnapped,” Kaz says. That’s not what Jesper meant. Kaz refuses to think about what Jesper meant. “Fake your death. Colm will be so relieved when they find you that he won’t even care you failed all your studies so you could become a live-in human blow-up doll.”

“That’ll only keep Da happy for a year at most and you know it.”

“Well, then Colm’s just going to have to get used to it. Get used to you, like we did. Real, annoying, good-for-nothing directionless screw-up Jesper.”

Jesper rubs his leathered cheek against the crown of Kaz’ head. “Fuck you. Thanks.”

Kaz runs his fingers over the squeaky PVC on Jesper’s forearms, steeling himself before he whispers idly against Jesper’s neck, “If Inej’s right about the warming and the sea level over the next decades, it won’t just be refugees from the south we’re letting drown, people it’s easy to lock out. Maybe you’re right about the Doggerland thing, and we all get flooded.” He swallows. The words are high up in his throat, trying to spew out. “Then it won’t just be one stupid child with a stupid family going out boating in the North Sea when there’s a storm coming. Not just that one kid thrown out of a sinking boat nearly drowning and clinging to his brother’s corpse. Your blow-up doll skills will be in high demand if everyone else gets triggered by skin contact too.”

Jesper, miraculously, reveals a talent Kaz didn’t even know he possessed: he shuts up. He ghosts his gloved hands over Kaz’ shoulders, and then he starts carding his fingers through Kaz’ hair. Kaz can feel the static electricity building up, the crackles and the safety, and then he realizes his eyes have drifted shut. He realizes he doesn’t know how long Jesper’s been petting him.

“Take off your hood,” he mumbles.

“Kaz?”

“Take it off. Scuttle over so your head’s on the pillow.”

Jesper obeys, like Kaz always knew he would. He looks up at Kaz with something that might be confusion but might also be—trust and deep joy and more, something Kaz can’t quite admit anymore now he’s in his bed, and Kaz puts his head down on his chest. His legs will still fit, and this way, he has the squeaky PVC right where he needs it. Squeaky, rhythmically rising warm dry plastic under him. The exact opposite of a waterlogged corpse.

“I don’t have time to call you an ambulance when you get into a bondage suit erotic asphyxiation incident, just so you know. I have a full schedule for today, remember. I’ll be at Haskell’s until after midnight. I have to break Bollinger’s thumbs. My alarm is at seven. Turn it off and I’ll send you to Colm in bite-sized pieces,” Kaz rasps, and then, with a movement that no-one would call timid if they wanted to keep their tongue attached, wraps his arms around Jesper. “You’ve kept me awake for two hours, so be a good pillow. If I kick you off the bed while I’m dozing, remember. This is your fault.”

#jesper fahey #kaz brekker #kaz x jesper #dimtraces makes things #shadow and bone #shadow & bone

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onthesandsofdreams · 3 years

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The Actor In The App [2/?]

Pairing: Cassian x Jyn Rating: T Summary: Jyn stumbles with her words, how in the hell was she to guess that the actual Cassian Andor was in a dating app? “Uh, hi,” is all she manages to get out. Then she shakes her head quickly, “I’m Jyn from the app, you gave me your number.” “Ah, I was wondering if you would ever call.” Words: 1581 Notes: Celebrity AU Tagging: @mousedetective

Read @ AO3 | Chapter 1

Jyn stumbles with her words, how in the hell was she to guess that the actual Cassian Andor was in a dating app? “Uh, hi,” is all she manages to get out. Then she shakes her head quickly, “I’m Jyn from the app, you gave me your number.”

“Ah, I was wondering if you would ever call.”

She can hear the smile on his voice. “I – uh, I was terribly busy.” It’s not a lie, but also helps that she had to make up her mind. For someone who was so intent in unmasking the man, she now feels like she has egg on her face. But then again, how could she know he was real?

“Yes, I imagine that. I have some friends who are chefs, it’s a demanding life.” He sounds very understanding. “And how have you been?”

“Good, I mean, busy.” She says automatically. But then, her brain wakes up and she adds, “And how come Cassian Andor is on a matchmaking up?”

It is then that he laughs, “Well, I haven’t had any luck when it comes to dating, so I said, ‘why not?’ and made an account. But you’re still the only one to contact me, if only to try and expose a fake.”

She snorts. “Yeah, I’m not going to apologize for that.”

“And you shouldn’t.” He says firmly. “You followed your gut, and I’ve always been a believer that you have to trust your gut.”

Huh, she was not expecting that. He was far more reasonable than a celebrity would be, at least compared to some she had known in her line of work. “Thanks.” Then, she hesitated. “Listen, I’m still trying to wrap my head around you being an actual celeb, do you – uh, mind if we video chat?”

A chuckle was his answer, “Not at all, do you have something to write it down?”

“Yeah,” Luckily, she’s sitting at her desk and she has an assortment of pens and notepads. “When you’re ready.”

“I’m on skype, it’s Jeron2.0 – yes, very original I know. Cap on the ‘j’. What’s yours?”

“Stardust.Erso, with caps on the s and e. And before you ask, it was my dad who called me stardust.” As she speaks, she turns the laptop on and logs in and adds Cassian to her contacts. “I’m on skype now, just added you.”

“Give me a sec.” She hears him fumble with something, and muttering quietly in Spanish. And then, “I’m in and I’m adding you back. So… see you in a bit?”

“Yeah,” She’s thankful that for once, her make up is still intact. There’s no need for her to make the wrong impression right of the bat. A few seconds later, they connect. And there, on the other side of the screen is Cassian. And he’s smiling at her and she feels her heart skip a beat. “Hey, nice seeing you.”

His smile widens, “Likewise.”

And that is how it really starts. For her, it’s strange having a celebrity on her contacts, most of the ones she’s known, it’s due to her work and that was still on them employer-employee line and there were certainly not any sort of crossing. And they somehow manage to talk for an hour that first time, the next call lasts nearly as long.

“…and so I had to lie to my make up artist and said I was getting laid.” He stops and the sighs. “She probably thinks that I’m a weirdo.”

She can’t help it. She laughs, because it’s really funny that he was so excited about getting that movie role. “That’s hilarious.”

“Well, I’m very glad you think so.”

But she discovers that Cassian is easy to talk. It feels strange, at first, having someone to talk who isn’t Bodhi or Chirrut or Baze who can sit quietly and let her talk. Who pays attention and asks questions about her. She’s not so callous as to only talk about herself, she hears him talk about his work. About the ups and downs and how mentally exhausting it all can be.

“And let me tell you, that director is a monster and I refuse to work with him again. He’s a tyrannical asshole.”

“Sounds awful. I’m sorry you had to deal with that.” And she is, she’s had bosses who believed themselves lords of the kitchen and a single thing done their wrong would result in getting yelled face to face. “But you were awesome in that role, I must say.”

She has no experience on that, but she offers her sympathy and rants alongside him. They exchange texts almost daily, they talk whenever possible – as long as Cassian’s schedule permits, that is – and they are now friends on instagram too, she had already followed his public one, but now she has his finsta. Once, even he had sent her a video tour of his newest movie set. And she likes that little peak at celebrity life that he allows her to see.

One time, as they talk, he tells her, “You know, I considered a music career once.”

That catches her attention, “I didn’t know you could sing?”

She watches as he bursts in laughter, and she likes the way his eyes sparkle even on her screen. “I can’t. That’s the thing. I’m a better dancer than singer.”

“Yes,” It’s her turn to laugh. “I did see you in ‘Dancing Queen’, you were pretty good. Looked quite professional.”

He laughs again. “You have no idea just how much I practiced for that movie, but I had fun making, not going to lie.”

“How’s this one going, it’s a what? Horror?”

“Yeah, it’s fun. For the most part, I don’t quite like being sticky with fake blood.”

“Ohh is one of those movies.”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “But I liked the script. And it’s a challenge for me, I want to open myself to more genres of films. Why not start with horror? You know, just… jumping into the deep.”

“And what is something you’d like to do?”

“Historical could be fun. Never made one, and it would be interesting in just walking around in period clothing.”

She snorts, “Didn’t take you for someone who likes fashion.” He has always looked impeccable on the red carpet and photoshoots, but she has seen paparazzi pictures and his looks have been comfortable. Like a regular guy in jeans and shirt.

“I’m not,” he laughs. “But c’mon, those period pieces look great. Oh shit, Jyn, I have to go, my assistant’s glaring at me, it seems that we have to return to filming. Talk to you soon.”

“Yeah, go. Off to work. Bye.”

“Bye.” He hangs up and she can’t help but to laugh again. She had met his assistant, Kay, once and it had nearly ended in a virtual fight. Apparently, Kay was very protective of Cassian and he didn’t trust her at all. Not that she could blame him, she was new to Cassian’s circle, but it galled.

Shaking her head, she put her phone away. Maybe she should write? That way she could take away her mind of Cassian, if only for a little while. Because now, she finds that he has been rounding her head quite a bit and well… it’s slightly worrisome.

“And how’s your book coming along?”

She sighs. “I have the worst writer’s block that I’ve ever experienced.” She waits for him to say anything about writer’s block being only in her head. But when only a ‘Mmmh’ comes, she frowns. “I just don’t know what to do.”

“How about this,” he speaks slowly, as if he were measuring his words. “Why don’t you take a few days off of writing – wait don’t hang up yet! – and do something that you normally wouldn’t do.”

Her frown deepens. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, miss Erso, that I think you need to refill your creative well. Listen, it also happens to me. I’m not a writer, but sometimes I feel like quitting, so I do something I would normally wouldn’t do and rest and recharge. I feel much better afterwards.”

“Any suggestions?”

“Painting, pottery.”

Huh, she’d never given that much thought. “That came quite quickly to you.”

A chuckle. “Yeah, I did pottery once. I’m terrible at it, before you ask. But it was a fun activity, I still have the crappy plate I made. And painting? Well, my mom used to paint, and she always said that you could always be terrible, but someone out there, would like it.”

She doesn’t coo, but she damn near does. It’s heartwarming listening to him talk about his mom. That’s something they have in common, their undying love for their mothers. “You know what? I’m going to do it.”

“That’s the spirit! Let me know how it goes.”

“I will. Listen I have to go.”

“Got it, see you soon Jyn.”

“Bye Cass.” Because yes, they’ve progressed into her calling him ‘Cass’. And she hangs up, but as soon as she does, she goes into google and finds the nearest pottery workshop closest to her.

She takes a class, finds herself enjoying it and she ends with a halfway decent mug. She feels both relaxed and accomplished. She snaps a picture of the mug, posts it on her instagram and tags Cassian. And if her heart skips a beat when he answers with a ‘Go Jyn!’ and a heart emoji, well… no one needed to know.

#RebelCaptain #dailyrebelcaptain #therebelcaptainnetwork #cassian x jyn #cassian andor #jyn erso #rogue one #rogue one fic #au: celebrities #multipart: the actor in the app

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vivelareine · 4 years

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In defense of the unnamed gendarme.

One small yet unforgettable detail taken from Rosalie Lamorliere’s two accounts of the queen’s final morning occurs when Marie Antoinette attempted to change into fresh clothing. A gendarme stepped forward and refused to give her privacy. After the queen asked to be allowed to change in privacy ‘in the name of decency,’ the guard replied that his orders are not to let her out of his sight. Marie Antoinette sighed and then resigned herself to changing as quickly as possible to avoid being exposed.

This incident is sometimes used as an example of the humiliation and degradation that was enforced upon Marie Antoinette, in contrast to the more respectful dignity given to Louis XVI in his last moments. Whereas Clery makes a scandal out of the officials not removing their hats in the presence of Louis XVI when they come to escort him to the scaffold, Marie Antoinette was placed in a much more humiliating, helpless position during her final hours; she is not only forced to change her clothing in front of a man, but her hands are bound and her hair is roughly cut before she leaves the Conciergerie in an open criminal’s cart.

But… was this officer attempting to humiliate the queen? Was he relishing her the power he held over a once celebrated, exalted figure?

Or was he simply afraid of being denounced and arrested?

The atmosphere in the Conciergerie after the queen’s trial would have been one of tension and fear. At least three people had been arrested for allegedly showing sympathy to Marie Antoinette on the 16th of October alone–her two lawyers were arrested before the trial was even over, for having defended her “too well.” De Busne, another officer employed at the Conciegerie, was arrested for giving Marie Antoinette a glass of water, helping her down some stairs in the dark, and allegedly taking off his hat in front of her.

At least one witness was arrested and at least one person mentioned by a witness was sought out and arrested during the trial. When one of the jurors wanted to be recused on account of having treated Marie Antoinette in the Conciergerie, his recusal was denied on the grounds that it would be an accusation against him, that he would be so moved by sympathy for the former queen.

Clearly, there is a running theme: any positive association with the accused makes you suspect.

This officer, whose name is unknown but whom Rosalie referred to as a “young man,” was apparently given orders not to let Marie Antoinette out of his sight. Why? It’s possible that, as with Louis XVI when they refused to give him knives after his sentencing, they were worried that she might commit suicide before she was executed. But it’s more likely, in my opinion, that they were worried that someone might attempt another rescue. There had already been one foiled rescue attempt while she was at the Conciergerie, and the truly massive security enacted for her execution was a testament to the fear that she might be saved.

So can we blame this young man, who would have been fully aware of the consequences of showing sympathy towards the accused or allowing anything to happen to her if he lets her out of his sight, for following his orders? I don’t think so.

And maybe I’m wrong. Maybe he was one of the officers who seemed to delight in tormenting Marie Antoinette, in blowing smoke in her face and making crass remarks in front of her. But maybe he just happened to be a young man anxious that he would share the same fate as de Busne: denounced and arrested for showing basic human decency.

Additional Information

The original “declaration of Rosalie,” as included in a work by Lafont d'Aussonne, was published in 1823; based on the years mentioned in his book, it’s likely that his interview with Rosalie took place in about 1822 or 1823.

In the 1823 Declaration, the moment is described thusly:

“Her Majesty went into the little space that I usually left between the folding bed and the wall. She herself unfolded a chemise that had probably been brought to her in my absence and having signed to me to stand in front of her bed so as to hide her from the gendarme, she stooped down behind the bed, and slipped off her dress in order to change her underlinen for the last time. The officer of the gendarmerie came forward instantly, and standing by the head of the bed watched the Queen’s proceedings. Her Majesty quickly threw her fichu over her shoulders, and with the greatest gentleness said to the young man: "In the name of decency, monsieur, elt me change my linen without being watched.”

“It is impossible for me to allow it,” answered the gendarme roughly: “my orders are to keep my eye on you, whatever you are doing.” The Queen sighed, slipped her chemise over her head for the last time as cautiously and modestly as possible, and then dressed herself… I was so much disturbed by the gendarme’s brutality…

In the later 1835 interview as recorded by Madame Simon-Vouet, the wording is changed slightly but significantly. The 1835 recount of the events makes Marie Antoinette’s request more dramatic (Marie Antoinette cries out, rather than speaking with gentleness); it allows Rosalie to act as a protector, blocking the view of the queen with her body; and finally, the guard doesn’t simply stand by the bed as he does in the 1820s version… he insolently leans his elbows on the pillow to look at the queen.

“When she was about to undress she slipped into the space between the wall and the truckle-bed, so as to be out of the officer’s sight; but that young man came forward insolently, and leant his elbows on the pillow in order to look at her. The Queen blushed deeply, and hastily covered herself with her large fichu; then, clasping her hands, she turned beseechingly to the officer. "Monsieur,” she cried, “in the name of decency let me change my linen without being watched.”

([Madame: “The man must have felt very much ashamed of his behavior?”]

On the contrary, he answered roughly that his orders were not to lose sight of the prisoner for an instant. The Queen raised her eyes to heaven … I took up my position so as to hide her as much as possible from the eyes of the officer. Then, kneeling behind her bed, with every precaution that her modesty could suggest, her Majesty succeeded in changing her clothes without even uncovering her shoulders or arms.

Was Rosalie embellishing the 1835 version, spurred on by Madame Simon-Vouet? Had Rosalie’s memory of the events shifted and become more dramatic on their own? Did the distinctly royalist Madame Simon-Vouet add hero own detail? It’s hard to say–but it is definitely worth keeping in mind when comparing and contrasting the two versions of the incident.

#marie antoinette #french history #history #french revolution #18th century

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thebluelemontree · 4 years

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I’m sorry, @anabel7631 but there are some very incorrect assumptions here. Lady did not die because Sansa lied.

"Joff told us what happened," the queen said. "You and the butcher boy beat him with clubs while you set your wolf on him."

"That's not how it was," Arya said, close to tears again. Ned put a hand on her shoulder. "Yes it is!" Prince Joffrey insisted. "They all attacked me, and she threw Lion's Tooth in the river!" Ned noticed that he did not so much as glance at Arya as he spoke.

...

"They were not the only ones present," Ned said. "Sansa, come here." Ned had heard her version of the story the night Arya had vanished. He knew the truth. "Tell us what happened." -- Eddard III, AGOT.

Sansa had already told the truth of what happened to her father the day Arya went missing. That’s how Ned knew immediately that Joffrey was lying and confirmed it with Joffrey’s tells. Let’s be real. Ned is the only adult in that room that even remotely cares what the truth is. Robert will admit on his deathbed that he knew all along Joffrey was lying too, yet he did nothing.

Sansa doesn’t lie about placing the blame on her sister or Mycah or Nymeria at this moment. The most dishonesty she exhibits is saying she didn’t remember or see what happened:

His eldest daughter stepped forward hesitantly. She was dressed in blue velvets trimmed with white, a silver chain around her neck. Her thick auburn hair had been brushed until it shone. She blinked at her sister, then at the young prince. "I don't know," she said tearfully, looking as though she wanted to bolt. "I don't remember. Everything happened so fast, I didn't see …"

"You rotten!" Arya shrieked. She flew at her sister like an arrow, knocking Sansa down to the ground, pummeling her. "Liar, liar, liar, liar."

The reason Arya is calling Sansa a liar is because she could not have known Sansa had already told Ned the truth. This is the first time all three of them are together since Arya had run off. When she was found by Jory, they were ordered to go directly to the king and queen. Sansa is guilty of failing to support her sister when she is being interrogated; however, this is still a patriarchal society, and she is being asked to speak against her future husband who is also the crown prince. Sansa tries to mitigate the pressure from both sides by attempting to take a neutral position. Ned never blames her at all for this. Again, Ned already knew what the truth was and he can see that clearly Robert and Cersei don’t really care what Sansa has to say anyway.

Cersei was already gunning for a wolf skin no matter what. She knew Lady had nothing to do with any of this by all accounts, but one wolf was as good as any other. You think Cersei’s history with Lyanna Stark both “stealing” Rhaegar from her as well as Robert obsessing over her since day one of their marriage, PLUS the prophecy of someone younger and more beautiful coming to take all she holds dear doesn’t have something to do with Cersei wanting to punish a Stark girl? Any Stark girl? Take that wolf skin trophy and strip her rival Sansa of her power and protection? This has less to do with Joffrey and more to do with Cersei’s insecurities and need for petty vengeance against a Stark scapegoat.

It’s not only Cersei making her crazy demand to kill Lady. Robert’s response is to just walk away from innocent parties being killed (passively giving his consent) because he doesn’t want to be harangued by his wife. This business is all a big buzzkill and he just wants to get back to having fun. We already established that Robert knew full well that Joffrey was lying. Ned begs him to spare Lady, but Robert just fucks off. So Cersei’s authority as queen stands, which even as Hand, Ned can’t defy it once Robert co-signed. The only thing he can do is put Lady down himself so Cersei can’t have her trophy.

That, obviously, still has a negative impact on Ned and Sansa’s relationship as a breach of trust since Ned volunteered and avoided talking to Sansa about it afterward. This was a decision Ned came to regret later when he wondered if he had made a big mistake in killing Sansa’s dire wolf.

Sansa doesn’t have to regret anything about Lady’s death because she was in no way responsible for that happening. Does she still owe Arya an apology for some of the mean things she did say and the times she didn’t stick up for Arya when she should have? Absolutely. Is the onus still on Sansa to make the first moves in repairing their sisterly relationship? Absolutely. Arya doesn’t hate Sansa at all. She was justifiably angry and hurt, but she doesn’t hate her. They will definitely resolve those past issues and reconcile.

Even though Sansa tried to take the neutral position, that doesn’t stop Joffrey from refusing to see or speak to her for a long time. She had nothing to do with Joffrey’s injuries but he shows contempt for her all the same. While Sansa is “in love” with the person she thinks Joffrey is or wants him to be, we have to remember this is still a patriarchy. Sansa has been raised to be deferential to her husband. Joffrey’s cold displeasure leads Sansa to alter her view of what happened after the fact and misplace the blame on Arya for a good while. Joffrey is still her betrothed, so she has to rewrite the narrative because the idea of spending the rest of her life married to a liar and a cruel bully is psychologically intolerable. I’m not saying this part is a good thing at all. Sansa is in the wrong for blaming Arya and Ned to the point of fully excusing Joffrey and Cersei. She is burying her head in the sand and refusing to deal with the truth, which she has known all along because she told her father.

Sansa will voice that truth when she is warning Margaery and Olenna of what kind of person Joffrey is.

A shiver went through her. "A monster," she whispered, so tremulously she could scarcely hear her own voice. "Joffrey is a monster. He lied about the butcher's boy and made Father kill my wolf. When I displease him, he has the Kingsguard beat me. He's evil and cruel, my lady, it's so. And the queen as well."

It’s not regret over what other people did that Sansa needs to express. Its dealing with the fact that the reflags were there early on but she couldn’t accept them. Arya had been right to dislike Joffrey and the queen, but Sansa didn’t listen. She thought Arya was crazy and just wanted to ruin things out of spite. In this reversal of positions, Sansa is trying to warn another girl, someone she will view as a sister, about her abusive ex.

Sister. Sansa had once dreamt of having a sister like Margaery; beautiful and gentle, with all the world's graces at her command. Arya had been entirely unsatisfactory as sisters went. How can I let my sister marry Joffrey? she thought, and suddenly her eyes were full of tears. "Margaery, please," she said, "you mustn't." It was hard to get the words out. "You mustn't marry him. He's not like he seems, he's not. He'll hurt you."

Yes, there is a dig at Arya. Change doesn’t always happen in a smooth progression. Sometimes there are flaws, missteps, and micro-regressions; however, she also thinks “how can I let my sister marry Joffrey?”

Once Sansa eventually experiences rejection by Margaery and the Tyrells, she will come to understand a bit more of how Arya must have felt when the support of her sister was withdrawn. It’s not conscious thought process, but she is having experiences that should make her more appreciative, mature, and understanding of Arya. ASOS is where Sansa’s thinking on Arya really starts to take a shift toward the positive.

If Lady was here, I would not be afraid. Lady was dead, though; Robb, Bran, Rickon, Arya, her father, her mother, even Septa Mordane. All of them are dead but me. She was alone in the world now.

We have to keep in mind, until Winterfell is sacked and Bran and Rickon are reported murdered, Sansa believed Arya was at home safe. Now everyone is dead.

King Joffrey looked as if he wanted to kill someone right then and there, he was so excited. He slashed at the air and laughed. "A great sword must have a great name, my lords! What shall I call it?"

Sansa remembered Lion's Tooth, the sword Arya had flung into the Trident, and Hearteater, the one he'd made her kiss before the battle. She wondered if he'd want Margaery to kiss this one.

Her remembering of the Trident has gone from Arya being the aggressor to Arya being the hero that disarms the aggressor. That’s a total 180 in Sansa’s view of Arya’s actions, where Sansa is now justifying them as an appropriate response.

Then if you just do a search on Sansa’s mentions of Arya in ASOS, AFFC, and TWOW it’s all positive stuff. It’s all good memories, but Sansa thinks Arya is dead and they’ll never see each other again. When the sisters reunite, Sansa will be overwhelmed with gratitude that someone else in her family survived. She’s thinking of Arya quite frequently and the relationship they used to have, so Sansa will be more than willing to do the work of getting back to that relationship. She is primed to have that heartfelt, apologetic conversation to lay the rocky past to rest. The first step in being able to analyzing her own faults is accepting the whole truth and understanding Arya’s point of view and how she must have felt. That’s all there. She’s shown she has done that. ^^^ All that’s needed is for them to meet face to face and be able to hash it out.

So no, I can’t agree with your assessment of Sansa’s characterization when what you’re basing that off of is fundamentally wrong.

#sansa stark #sansa stark meta #arya stark #the stark sisters #lady #ned stark #joffrey baratheon #fandom wank #this old chestnut #we can never get away from the Trident can we?#It's been 84 years...

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soft-sunflower · 4 years

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Hyunsoo and Alexithymia vs ASPD

I wanted to make a post on my thoughts in regards to this... I feel like I need to get this off my chest, because this is just personally what I think. You don’t have to like or even agree with me. I just really want to talk about this. When we first meet Do Hyunsoo, we are lead to believe that he’s a psychopath, (we learn he’s actually not) that he was (wrongly) diagnosed with Antisocial Personality Disorder when he was a very young child, without the therapist actually bothering to look into why Hyunsoo would be behaving the way he did. Such as the disappearance of his mother, for example, or even sent some kind of child protective services to his village to find out what’s going on there, have him on surveillance, something rather than just deciding he was going to turn out to be a terrible person. Back in a previous episode, it was stated that Hyunsoo did not start behaving this way until after his mother went missing. We also know that Hyunsoo’s past was incredibly traumatic, without even really having the details of what happened. (Yet. Hopefully they touch on this. I don’t know.) We’ve recently learned that Hyunsoo has a very repressed memory of his childhood, why? His earliest memory was from when he was 10 years old? And he doesn’t even remember why he was wandering lost in a forest at such a young age? Why? What happened to him to make him forget? Usually a severe trauma is what takes place to make one have true repressed memories. I do not believe that Hyunsoo has ever once suffered from Antisocial Personality Disorder. At all. People with ASPD are also likened to sociopaths, psychopaths and serial killers, which is what his FATHER WAS. NOT him. The only thing Hyunsoo struggles with understanding, recognizing and feeling emotions in himself and in others. It’s why you see focus on his eyes and him reading and studying Jiwon’s expressions for example. He’s learning. He’s teaching himself, because nobody ever taught him this. He was never guided properly in regards to this. He was always told he is essentially a monster and when he grows up, he will be a manipulative and cruel monster.

Sociopaths/psychopaths are not too far off the spectrum in similarities. People with ASPD are normally classified as high functioning sociopaths. These people lack the ability to feel emotion. They lack the ability to understand it. They manipulate, twist, lie, trick, all for their own benefit and enjoy it. They don’t care who they hurt. They have little regard for anyone else, and they also normally are narcissists. Which we know Do Hyunsoo is the furthest thing from. He thinks far too little of himself to even go down that road. Alexithymia, an inability to identify and describe emotions. People with alexithymia have difficulties recognizing and communicating their own emotions, and they also struggle to recognize and respond to emotions in others. Alexthymia can develop from severe sustained trauma. I feel like Hyunsoo leans more toward suffering from alexthymia than being an actual psychopath/sociopath/having ASPD. I think the so-called whack job for a therapist diagnosed him VERY wrongly and inaccurately. She never bothered to find out why he was the way he was. So many adults failed him growing up. They made him believe he was a monster. They made him believe he’d grow up and continue being a monster. They made him believe that he was not able to process or feel any kinds of emotions, and yet he can. We’ve SEEN it. We just saw a complete outpouring of emotion from him in episode 11. I don’t see Hyunsoo as a psychopath/sociopath and never have.

1. His attack on Moojin- justified. Moojin stoned the ever living fuck out of him when he was a just a child. He was getting his revenge on him by messing with him and I’m glad he did, quite frankly. Has he actually done anything that terrible? 2. Faked grief- Of COURSE he did. His past is ready to come back and hunt him down because of freaking Moojin. And someone is trying to hold him accountable and blame him for murder AGAIN that he did not commit. It doesn’t take someone with ASPD to do something like that. Also, this is Kdrama world. If you go back through the past episodes, what has Hyunsoo done that’s bad enough to just go on ahead and decide to diagnose him as a psychopath/sociopath/ASPD/whatever? It all boils down to how wrong he was done as a child thus diagnosed wrong, because we know our man can feel. He spent how many episodes having panic attacks over the thought of losing his wife and her finding out the truth of his real identity? He was forced into taking the identity of Heeseong, don’t forget that. It’s not something HE pushed for. He was threatened with prison if he refused.

Now that he has this happy and loving life, with a wife and daughter who both love him unconditionally and bring him happiness and safety and warmth, something he NEVER experienced growing up, would he really want to risk losing that all by his true identity and all the rumors around it being exposed? What has he really done here that’s so wrong? Please tell me. I’m dying to know.

I don’t see a psychopath. I see a man who’s literally SUFFERED damn near his whole life because he was forced into believing he was something he wasn’t. He was beaten, ostracized and betrayed by people he thought he could trust. I see a man who does suffer from a mental condition, but that he is not beyond help like most psychopaths/ASPD folks are. There’s a huge difference in it all and that’s my honest to goodness opinion on it all. If I had to diagnose him with anything? It would be Alexthymia and anxiety/panic disorder developed from the fact that his emotions have been buried under trauma and lies for so so long.

#flower of evil #lee joon gi #moon chae won #do hyun soo #cha ji won #do hyunsoo #cha jiwon #lee joongi #moon chaewon #lee jun ki #lee junki #more thoughts #i really do feel the therapist was wrong in every aspect of him #including his diagnosis #and i'm still glad jiwon tore her apart

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yarrowleef · 3 years

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Read Darkness Within all in one sitting last night and then passed out so here are my scattered thoughts i wrote down as i read, (afterthoughts in parenthesis)

Darkness Within Spoilers, obv

UGH GOD THE SECOND HAND EMBARRESMENT FROM SQUIRREL FAKE FLIRTING WITH ASHFUR IT HURTS

Just remembered Sandynose died and got a small boost of happiness (will Hawkwing and Plumwillow ever be allowed to talk again now? I mean probly not b/c they aren’t protags and non-protags don’t rly have friends but I can hope. Sorry, Hawkwhing and Plumwillow’s short-lived friendship in Hawkwings Journey was one of the last times I felt something)

Ghost fleas lol

Mothwing: i’m rude now. (but more importantly, Fuck Tigerheartstar for forcing his son to be around the cat that hurt him so badly, like he HAS to know how upset everyone is regarding Shadowsight and his accidentally helping the imposter, and he’s making him be the sole one to tend to him??? There is NO REASON Puddleshine couldn’t have done it. You think Puddleshine is going to try and murder someone?? )

Oh no don't make this a traveling book, and a ROOTBRISTLE traveling book this is going to be insufferable

BACON AND EGGS

Lightleap Is Good (Hey didn’t Shadowsight have another sister? lets be real we all knew Pouncekit was going to end up as the forgettable 3rd one)

Bristlefrost’s crush continues to feel unnatural to me. It’s like she’s grasping at straws romanticizing the most generic things.....wow....I love how ur just so...bare minimum competent....being polite to the loner we came all this way to ask for help like any somewhat reasonable person would....How admirable...I love the way you just *clenches fist* exhibit some basic traits of loyalty and skill that literally every warrior has (I s2g I’m this close to head canon-ing Bristle as a clueless aromantic who doesn't understand what romance is actually suppose to feel like so she just looks at feelings of low-bar admiration and assumes “oh I guess this is that “romantic attraction” everyone’s always talking about? guess I must be in love???” because both her crushes have felt out of nowhere and like. Idk fake/forced sounding like she’s just telling me that that she’s In Love Now while I continue to not actually feel it at all from her end. I know it’s just that I hate the way Erin’s write female characters in love but this head-canon makes me laugh)

Got scared because I thought they were going to villainize Spotfur for not wanting kits for a minute, but also excited at the concept of maybe exploring a female character that doesn’t want to be a mother, but it turns out she was just pulling a Sparkpelt and actually DID want the kits all along and was only hesitant because she’s sad. Shrug oh well. (the only female character in warriors that was distinctly upset about pregnancy and motherhood was Lizardstripe and as we all know she was eeeeeevil and abusive and “overly ambitious” because why else would you not come around to being happy about motherhood?? YES I’M STILL SALTY ABOUT YELLOWFANG’S SECRET, BAD BOOK) Whatever it’s fine so long as Spot doesn’t lose her rebel leader spirit forever and default to “soft mom” personality for the rest of her life, I gotta have hope because I actually like Bristle and Spot’s current relationship. Also I am actually very grateful they never made Bristle resentful at Spot for getting with her crush, as lots of middle grade/YA media has a very bad habit of demonizing female romantic “competition” and its super gross, so I rly do like that Bristlefrost is so protective and caring towards her instead. )

This series is trying to tell me that Rootspring is actually Big but I refuse to accept that. he has dumb scrawny bitch energy and we all know it

Sunrise: “Thunderclan may be better with a new leader” lol go off (i mean........they right tho...It’s unfortunate that the tension in this whole plot is a bit dampened by the fact that i DO in fact want bramble to die v badly. I don’t even have special hatred for him, I’m just bored of him.)

Yes Lionblaze beat the shit out of Ashfur

*HOLY SHIT THAT’S FUCKED!!!! (I wrote this in reference to the ghost summoning scene, this was all I could manage at the time, that scene was WILD and I am VIBING WITH THE HORROR OF IT ALL)

* Brashfur: Oh yeah? Could Ashfur fake THIS? *stands up with slightly better posture* Shadowsight: oh damn you got me there...... (asdfhhfhhgh im sorry that was really funny, how did that prove anything?? ONLY A ~REAL~ WARRIOR COULD STAND UP STRAIGHT WE ALL KNOW ASHFUR IS INCAPABLE OF GOOD POSTURE!)

End of the book: *LAUGHING NERVOUSLY* WHAT THE FUCK??? (I thought he was just gonna kill Squirrelflight right there holy shit can you imagine the RIOTS that would ensue in the wake of all this Squirrel/Bramble discourse I was so scared for a second.

But it’s fine, she just....went to super hell instead......Warriors has come so far lmao WHAT IS HAPPENING

Final Notes:

*On Mothwing, I don’t think her behavior struck me as “CHARACTER BUTCHERING” as much as it did for other people? I mean.....Warriors fans will say that literally any time a character does ANYTHING less then perfectly nice I think her actions just seemed that much harsher because we are reading from Shadowsight’s POV, and Shadowsight is taking everything 10x more personally right now (understandably so, but Mothwing isn’t inside his head) she wasn’t trying to hurt him. Also... like... Shadowsight DID get his name too early. It’s not Mothwing’s job to put his feelings above everything else, she’s not even his mentor, Puddleshine on the other hand, as his main mentor, I don’t understand what his deal is ignoring Shadowsight, that’s not how you help an apprentice but I suppose I chalk many of his mistakes up to also not being the most experienced medicine cat (he barely even had his own mentor.) Maybe he’s distant because he feels guilty and actually blames himself for not guiding Shadowsight better?? the two of them haven’t communicated about it yet so idk

any way I give Mothwing a pass to be a little short tempered right now as a cat who has had her abilities periodically questioned all her life no matter how hard she works or how much experience she has, just because she doesn’t vibe with the spiritual cult side of the clans, I can understand why she’s a bit defensive of being questioned and frustrated watching so much hurt happen Yet Again due to reliance on StarClan visions over common sense, and I for one still stan her for slandering StarClan and refusing to accept Mistystar’s bullshit banishing like everyone else. Sometimes a character is at the end of their rope and can’t manage to be 100% nice 24/7 and that’s maybe not inherently bad writing? idk just my hot take. At a certain point we all gotta reckon with the fact that our perception of most popular supporting characters in heavily colored by fanon and we can’t always get mad at the authors for not adhering to it

*The sisters magic shit is my fav worldbuilding warriors has had in AGES, I love the way it’s described and it actually feels like it adds something to this world. I love this horror imagery with the ghosts, very excited for that.

*still won’t be thrilled if Ashfur is working alone, because his motive doesn’t make sense right now. I mean the trying to get Squilf thing, sure, whatever, but the “I will make everyone pay for what they did to me”???? cause like?? Who??? they didn’t do anything to him?? Ashfur’s grievance was very specifically JUST Squilf. He has no other cause for revenge, he had no other beef or complaints about the clans to my knowledge? The cat that killed him is dead, and she’s like, the only other one that I could see as having “wronged” him?? I guess he also didn’t like Firestar much according to Graystripe’s Vow (and on account of how willing he was to kill him w/ Hawkfrost) but Firestar is ALSO dead. I don’t understand his angle. Will have to see last 2 books to judge i suppose.

*All in all I am interested to see where this is going!! but also the pacing as I feared is becoming a major issue. It’s better then ending the main conflict on book 3 like Vision of Shadows did, but omg. Hardly anything happened in all these pages. I realized I was over half way through and nothing about the situation had actually CHANGED or advanced at all in all that time. Similar to the past 2 books which I believe could have been combined, this plot felt like it should have been the first half of a book. Discussing whether or not to kill the imposter isn’t much of a standalone plot, it’s just the set up to a plot. Finding the sisters didn’t need to be a whole long thing, the debates about the Imposters fate didn’t need to be repeated 10 times, all those chapters illustrating that “Shadowsight is sad” were also drawn out, repetitive, and interchangeable, we probably only needed 2 or so chapters showing his struggles to get the necessary information across. It felt like a lot of padding, it was really slow and I did a lot of skimming. I am still very interested in the overarching plot and mystery behind the ghosts so that kept me reading but man this “will they won’t they kill him” plot did not justify it’s own whole book. Alas this is a persisting issue that will never be resolved while they continue to force 6 books into 1 series that doesn’t need 6 books. I’m sure the writers are doing the best they can with these unfortunate constraints but still, it’s a wonder this slow padding isn’t more of a detriment to their younger readers that the books are supposed to be marketed to.

#warrior cats #the broken code #darkness within #the darkness within #darkness within spoilers #wc tbc #tbc #is that enough tags #yarrow speaks #wc criticism #long post #the broken code spoilers #warrior cats spoilers

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