#watching a show that only existed to torture the characters felt too sadistic for me idk

[acesydneysage]

A Sydney and Eddie retrospective

@vablappreciationweek Favorite familial relationship: The Melrose Twins

Part 2, Books 4-6: The Heartbreaking Trilogy, Why Are You Doing This To Me This Is So Sad

Part 1 here

In The Fiery Heart, Sydney and Eddie definitely already love each othe like siblings. By the end of the book they prove that in the most painful way possible, but let's ge through some cuteness first while I steel my heart.

We get Adrian's perspective on this book, so it's nice to see Eddie talking about Sydney when she isn't around:

“Because it’s Sydney,”said Eddie from the backseat. In the rearview mirror, I could see an easy smile on his face, though there was a perpetual sharpness in his eyes as he scanned the world for danger. He and Neil had been trained by the guardians, the dhampir organization of badasses that protected the Moroi. “Giving one hundred percent to a task is slacking for her.”

When Sydney wants to soften Zoe's extreme opinions on vampires, she picks Eddie to be Zoe's driving instructor because she wants "someone approachable and friendly who’d show her not all dhampirs were evil creatures of the night."

When Sydney is being a sappy romantic and describes what love is to the group, Eddie is the one who lingers looking at her the longest, he can tell something is different about her. They really know each other by now. When Eddie let's Zoe drive outside of the parking lot, he knows Sydney so well that he knows what she's going to say, and what to say to make it better:

“I can’t believe Eddie of all people would do that. It’s irresponsible.”She nodded. “He said you’d say that and that I should tell you, ‘At least it wasn’t Angeline.’”I couldn’t help it. I laughed at that. “That’s true. He does have limits.”

Later when she tells Zoe frivolity might not be such a bad thing, they have a sweet little moment:

“Sometimes frivolity isn’t a bad thing.” Eddie, who didn’t seem put out about the dance, grinned. “Sydney, when we first met, I never would’ve thought those words could come out of your mouth. What happened to you?” Everything, I thought. I met his grin with one of my own. “We all need some fun. We should forget that dance and go out and see a movie that night. When was the last time we all did that?”“I think the answer is ‘never,’” said Jill.

When Neil comes up with his crazy plan to test the Stigoi vaccine, Eddie is very shaken up by the similarities to the event in Spokane that lead to Mason's death. While Sydney thinks that "if Eddie was involved, one Strigoi seemed feasible", what finally convinces Eddie to go is her magic. Although Neil puts her on the spot, she does ultimately make the choice to trust him with this dangerous knowledge about her:

Eddie wasn’t swayed, and there was a look on his face I’d never seen before. “I’m not denying the principles, but it’s too dangerous. And not just to you. I did something like this once . . .” A pain so intense that it tore at my heart crossed Eddie’s features. “Me and some friends. We thought we could take on Strigoi . . . and my best friend ended up dead. No matter how prepared you think you are, even against only one, the unexpected can happen.” [...] The more this got out, the more trouble I was in. And yet, as I looked into Eddie’s steady gaze, I was reminded of our friendship and all we’d been through. In a world of secrets and lies, there were few I could thoroughly trust anymore, but I knew then, without a doubt, that Eddie was one I could. Taking a deep breath, hoping I wasn’t being a fool, I held out my hand. A nervous glance around confirmed we were alone, and I brought forth a spark of fire in my palm that soon grew into the size of a tennis ball. Eddie leaned over and gasped, the orange flames reflecting off his face. “Maybe . . . maybe our odds have gotten better,” he said.

During the fight with the Strigoi they go after, we get a little more about their similarities, how they're both so dedicated to helping others, and they both seriously admire each other so much. You get a bit of that from Sydney's perspective,and how much she cares about Eddie:

I knew what agony Eddie had to be in because I shared it. We both wanted to help Neil. Doing nothing, even for a handful of seconds, went against every part of our beings. [...] For his part, Eddie was magnificent. It had been a while since I’d seen him fight, and I’d nearly forgotten that the adopted brother I joked and ate lunch with was a lethal warrior. [...] I had to act. I couldn’t just stand by and let Eddie be annihilated, not if there was anything I could do.

After the fight, Sydney is caught up in the euphoria of surviving a near death experience, and she makes pretty much zero effort to hide her relationship with Adrian from Eddie:

As soon as I was on the road with Eddie and Jill, I told them, “I need to see Adrian. Drop me off and take my car. He’ll give me a ride back.” Eddie looked totally surprised by that. “Why do you need to see him?” “I just do.” I didn’t feel like attempting an excuse, and Eddie wasn’t the type to badger me. The most I got was a curious look when we reached the apartment. His curiosity turned to panic when he realized I’d be leaving him alone with Jill. “Good luck,”I said as I got out, not entirely sure who needed it the most.

When Eddie figures out that they're together she tries to avoid the conversation, expecting condemnation, but he's very supportive. This is the last conversation they have before everything falls apart, and everything I tried to remove to shorten it felt like an important character moment, but the most relevant parts are bolded:

“Sydney . . .”Eddie’s light mood vanished, and even with my eyes on the road, his tone tipped me off that something serious was about to happen. “About that. About you going to Adrian’s . . .”I felt a tightening of my throat and couldn’t answer immediately. “Don’t talk about that,” I said. “Please.” “No, we need to.” Eddie knew. Eddie knew, and if the subject wasn’t so dire, I would’ve laughed. He was oblivious to his own social affairs, but guardians were trained to watch and observe. Eddie did that, and no doubt he’d picked up all sorts of little things between Adrian and me. We tried so hard to hide from the Alchemists, but hiding from our friends, who knew us and loved us, was impossible. “Are you going to lecture me?” I asked stiffly. “Tell me I’m breaking taboos that have been in place for centuries to preserve the purity of our races?” “What?” He was aghast. “No, of course not.” I dared a look. “What do you mean ‘of course not’?” “Sydney, I’m your friend. I’m his friend. I’d never judge you, and I’d certainly never condemn you.” “A lot of people think what we’re doing is wrong.” It felt strange and oddly relieving to acknowledge my relationship with Adrian to another person. “Well, I’m not one of them. If you guys want it . . . that’s your business.” “Everyone’s suddenly very liberal about this,” I said with wonder. “I just heard a similar thing from Trey and Angeline—about their own relationship, that is. Not about . . . other people’s.” “I think my ill-fated time with Angeline may be part of it,” he said, with more humor than I expected, considering she’d cheated on him. “She talked enough about her people that after a while, it didn’t seem that weird. And, well, my race exists because humans and Moroi got together and had kids way back when.”I felt a smile start to grow on my lips. “Adrian says it wouldn’t be fair to the world if he and I had kids, what with the overwhelming power of our collective charm, brains, and good looks.” Eddie laughed outright, not something I heard very often, and I found myself laughing too. “Yeah, I can see him saying something like that. And that’s the thing, I think . . . the real reason I’m not that weirded out by you two. It goes against all sound logic, but somehow, you two together . . . it just works.” “‘Against all sound logic,’” I repeated. “Isn’t that the truth.” A little of his amusement faded. “But that’s not what worries me. Or the morality of it. It’s your own people I’m worried about. How long are you going to be able to go on like this?” I sighed as I took the exit for the meeting spot. “As long as the center holds.”

Eddie thinks Sydney and Adrian make sense. Obviously I agree that they absolutely do, but on a surface level it doesn't look like it. You have to know them and have a better understanding of their personalities to figure out how they actually fit together. What he's worried about is the Alchemists. Of course, by this point, since the ending of TFH is a sadistically drawn out torture, we already know from the ending of the last chapter that she's about to be captured.

I made it the door first... and found Eddie. His clothes were dirty and torn, and the right side of his face was swollen and red. There was a wild, half-crazed look in his eyes I’d never seen before. A feeling of dread settled over me, and the darkness and despair and fear that had left me alone for so long began to rear their collective ugly head. I knew, even without Eddie saying a word, what had to have happened. I knew because of that terrible look of pain on his face, a pain similar to when he hadn’t been able to save Mason. [...] “Adrian,” he gasped out. “I tried, I tried. There were too many. I couldn’t stop them.” He came forward and gripped my arm. “I tried, but they took her. It was a setup. I don’t know where she is. She tricked me, damn it! I never would have left her if she hadn’t tricked me!”

When they figure out it's a trap and he tells her to run, her first instinct was that she couldn't leave him behind. When they're running together through the woods the Alchemists start shooting at Eddie, specifically. He's running at Sydney's pace and she knows he would never leave her, the he would die to save her. And she knows she could not let him die.

Eddie won’t leave me, I thought frantically. He’ll never leave me. They want me, but they don’t care about him. He can live or die, and it won’t matter to them. But if he’s what’s keeping them away, they’ll shoot him and destroy his body. “Eddie,”I said, panting. “We need to split up.” “Never.” That answer wasn’t a surprise. What was a surprise was that out of all the things rattling around in my mind, Abe Mazur’s words popped up in the forefront:. Don’t think for an instant that I wouldn’t do terrible, unspeakable things if it could save someone I love. Because it was Abe, I’d naturally assumed he was talking about doing terrible, unspeakable things to other people. But as Eddie and I held on to each other, the words took on a whole different meaning. In that moment, I knew I would do anything to save Eddie—my friend—whom I loved. Even if it meant doing something terrible and unspeakable to myself.

The first thing established in the first paragraph of Bloodlines is that re-education is Sydney's greatest fear, literally her worst nightmare. But she faces that, she walks right back and turns herself in in order to keep Eddie safe. She tricks him into spliting up by claiming that it's part of a spell, and he believes her because he's seen her do extraordinary things.

“I tried,” he whispered. “Adrian, I tried. I never would have ever left her if I’d known. I would have stayed with her to the end. I would have laid down my life and—” I had to forcibly hit the pause button on my own feelings as I dealt with his. Eddie had lost another person. It was bad luck, that was all. He was one of the most badass , capable guardians out there, but he couldn’t believe that about himself, not when he kept seeing these failures laid at his feet. Looking into his eyes, I recognized the intense self-loathing consuming him. I knew the feeling well because I was carrying around a fair amount of it myself. “I know you would have,” I said. ��There was nothing you could do.” He shook his head and stared off with a haunted look. “I was an idiot. I never should’ve bought into that spell stuff. After what I’d seen her do with fire, it just seemed so . . . well, real. I believed her. It made sense.” I smiled without humor. “Because that’s what she does. She’s trained to make people believe things. And outsmart them. You didn’t have a chance.” She also was willing to trade her own life to save her friend’s, but no one had trained her to do that. It was just something within her. Eddie wasn’t going to be swayed so easily, and I left him to his grief as I huddled with mine.

When Sydney's captured, Eddie feels like he failed her, just as he'd failed Mason in Spokane, and Jill when the rebels killed her. But still, he has faith in her, that she can hold on to herself:

“How much can they really change her, though?” asked Eddie. “I mean . . . she’s Sydney. She’ll be the same . . . right? She can fight them.”

In Silver Shadows,Sydney is in re-education, and she still finds it in her to be worried about her friends on the outside. Eddie's humiliation and guilt over having lost Sydney killed the kindling romance he had with Jill. There isn't much he can do to help find her at this point.

Once they find a lead on where she is, going to her rescue is very important to Eddie, but he also feels conflicted about leaving Jill with less protection. When the time comes, Jill convinces them to take Eddie because he needed to be part of her rescue, he'd been consumed by guilt this whole time, and that might be the only thing that would allow him to feel redeemed.

With some urging from Jill, he leaves her behind, and goes off to break into a prison again, to rescue a much worthier prisoner this time. After getting mostof the prisoners out, Eddie and Adrian go back into the burning building to get Sydney and the remaining people. After they bring her out to freedom, they have this moment where they hold each other and cry, it always makes me so emotional:

Eddie came last, and as we sized each other up, the tears hovering in my eyes finally spilled. “Eddie, I’m so sorry I lied to you that night.” He shook his head and pulled me to him. I heard tears choke up his voice. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stop them. I’m sorry I wasn’t protection enough.” “Oh, Eddie,” I said, sniffling. “You’re the best protection. No one could have a better guardian than you. Or a better friend.”

I hope Eddie did feel redeemed, because Sydney pretty much immediately tricks him, and gives him the slip again. She does take the time to try to nudge his love life again first. Then she goes off with Adrian, going against the plan, because she thinks the other fugitives will be safer without her.

"Eddie shot me one last parting smile that nearly choked me up again." “I never thought I’d see Castile brought to tears,” said Adrian as he started up the Mustang. “This really hit him hard. Hell, it hit all of us hard, but he really beat himself up for it. He never forgave himself for you giving him the slip.” “Let’s hope he can,” I said, putting my seatbelt on. “Because it’s about to happen again. We aren’t meeting them at the safe house.”

Eddie was furious about this, but at least this time she didn't get captured. And soon enough he had something else to feel bad about, since Jill went missing right after he got back to her. She disppeared without a trace in the middle of the night, and there's another failure laid at Eddie's feet.

He's not in a great state in the beginning of The Ruby Circle:

Eddie appeared in the doorway. Seeing him almost always brought a smile to my face. In Palm Springs, we’d passed ourselves off as twins, sharing similar dark blond hair and brown eyes. But over time, he’d truly come to feel like a brother to me. I knew few others with such courage and loyalty. I was proud to call him my friend, and as such, it hurt me to see all the pain he felt over Jill’s disappearance. There was always a haunted look about him now, and sometimes I worried whether he was really taking care of himself. He hardly ever shaved anymore, and I had a feeling the only reason he bothered eating was so that he could keep training and stay in shape for when he located Jill’s abductors.

Sydney isn't doing all that great either, stuck in a hostile environment while she deals with her trauma and worries about Jill. When Sydney and Eddie sneak out of court to look for Jill, the power of Raptorbot can make him smile:

“It couldn’t have been that unexpected,” I argued. “I mean, why did he build a dinosaur body for her? Why not something more human? Or at least a more friendly animal?” “Because then there wouldn’t have been much of a movie,” said Eddie. “There’s still got to be a plausible backstory …” I said. A wry smile crossed Eddie’s features, and although the entire topic was absurd, I realized I’d hardly ever seen anything but a grim expression on his face since Jill had been taken. “I don’t think you can really sit down with a movie called Raptorbot Rampage and expect a plausible backstory,” he said. The attendant looked offended. “What are you suggesting? It was a fine piece of film. When the sequel comes out, people will be lined up out the doors to see this exhibit!” “Sequel?” Eddie and I asked in unison.

I love it when the twins talkin unison, even if they probably had opposite tones. And I really love Eddie being a fan of Raptorbot I'm sorry. He and Declan have matching Raptorbot pajamas, you can't change my mind. This is another exchange that screams siblings to me:

“We were probably his only customers today,” I remarked. “That’ll make us memorable—that and having someone who’s actually seen and liked Raptorbot Rampage.” “Hey,” warned Eddie. “Don’t judge until you’ve watched it.”

Later Sydney tries to tease him about it again, but he's focused on the search so his good humor doesn't come back. I think it's very sweet thet she saw something that had made him momentarily happy through the pain, and tried to press that button again.

Eddie is understandably very protective throughout this book. It's not paranoia if they're really out to get you, they actually run into Sydney's family, while they're trying to stay off the Alchemists' radar:

“Then get out of here. Hurry—before he comes out. Both of you.” I was stunned at this complete reversal in her behavior, but Eddie didn’t need to be told twice. He took hold of my arm and nearly dragged me to the car. “We’re going—now,” he ordered. I caught one last glimpse of Zoe before Eddie shoved me in the car, where Ms. Terwilliger sat waiting for us. A thousand emotions played over Zoe’s face as we peeled out, but I could only interpret a few. Sadness. Longing. As we quickly got back on the road, I found myself shaking. Eddie was driving and kept anxiously checking the rearview mirror. “No sign of pursuit,” he said. “She must not have been able to see which direction we went to tell him.” I slowly shook my head. “No … she didn’t tell him at all. She helped us.” “Sydney,” said Eddie, in a stern-but-trying-to-sound-kind voice, “she’s the one who turned you in the first time! The one who started that whole re-education nightmare.”

He doesn't really belive that Zoe had a change of heart, and he tries to be so gentle with Sydney, while anxiously trying to get her away.

With how sad he is in this TRC (he even has broody beard to show it), the bits where he gets excited about things are really adorable. He's very enthusiastic about meeting Malachi Wolfe:

“Are the Chihuahuas really trained to attack?” he asked. I couldn’t help but grin. “That’s what Wolfe claims. We’ve never seen them in action, though.” “I can’t wait to see his nunchucks.” “Do not touch them,” I warned. “Or any weapon, without permission. If he approves of you, he might lend you something too.” [...] “Oh, man,” breathed Eddie. “There really is a herd of them.” I’d seen Eddie fearlessly face down an attacking Strigoi, but he took an uneasy step back at the sound of the canine charge. I grinned and turned toward the door, waiting for Malachi Wolfe himself to answer.

There's a lot of hugging after Sydney leaves re-education. Sydney and Eddie hug a lot, but just in general. Good for her it's what she deserves. "“Eddie,” Sydney exclaimed, running to give him a hug. He grinned back. “You guys okay?” "

When Sydney and Eddie are preparing to infiltrate the Warriors of Light as recruits, she gets a super strength spell while he gets super excited about it, and they have the cutest arm wrestle in history:

“And how much stronger?” asked Eddie eagerly. “Like lift-up-a-car stronger?” Maude smiled. “Sorry to disappoint, but no. [...]” She glanced between Eddie and Sydney speculatively, her smile growing. “I’d say you’re strong enough to hold your own with a dhampir in an arm wrestling match.” “I would kind of love to see that,” I admitted. Eddie’s face said he would as well. Sydney groaned. “Really? That’s so barbaric.” Eddie leaned over and propped his arm up on the table that had previously held the canteen. “Come on, Mrs. Ivashkov. Let’s do this. Besides, if you’re squeamish about arm wrestling, how are you going to handle going head-to-head with the Warriors?” [...] Ultimately, Eddie pushed his strength to its limit and finally defeated her, but not without her holding her own for a while. I held up her arm triumphantly, like a victor at a boxing match. “My wife, ladies and gentlemen. Beauty, brains, and now brawn.” “Awesome,” said Eddie, in a rare moment of delight.

He's really excited about human magic in general, such an adorable nerd. And again, they really do admire each other so much. Following Sydney's blackmailing the Alchemists: "I hung up, and Eddie regarded me with awe. “That was pretty badass. But do you actually think it’ll work?”"

In the epilogue, Eddie pulled strings to live with Sydney and Adrian as a Guardian, and he's one of the people who's in on Declan's secret. He even chooses to sleepin Declan's room.

I sprinted out of the room and up the stairs, to the bedroom that doubled as both a nursery and Eddie’s room. I had high enough royal rank to finally be assigned my own guardian, and Eddie, in that noble way of his, had pulled strings to be assigned to us. I’d initially protested because I wanted him to stay at Court and have a semi-normal dating life with Jill. Eddie, however, felt obligated to be with us—both out of friendship to Sydney and me and for all the times Neil had helped him. We’d offered to turn the house’s small study into Eddie’s own bedroom, but he always ended up sleeping in Declan’s room anyway.

I'm really glad they didn't get separated by the end, it always makes me happy to think about them living together.

#Rapha's Bloodlines Tag #sydney sage #eddie castile #bloodlines series #vampire academy #melrose twins #va #bloodlines #vablappreciationweek #I think I'm late even in Honolulu #I'm incapable of keeping things short and simple #my outline for both these posts had one sentence per book

[a-student-out-of-time]

There's a good and a bad way to subvert expectations. Unfortunately what's been happening a lot lately is that many works go for twists for the sake of being twists, the Star Wars Sequels being a prime example of this. Or the later sessions of Game of Thrones. There is a fine balance between being able to surprise your audience and not being extremely predictable.

//I’ve absorbed more complaints and feelings from both those series through pop-culture osmosis than I have from watching them. I’m more of a casual observer, but I do have some feelings on both these points (which I will put under here if you’re interested.)

//tl;dr version: I think we should unbiasedly judge media on its own merits and look over what works internally within the story and what doesn’t, be willing to make our own judgements rather than jump on bandwagons and tell people what they should or shouldn’t like, and not treat opinions as straight facts.

//And also that I’m honestly tired of hearing about the sequels and GoT ^^;

//I disagree with a lot of people on the Star Wars sequels (aside from 9, fuck 9), but I’d rather not start a debate about it nor their quality overall. Only that I think people really overreacted to them  and many others jumped on the hate bandwagon when emotions were running high.

//Frankly, many of the criticisms I saw about the films felt either wildly inconsistent about what they’re upset about or what they wanted it to be (7 was criticized for being too much like old Star Wars, 8 for not being enough like old Star Wars) and others felt like they came from bad faith and I can’t take them seriously.

//And yes, the last season of Game of Thrones is trash and wrecked everyone’s storylines for the sake of being shocking, but let’s also be real: GoT was never going to have a happy ending if it wanted to stick to its “realism.” Whoever got on the Iron Throne was inevitably going to have to purge all opposition to consolidate power. That’s just how real revolutions and coups work.

//To be clear, Daenerys’ turn to evil murderousness was stupidly executed, but it wasn’t necessarily unprecedented. What I frankly dislike about fantasy in general is its tendency toward the Divine Right of Kings. That only certain bloodlines have the right to rule and you just need to put the “rightful heir” on the throne. In other words, giving absolute power to a magically omnibenevolent person will fix everything. I may be an optimistic humanist, but I know that simply doesn’t happen.

//The entire point of GoT is that DRoK is stupid and royalty in general really kinda sucks. If you go back, you see most of the lords we follow, including “good king” Eddard Stark, are either totally indifferent to the masses or are completely sadistic and torture them for funsies since the legal system doesn’t protect peasants.

//The Starks are no better than the Lannisters simply by virtue of being overall “nicer” than them. Both sides start wars that get thousands of people killed. Also, everybody loved John Snow, but he also fucking hanged a kid and I’ve never heard anyone bring that up since.

//Most importantly, Daenerys was a likable character with a sympathetic backstory, but even before the last season, she was fully embracing being a Targaryen by blood and was openly murdering people who got in her way while she was conquering territory after territory.

//Yes, a lot of the people she killed were slaveholders, but let’s be real for a moment: not everyone who participates in an evil system is evil themselves. It’s easy for us as the audience to judge them for participating in a slavocracy, but living in one comes with being told slavery is okay. That doesn’t make them evil by nature, just subject to the biases of their culture.

//Also, slavery is evil but conquering people is fine? And burning people to death for opposing you is acceptable since you’re going to be better and free everyone, or because you had a sympathetic backstory? These are the kinds of things that get villains criticized for, but is treated as a necessary evil at worst for the protagonists.

//This is protagonist-centered morality. The show is framing it in a way where you’re being drawn in to see it that way, but also telling you not to see blatant hypocrisies for what they really are. Daenerys was even called as mad as her father by Tyrion. It wasn’t well-executed, but it was going to happen regardless of how much anyone liked her.

//Violence for a good cause is still violence. If you’re going to burn people for disagreeing with you, then say that other people shouldn’t and should listen to others, that’s full-on hypocrisy. That goes for most of the characters in the show, frankly, and the message is executed well for most of it.

//That being said, don’t think this means I think the last season of GoT is good, that the Star Wars sequels are perfect, or that I hate all fantasy books ever. That’s not what I’m saying. I try to enjoy what’s good about them and point out their flaws regardless.

//What I’m saying is it’s important to, when you want to be critical of media, put your feelings and biases aside and judge the media you’re criticizing on its own merits. In my opinion, the claims that the sequels only did things to subvert expectations is unfounded. They were going their own direction, which was admittedly controversial and not what many people wanted, but just because you don’t want it to happen doesn’t mean it’s a bad twist

//Just like how a character isn’t a Mary Sue just because they’re too OP or you don’t like them. That’s not what that term means and hearing people use it like that irritates me. While I do have my complaints about characters, people use that term as if it’s a form of literary criticism that has more use than is necessary.

//If a character is OP, they’re OP. If a character is flat, they’re flat. If a character is poorly written, they’re poorly written. If a character is at the center of the universe and literally everything else exists just to amplify them and their role in things, then they’re likely a Mary Sue/Gary Stu. It’s not a label to slap on  a character you don’t like or to give a critique (or complaint) more weight.

//This is why I say DR3 Chiaki isn’t a Mary Sue, she’s just not a very well written character. All Mary Sues are poorly written characters, but not all poorly written characters are Mary Sues. She’s not terrible, but she’s not explored much and her only big roles are being the person who brings Class 77-B together and her death turns them to despair.

//While her death was tragic and brutal, we didn’t really get a good look at who she was as a person beyond just being nice and opening up to her friends. If they’d expanded on that a little more, maybe it would’ve been more effective, but the way she died felt...manipulative and shock baity in a lot of ways since it banked mostly on our familiarity with her despite it being a totally different person.

//DR3 honestly had a whole host of shocky and just plain gross scenes that I really don’t think needed to be there.

//But likewise, if a story has a plot twist that you don’t like, that doesn’t automatically make it purely shock bait or subverting expectations just for the sake of doing so. There’s a difference between “this character was evil all along and there were a lot of clues and we just didn’t want to believe it” and “this character was evil all along for reasons we’re dumping on you now.”

//Just so I don’t seem like a hypocrite, while I personally don’t like what happened with Mikan in chapter 3 of SDR2, it was an effective way of foreshadowing the truth of them being the remnants of despair. It was set up that every had lost their memories and this was a sign that getting them back wasn’t necessarily going to have a good outcome.

//And I’ll be real: I can’t take a lot of the complaints about the Sequels or GoT seriously because much of it carries overtones of racism, sexism and antisemitism. For those more into Star wars, I think you know what I mean already and that’s all I’ll say. As for GoT, I’ve seen reddit posts viscerally attacking the writers directly and even saying that we should’ve expected the ending to suck since it was “written by Jews.”

//Yeah, go figure I can’t read any of that. I know not all people who hated the show’s ending or the films are like that, but it’s impossible to deny that those attitudes are very real.

//In the end, if you want to be critical of media, the worst way to do that is to just watch a video of someone complaining about it for half an hour. Yes, those video essays can be fun, but the only way to be truly critical of media you enjoy is to examine it yourself and look closely at what’s in it and how it’s presented. That goes doubly for shows you like.

//I know not everyone will do that and all opinions are ultimately subjective, but don’t let someone else tell you that you should hate something or that something is bad just because they didn’t like how it ended. Watch or read it yourself and draw your own conclusions. Don’t just follow the crowd and also be respectful of people who don’t agree with you. You can learn a lot when you talk to someone with a different opinion.

#mod talks #mod rambles #a student out of time #just giving my thoughts #Anonymous #cw: racism #cw: sexism #cw: antisemitism

[anhed-nia]

BLOGTOBER 10/17/2020: SPOOKIES

What do we watch, when we watch movies? This question was sparked by my SOV experience with the very different, and differently interesting BLOODY MUSCLE BODYBUILDER FROM HELL and HORROR HOUSE ON HIGHWAY 5. Within the Shot On Video category, one can find inventive homemade features that are driven entirely by blood, sweat, and the creators' feeling of personal satisfaction. The results are sometimes fascinating, in their total alienation from the conventions and techniques of mainstream filmmaking, and after all, one rarely sees anything whose primary motivation is passion, here in the late stages of capitalism. But, all this talk about what goes on behind the camera points to a discrepancy in how we consume different kinds of production. The typical mode of consumption is internal to the movie: What happens in it? Do you relate to the characters? Are you able to suspend your disbelief, to experience the story on a vicarious level? One hardly needs to come up with examples of films that invite this style of viewing. Alternatively, we can experience the movie as a record of a time and place in which real people defied conventions and sometimes broke laws in order to produce a work of art. SOV production is usually viewed through this lens, where the primary interest is not the illusory content, but the filmmakers' sheer determination to create. We find some overlap in movies like EVIL DEAD, which simultaneously presents a terrifying narrative, and evidence of what a truly driven team can create without the aid of a studio, or any real money to speak of. See also, Larry Cohen's New York City-based horror films, in which a compelling drama with great acting can exist side by side with phony but beautiful effects, and exciting stories of stolen footage that would be dangerous or impossible to attempt today. I'm thinking about these different modes of consumption now because I just watched SPOOKIES, a legitimately cursed-seeming film whose harrowing production history has superseded whatever people think about what it shows on the screen. The lovingly composed blu-ray from Vinegar Syndrome includes a feature-length documentary that attempts to explain the making of the film--which is accompanied by its own feature length commentary track by documentarists Michael Gingold and Glen Baisley. The very existence of this artifact suggests a lot about the nature of this movie, in and of itself. The truth behind its existence is as funny as it is tragic.

I'm not going to do a whole breakdown of the tortured origins of SPOOKIES, which is much better told by the aforementioned documentary. To summarize: Once upon a time in the mid 1980s, filmmakers Brendan Faulkner, Thomas Doran and Frank Farel conspired to make a fun, flamboyant rubber monsterpiece called TWISTED SOULS. It was wild, ridiculous, and transparently fake-looking, but it was loved by its hard-working creators; as a viewer, that soulful sense of joy can rescue many a "bad" movie from its various foibles. Then, inevitably, sleazoid producer Michael Lee stepped in--a man who thought you could cut random frames out of the middle of scenes to improve a movie's pace--and ruined it with extreme prejudice. Carefully crafted special effects sequences were cut, relatively functional scenes were re-edited into oblivion, and the seeds of hatred were sown between the filmmakers and the producer. Ultimately, everyone who once cared for TWISTED SOULS was forced to abandon ship, and first time director Eugenie Joseph stepped in to help mutilate the picture beyond all recognition. Thus SPOOKIES was born, a mangled, unloved mutation that would curse many of its original parents to unemployability. For the audience, it is intriguingly insane, often insulting, and hard to tear your eyes off of--but in spite of whatever actually wound up on the screen, it's impossible to forget its horrifying origin story as it unspools.

As far as what's on the screen goes: A group of "friends", including a middle-aged businessman and his wife, a vinyl-clad punk rock bully and his moll, two new wave-y in-betweeners, and...a guy with a hand puppet are somehow all leaving the same party, and all ready to break into a vacant funeral home for their afterparty. Well, this happens after a 13 year old runaway inexplicably wanders in to a "birthday party" in there, that looks like it was thrown for him by Pennywise, and he has the nerve to act surprised when he is attacked by a severed head and a piratey-looking cat-man who straight up purrs and meows throughout the picture. Anyway, separately of that, which is unrelated to anything, the island of misfit friends finds a nearly unrecognizable "ouija board" in the old dark house. Actually this thing is kind of fun-looking, having been made by one of the fun-havers on the production before the day that fun died, and I wonder if anyone has considered trying to make a real board game out of it...but I digress. Naturally, the board unleashes evil forces, including a zombie uprising in the cemetery outside, a plague of Ghoulie-like ankle-biters, an evil asian spider-lady (accompanied by kyoto flutes), muck-men that fart prodigiously until they melt in a puddle of wine (?), and uh...I know I'm forgetting stuff. One of the reasons I'm forgetting is because of this whole side story about a tuxedo-wearing vampire in the basement (or somewhere?) who has entrapped a beautiful young bride by cursing her with immortality. That part is a little confusing, not only because it doesn't intersect with the rest of the movie, but because sometimes it seems contemporary--as the bride struggles to survive the zombie plague--and sometimes it seems like a flashback, as our heroes find what looks like the mummified corpse of the dracula guy, complete with his signet ring. So, I don't know what to tell you really. Those are just some of the things that happen in the movie.

Some people like this a lot, and have supported its ascendance to cult status, which is a huge relief when you know what everyone went through to make this movie, only to have it ripped away from them and used against them. I found SPOOKIES a little hard to take, for all the reasons that the cast and crew express in the documentary. It holds a certain amount of visual fascination, whatever you think of it; something of its original creativity remains evident in the movie's colorful, exaggerated look, and its steady parade of unconvincing but inventive creature effects. But then, you have to deal with the farting muck-men. What was once a scene of terror starring REGULAR muck-men, that sounded incredibly laborious to pull off, became a scene of confusing "comedy" when producer Michael Lee insisted that the creatures be accompanied by a barrage of scatalogical noises. Apparently this was Lee's dream come true, as a guy who insisted everyone pull his finger all the time, and who once tried to call the movie "BOWEL ERUPTOR". But, of all the deformations SPOOKIES endured, the fart sounds dealt a mortal injury to the filmmakers' feelings, and even without knowing that, it's hard to enjoy yourself while that's happening.

Actually, all the farts forced me to ask myself: Is this...a comedy? Like for real, as its main thing? As the movie slogged on, I had to decide that it wasn't, but I was distracted by the notion for around 40 minutes. I was only released from this nagging suspicion when the bride makes her long marathon run through throngs of slavering zombies who swarm her, grope her, and tear off her clothes, before she narrowly escapes to an even worse fate. The lengthy scene is strangely gripping, and sleazy for a movie that sometimes feels like low rent children's entertainment. Part of the sequence’s success lies in its simplicity; it is unburdened by the convoluted complications of the rest of the movie, whose esoteric parts never fall together, so it seems to take on a sustained, intensifying focus. The action itself is unnerving, as the delicate and frankly gorgeous Maria Pechuka is molested and stripped nearly-bare by her undead bachelors, running from one drooling mob to another as the horde nearly engulfs her time and again. Actually, it feels a lot like a certain genre of SOV production in which, for the right price, any old creepy nerd can pay a small crew-for-hire to tape a version of his private fantasy, whether it's women being consumed by slime, or women being consumed by quicksand, or...generally, women being consumed by something. I wish I could describe this form of production in more specific or official terms, because I genuinely think it's wonderful that people do this. Anyway, Pechuka's interminable zombie run feels a little like that, and a little like a grim italian gutmuncher, and a little like an actual nightmare. Perhaps it only stands out against its dubious surroundings, but I kind of love it--and I'm happy to love it, because apparently the late Ms. Pechuka truly loved making SPOOKIES, and wanted other people to love it, too.

Which brings me to the uncomfortable place where I land with this movie. On the one hand...I think it's bad. It's so incoherent, and so insists on its impoverished form of comedy, that it's hard to be as charmed by it as I am by plenty of FX-heavy, no-budget oddities. Perhaps the lingering odor of misery drowns out the sweet joy that the crew once felt in the early days of creation--which is still evident, somehow, in its zany special effects, created by the likes of Gabe Bartalos and other folks whose work you definitely already know and love. But I feel ambivalent, about all of this. On the one hand, I can be a snob, and shit on people for failing to make a movie that meets conventional standards of success. On the other hand, I can be a DIFFERENT kind of snob--a more voyeuristic or even sadistic one--and celebrate the painful failures that produced a movie that is most interesting for its tormented history and its amusing ineptitude. I'm not really sure where I would prefer to settle with SPOOKIES, and movies like it. (As if anything is really "like" SPOOKIES) With all that said, I was left with one soothing thought by castmember Anthony Valbiro in the documentary. At some point, he tells us how ROSEMARY'S BABY is his personal cinematic comfort food; he can put it on at night, after an exhausting day, and drift to sleep, enveloped in its warm, glowing aura. He then says that he hopes there are people out there for whom his movie serves that same purpose, that some of us can have our "milk and cookies moment" with SPOOKIES. Honestly, I choke up just thinking about that.

#blogtober #2020 #spookies #horror #supernatural #vampire #zombie #creature feature #old dark house #cursed film #thomas doran #frank farel #eugenie joseph #michael lee #vipco #twisted souls #brendan faulkner #maria pechuka

[tae-cup]

.hamartia. ‘Part 2,

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader (f) x Taehyung (?)

Genre: Mafia!Au, Fluff, Angst (Mostly angst oopsies) I DO NOT CONDONE BEHAVIOR DISPLAYED IN THIS, PLEASE IT’S FICTION AND DON’T DO STUPID THINGS THANK YOU

Plot: Y/N is a skilled, well, torturer, though you don’t like to call yourself that; it makes what you do too real. When mafia boss Yoongi wants information or wants a hostage to suffer, you step in. However, one fateful day you are thrown Taehyung, another person who does your line of work. You need answers, he is determined not to give them to you. That’s when you try...a different approach, and Yoongi is not pleased.

Rating: TV-MA

WARNINGS: YO IF YOU’RE NOT COOL WITH SUBTLE BI AGENDAS THEN I’M SORRY THIS IS NOT THE PLACE FOR YOU, Blood, torture, mafia things (ya know?), drugs alcohol, sadistic tendencies, a fundamentally flawed main character (I’m sorry i’m just writing myself pretty much), assault, harassment, stalking (not bad), romance (somehow), Maybe stockholm syndrome???

Word Count: 2.2k Words

A/N: Okay I need to make up my mind if this is yoongi x reader x taehyung x jimin or just taehyung and yoongi. Please help me- also I haven’t read this over so...I’m sorry if some sentences like don’t make sense 

I’ve had Heather by Conan Gray stuck in my head all day. Anyway...I’m not sure if I like this chapter, but it’ll do haha

Other:

Masterlist

Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Next

self·ish/ˈselfiSH/

adjective

(of a person, action, or motive) lacking consideration for others; concerned chiefly with one's own personal profit or pleasure.

-

-

You took a deep breath in. 

“Okay, Y/N, you’re going to try Jimin’s approach, just this once.” You muttered to yourself. You searched around your mind, begging that innocent girl from a year ago to come out. You found her hiding in the closet, door shut, and light off. Her eyes were dark, but her body still radiated a pure glow. She looked up hopefully at you. 

“I always knew you’d come back!” She squealed. 

“right...” You spoke to yourself. Then you scolded yourself, promising you’ll lock her away for good once this is over. For the last time, you handed her the reigns. 

-

-

Your hand opened the door quietly. You still had yet to apologize to Jimin, but you decided to get to that later. Of course, when you looked up at Taehyung, he was already awake. Did this man ever sleep? It was still rather early in the morning; around 4 A.M. 

“Hello!” You chirped. You sat down, trying to make conversation. “Are you hurt? Do you ache?” You asked, taking on the caring tactic in full force. You had tugged along a first aid kit to really help solidify trust. 

He didn’t answer, of course. But instead of getting annoyed, you simply smiled warmly at him. 

“It’s okay! Take you’re time. I understand this is all pretty crazy.” You continued, hoping he would see you trying to be genuine. However, trying will never be the same as actually doing it. The dark haired male looked...confused, to say the least. His head tilted to the side, observing you, picking apart your words and trying to understand where this sudden kindness was coming from. There were a million red flags, but you didn’t seem to want to harm him...yet. 

“I see there’s a pretty bad bruised.” You pointed towards his cheek. 

He didn’t respond, then going on to drink in your outfit. With that, he let his lips tug up into a smile. That outfit gave him hope, it made him start believing you weren’t there to hurt him after all. After a moment of thinking, he nodded slowly. 

“Yeah,” His voice was deep and smooth, almost melodic. It soothed you to listen to. “Your friend decided to give me a nice wake up.” 

“Ah, I’ll tell him to stop that. I apologize for yesterday. I had been informed of your arrival so suddenly. I was,” You hesitated, searching for the right words. “I was nervous, a little frazzled.” You sat very innocently, unlike yesterday. He felt he could trust you as you were right now, but it was still terrifying to know that girl yesterday still existed within you. 

“I also think...I think the rope is too tight.” He mused, seeing how far he could push it. This didn’t faze you. You simply nodded, stood, and, almost hesitantly oddly enough, went to loosen his ropes. After you had sufficiently loosened the bindings, he grasped your wrist tightly. 

“Why are you doing this?” He asked. 

“I had a moment of clarity, yesterday.” You explained lamely. 

“Hmph.”

“Why do you trust me?” You cocked an eyebrow up, your face somehow shifting to allude to the monster below. It was to your surprise when he chuckled. 

“Your outfit.” He said slowly. If there was anything he learned in his short time being in this room, it was that black was for blood. Leather meant blood and gray meant bruises. “Your outfit is white.” He breathed. His words were light against your neck where you had crouched to loosen his ropes. How did he know about your outfit coordination? You assumed he was very observant.

You stared at him this time. He was almost devastatingly handsome. Dark eyes and pitch black hair. It made your heart flutter. You quickly put your beating heart into check. Monsters don’t have hearts. You stood, tearing your wrist away from his grasp. 

“Well, I’ll try to make you comfortable.” You said quickly. You wanted to leave the room as soon as possible. Something about being near him made you feel ill. 

“If you really wanted me to feel comfortable, you’d let me out.” 

“You know I can’t do that.” You whispered more to yourself than anything else. You knew he heard it when he let out a little sigh, tossing his head to the side to move his bangs. 

You left in a hurry, feeling him stare at your back.

-

-

Yoongi didn’t seem pleased. 

“Please, Y/L/N, tell me why you let Jimin talk you into this idea.” He sighed. He looked exhausted, but he always did. You found yourself wondering if he had eaten and slept well. You shooed those thoughts away, not wanting them to distract you. 

“Oh drop the formalities, Yoongi.” You sneered. Yoongi didn’t respond, but his eyes did narrow at yours. You didn’t feel intimidated. You knew that look, you’d seen it a million times. 

After a brief pause, you continued, “I felt...I felt bad for something I said to him earlier. I thought I could give it a try, but it’s harder to build trust than I thought.” You trailed off, thinking to yourself: It’s so much easier to just break it. 

He nodded slowly, listening to your explanation. The pale man sat in his leather chair. He was a laid back sort of man. One leg was crossed over the other as he leaned back lazily. A drink of whiskey was in his hand. He swirled the brown liquid around in the glass before setting it down. Now he leaned forward, seeming to ponder the idea. 

“I think it might work, actually.” He wasn’t entirely sure, but he liked watching you squirm. 

“Really?” 

“Is there something wrong with trying a new tactic? Your job is to get information, I never said how.” 

This was the sort of argument often used in the other direction; the argument that allowed you to do whatever twisted thing came to mind. 

“But, Yoongi,” You pleaded. “I’m not cut out for this. I was just not made to love.” You looked down at your twiddling thumbs, feeling yourself turn back into that little girl from a year ago. You hated her. You should have just put her back in that closet, but here she was, popping out to say hello again. “You should know that better than anyone else, Yoongi.” Your voice was soft, but it held a certain steel to it. 

He softened instantly. That voice was all too familiar; that tone. 

“Y/N.” He cleared his throat before looking you deep in the eyes. “Every human being is made to love.” He turned around, facing the windows at the end of the office. “Sometimes, you just don’t know how to.” His mind was slowly getting lost in grief. He was grieving you, us, together. “Dismissed.” He couldn’t help feeling a pang of jealousy at the thought of you being close to another man other than Jimin. He had to let it go though, you guys were over and you have been for a few months. Besides, you never showed any signs of liking him still so he had to let go of you a little. 

You didn’t even bother trying to argue. You could sense he had become distracted, lost in thought. You were glad for the dismissal as you could feel yourself getting lost as well. 

-

-

“Oh god, please, no.” The young girl shook like a leaf. She looked to only be a year or so younger than you. “Please, you don’t have to do this.” 

The sound of a gun cocking shut her up. Hesitation flickered through you. You thought of your own family, now dead, and your own morality. Ever since coming to the mafia, you had refused to hurt anyone. Now you were being forced to. It was your humanity, your sanity, V.S. a new found family known as the mafia. 

In contrast to her sister, the girl who was actually in danger, Hwayeong, stood absolutely still. You didn’t plan on humiliating her. You just wanted the job done and over with. She was directly involved in the murder of Yoongi’s father. It seemed insane, but she did have nerves of steel, despite her angelic face. You swallowed thickly, your mouth suddenly feeling very dry. 

“I know you’re scared.” Hwayeong had a soothing voice, like a calm lake that washes over you. “And I know you were forced into this life, but you can change.” She didn’t sound fearful, though you knew she must be. “I’d welcome you with open arms.” She didn’t sound concerned or even pitying, she just sounded genuine. The dark haired girl sounded understanding and compassionate. 

“I have to do this job.” You said quietly, gun still pointed at her, but now shaking. Hwayeong seemed to understand because she nodded her head, stepping forward. She grabbed the gun’s end and moved your arm so it pointed at her forehead. Her eyes stared into yours, pools of obsidian. 

“Then do it. I have nothing left to bargain and I’m not going to deny the killing of that cruel man.” She held her head high. She seemed a proud woman. “But for the love of god, stop shaking, I want the shot to be clean and the death soon and blessed.” 

You couldn’t help but gape at her request. She wrapped her slender fingers around yours on the handle. 

“Shoot me.” She didn’t break eye contact, and you didn’t either. “Shoot me and we’ll all call it a suicide. I know how it feels to be in your position.” That raised a million questions. Was this the right choice?

“I-” The bang of the gun shocked you. You jumped, stumbling back a few steps as you stared at the body before you. You had held the gun. She had pulled the trigger. While her family screamed and sobbed, tied up and terrified, you ran outside and heaved the contents of lunch onto the lawn out front. You brought your sleeve up and wiped away the food around your mouth. Then you went back inside. 

The house felt so small now. It was almost suffocating as you untied the family members. They stood in silence. You picked up the gun and slowly rose. You looked each member in their eyes, barely acknowledging their hollowness. 

“This was a suicide.” You nodded at each of them. They nodded slowly back. “If I hear otherwise, you’re all dead.” And that was the last straw. The last humanity left in you. Those obsidian black eyes still burned into you. 

-

-

Unlike last night, you jerked awake with this one, your heart racing. Why now? Why were you reliving these painful memories now? For the past few months it’s been so easy to just push and push the memories deep down. You had locked them in your basement. So how had they flooded back up so suddenly. They were suffocating you. 

You felt like you couldn’t breathe. You reached out for someone to hug, someone to hold, only to find no one. Instead, you curled up, squeezing your eyes shut as tight as possible. You weakly hit your head with a fist as if to release these memories. You let your mind to turn to something else. The reality of the dream slowly slipped away. Her eyes left your mind temporarily; it was something you had sworn you’d never forget. 

Fuck. You still needed to apologize to Jimin. He would probably be upset to know that you didn’t even notice that he wasn’t there all day. But the point was that you thought of him now. Only now did you realize how much you missed his company.

 He would have known what to say to Taehyung to get him to talk more. Jimin, yes, helped you get information, but he was also a silver tongue. He could talk his way into and out of most things. That’s how he was “hired” for this mafia. He actually had been kidnapped, much like Taehyung. But, he managed to talk the, much more naive at the time, interrogator to move him upstairs. Then he talked them into letting him borrow a car. By the time he could escape, he knew too much and he knew the other members too well. He didn’t want to leave them. 

You suddenly felt very sympathetic for him. Maybe it was because the old you had the reigns. So now here you were, standing outside his room, lost in thought. You didn’t even knock when he opened the door. 

“I suspected you would come.” He scoffed, trying to look indifferent. You didn’t wait for him to finish his sentence as you engulfed him in a hug. 

“I’m sorry, about everything.”

He carefully hugged you back, hands going to your neck to pull you in closer. “I know.” He whispered.

-

-

ahhhhhh that’s it for part 2, I’ll make part 3 soon! Let me know what you 

Previous | Next 

#bts #yoongi #taehyung #bts mafia #taehyung mafia #yoongi mafia #taehyung x reader #yoongi x reader #bts x reader #fluff #angst #hamartia

[etirabys]

natandacat replied to your post “the 95th percentile of m/m darkfic is much darker than the 95th...”

Please post good f/f fics I'm so tired of the obligatory soft f/f fics.... I never see the fics I want to see in f/f and I dont think it's because f/f readers are "woke", I think it's because women are not allowed to be fucking complex and dark in fiction and fans perpetuate this one dimensional vision of a "woman" under a little woke hat

I think this is far too harsh an analysis of why f/f fic tends to be so ‘soft’ – surely there are many ‘soft’ f/f fics where the characters are in fact complex and have flaws. One could just as easily say, it is the writers of those fics who are depicting women in a respectful and realistic light, and people like me (and you?) who like the torture and kidnapping and rape in fiction are merely sadists trying to put a moral spin on their preferences. I think neither that picture nor yours is fair.

We don’t know the reasons why f/f fic overall tends to look somewhat different from m/m fic, and while we can make various guesses at why, at the end of the day these stories are being written by people who find meaning in & get off on the things they write, who probably aren’t that unusual in decency or thoughtfulness than the general population.

Okay, with that said, let me link you my favorite f/f fic (Devil Wears Prada fandom), which isn’t dark in any way but features a relationship between complex, flawed people: https://archiveofourown.org/works/779826

And have some good old fashioned mind control noncon f/f porn under the cut.

"I'm glad we got that over with," Sabral said, and buried her hand in Casitha’s hair. "I don't think we'll have to repeat that, do you?"

Exhausted, she shook her head. She never wanted to be beaten like that again. It was entirely different from the kind of mental assault she'd been expecting, and differently awful. And she never wanted to be exposed, either, to the almost insane indifference Sabral had shown between the simple beating and more serious torture.

"Good girl," she said. "Spread your legs."

Casitha heard herself make a kind of clenched whimpering noise – she couldn't, she wouldn't – and then she obeyed, turning her face into the pillow. She was now at the point, where even while resisting she knew she would give soon.

Sabral started rubbing very gently at Casitha’s opening, pulling memories from her as she did so, which didn't break her conditioning because they weren't classified – her own father placing her on his lap and toying with her as he watched TV, the brief uncomfortable fling she'd had with a classmate when she was eighteen. All her other sexual encounters were with senior Constellation telepaths, and therefore hung back in an encrypted jumble that even she couldn't access directly when she was under telepathic attack.

But somehow Sabral guessed. "I'm guessing the high ranked ones made you like it," she said. "It's a trick common to all the very powerful ones. The illusion of a willing partner is very seductive for most people. They'll buy what they can't attract, and force what they can't buy."

Casitha’s shoulders went up. She was caught painfully between trying to access memories her mind wouldn't let her look at directly, and ignoring what Sabral said at her peril. And Sabral was in her mind, watching that pain. And she was assessing, with professional certainty, whether it would take one month or two to dismantle the mental structures and locks that kept her mind running the way it did.

Casitha realized she was being pulled into Sabral’s mind, crossing the boundary as calmly and unobtrusively as the tide retreating from a chenier, taking debris with it. Or a dance partner wheeling her in a broad, subtle gyre into the darkened periphery of a ballroom. She did not resist – did not want to resist, when resisting meant being closer to the sensation of Sabral’s fingers between her legs, or the pain dully throbbing trapped between heated skin and gauze.

Sabral’s mind was cool, and silent, and ordered. It made her think of a vale where a wounded animal might go to quietly die. There was no trace there of even the mild compulsion that telepaths casually exerted all the time on weaker people, and no evidence of the deeply rooted command structures that existed in her own mind: it was a mind that had never known a yoke. A field of deep, untouched snow.

Distantly, she recognized that Sabral was getting her to approach orgasm. And she heard herself speak, in the same polite informative voice she used to her Constellation superiors: "I've never come without telepathic interference."

Sabral’s mild interest was like a cold breeze. "Can you give yourself an orgasm by the same means?"

"I've only tried a few times, and didn't succeed."

"Do you want one now?"

"Yes, please," she said, to that dangerous cold stillness.

She didn't even feel Sabral try. One second her body was stuttering on that familiar plateau; the next it was being jerked up like an accelerating starship. She made the same noise she would have made on a suddenly accelerating starship. And then that familiar, ambiguous pleasure was filling her – in controlled bursts with a second or two between them, during which she caught her breath. Sabral was showing off.

"I am," she agreed. "There are times when I'm not bored with power."

Casitha’s own mind presented to her an image: a vehicle Sabral was steering one-handed, without much attention to the road. Some part of her roared, hating it. She mentally buckled where Sabral was expecting her to hold steady, and for a second they stopped interfacing. The reins jerked out of Sabral’s hands. The rest of Casitha’s orgasm rushed through her in an irregular, unscheduled, painful rush. She spasmed, and the skin of her flayed body screamed in protest. Tears rushed into her eyes.

"Well!" Sabral said, as she came.

To her astonishment, Sabral sounded pleased. She lay there panting, trying to compose herself and failing. She was terrified of what Sabral would do. It had taken so little time to break her physically – she'd already known it would. That was what the mind guards were for, to make a lock box of her mind that would endure the enclosing mind shattering around it.

"Let's have another one," Sabral said, and went straight back, hand and mind. Casitha flinched uselessly as Sabral built her up again, reinforcing the flickers of pleasure, like a baseload generator supplementing the intermittent electric output of her pleasure. This time she did as she was meant to and did not resist. She buried her face into the sheets and let it happen: rolling waves of controlled interference, building up to an artificial peak.

Most orgasms hurt in some way. Even when she chased it, when it came, part of her wanted it to stop. It felt too much like pain. This one didn't. It built up and then rushed down like the cool waves of a fountain. Pure, mild pleasure. She thought of vanilla and silk and the sedate pendulation of a tall swing. She didn't scream; the noise she made was almost questioning.

Her entire body was suddenly relaxed. The pain on her back was still there, but muted, almost pleasant.

She turned her face to look warily at Sabral out of one eye. Her countenance was uninformative. She had stopped touching Casitha some minutes ago – that had been all mental.

#natandacat #dashreplies #infinite monkey #fandemonium

[razberryyum]

The Untamed/陈情令 Rewatch, Episode 6, Part 1 of 2

(spoilers for everything MDZS/Untamed and a little for Princess Weiyoung)

[covers MDZS chapter 18 and a bit of chaps 56 and 66]

WangXian meter: 🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰

(a 🐰 is earned every time there is a WangXian scene or even when they’re just thinking of each other…there’s so much Wangxian-ness in this episode, one post couldn’t contain all of it)

Team CQL went rogue for the two major events featured in this episode—the Cloud Recesses drinking incident and the WangXian bathing scene—and really, bless them and their ancestors for that decision. Not only did the changes provide Wei Ying and Lan Zhan with additional bonding time, but they actually had significant bearing on future events.

Originally in the novel, Lan Zhan didn’t actually partake in the drinking incident that got Wei Ying punished: some nameless disciples, Nie Huaisang and Jiang Cheng were the ones who actually took part in those activities. Lan Zhan only found their drunk asses the next morning and dragged Wei Ying off for disciplinary action (although, from the way the scene was described in the book, it actually seemed like he was more angry at Wei Ying for looking at porn, lol). However, for the live action, that entire scenario was transformed into Lan Zhan actually getting drunk for the first time, albeit against his will. Of course it would have been better if he willingly joined in, but at that point in time, that would have been illogical, not to mention completely out of character for him, so even though Wei Ying sort of did Lan Zhan wrong, there was probably no other way he could have gotten him to share a drink with him otherwise.

I am especially grateful for this change because that is the moment when my eyes were finally open to Wang Yibo’s talents as an actor and I started to really appreciate his performance. Prior to this episode, I was actually wondering if he was playing stoicism so well because that’s really all he was capable of doing, but then, when he dropped that rigid façade and gave us a charmingly adorable drunk Lan Zhan, I realized that everything that came before were indeed acting choices, that he was definitely able to do more than that. Not to mention, he also had pretty good comedic timing. I started to look at him in an entirely new light after watching this episode, and the rest is, as they say, history.

Upon revisiting this episode last night, I finally realized something that I never thought of before, and I feel actually pretty stupid for not even making the connection until now.  During the Koi tower scenes in the present, when Wei Ying as the paperman was eavesdropping on Jin Guangyao and his wife’s conversation, I couldn’t figure out how JGY was able to put Qin Su under his control the way he did, but in watching this episode again, it finally came to me: he probably used a modified version of the charm that Wei Ying used on Lan Zhan in here. After all, JGY was one of the many people who raided the Burial Mounds and took over the Yiling Patriarch’s possessions after his death, so it would make sense for him to discover this particular memento as well. When I first watched this episode, I was mainly just impressed by how powerful the charm is that it would be able to put someone like Lan Zhan under its spell, considering he’s not just some lay person, but rather someone who already had a pretty high level of cultivation by then. I simply saw it as yet another indicator of just how talented and powerful Wei Ying was even at that young age. But now, thinking that Team CQL may have laid the groundwork for something that was going to happen so much later just makes me so much more impressed with their planning.

Of course I could simply be overthinking this whole thing and JGY’s magical powers could just be his own magical powers, or something common to the cultivation world that my dumb brain just overlooked, but for those few seconds when I thought I came upon a fascinating connection, I was quite proud of myself, so allow me to coast on that sense of euphoria just a little while more.

Bonding and other cuteness

Of course I loved every single moment of the Drunk!Lan Zhan sequence, starting with that tiny little flirtatious gesture by Wei Ying. Seriously, how CUTE is that?? Makes me smile every time I see it, and I’ve rewound that little moment numerous times. How anyone can be resistant to Wei Wuxian’s charms I can never understand, but clearly Lan Zhan was still holding out on him. I’m glad that Team CQL chose this incident to reveal the nature of the Gusu Lan head ribbon since it directly led to Wei Ying’s bonding moment with Lan Zhan. Even though the other man was still generally cold to him, it was really sweet that Wei Ying still felt comfortable enough to share the precious memory of his parents with him.

It’s a real shame that Lan Zhan didn’t remember any of it the next day, but I did take comfort in the fact that he still knelt by Wei Ying like a united front to receive Uncle Lan’s wrath and punishment. I’m sure most of that was motivated by his own pride and sense of righteousness, but I still found it touching, especially with how much Wei Ying was defending Lan Zhan so that he would be spared the disciplinary action. Wei Ying was much less protective in the novel during that scene–he was mostly indignant–even  though he was still the one to blame for Lan Zhan’s involvement in the whole incident by basically tricking him into breaking curfew. I love that even though Team CQL changed the drinking incident, they still managed to maintain the spirit of its novel counterpart, much like they did with the Phoenix Mountain Hunt.

And then of course there was this:

Which was obviously a treat for our imaginations to get our creative juices flowing so that we can imagine on our own what might have taken place during the night that led to Wei Wuxian waking up in his half-dressed state. For this gift, I am eternally grateful to the production team.

Jiang Cheng Has Fun For Once

I was actually surprised that Jiang Cheng would join in on the drinking party because up until then he had spent most of his time basically disapproving everything Wei Ying did while also seemingly in a constant state of worry that he would embarrass their sect. Imbibing alcohol was clearly a violation of Gusu Lan rules so it’s kind of amazing that Jiang Cheng willingly join in on such an act of rebellion. Nie Huaisang, on other hand, I totally expected to be a part of the shenanigans…I would’ve expected nothing less from him…but Jiang Cheng was a pleasant surprise. I really enjoyed seeing him let loose like that, especially since we got to find out what he looked for in a mate.

The sad thing is Wen Qing actually fit all of his requirements for a wife, except for that family one, which i in the end, proved to be the most important one after all since it became the deal-breaker, dooming their relationship before it even got a chance to get started.

Another rather sad aspect of seeing Jiang Cheng so at ease and acting like a total goofball is that this really would be the only time we would ever see him this way.  His time at Cloud Recesses was probably the most enjoyable and carefree for him. I doubt he was ever able to enjoy himself the same way again. It actually makes me wonder if he EVER was able to have fun, period, during the last 16 years. Just thinking about what he’s gone through makes me wish I could give him a great big hug. 

Reason #10 for Why I love Big Bro Lan Xichen

His amused reaction to hearing about Wei Ying’s transgression:

…which was immediately followed by his “oh shit” response to hearing his little bro was also involved.

Big Bro Xichen is just too adorable, AND HE DESERVES ALL THE LOVE IN THE WORLD DAMMIT.

Uncle Lan is One Mean Mofo

Seriously, what’s with Lan Qiren’s obsession with the number 300? I really need to know if there’s some significance to that number since it’s featured in BOTH of the major disciplinary incidents in the show that were carried out by Uncle Lan.  For this first outing, those rulers looked downright brutal; it’s a utter miracle that Wei Ying and Lan Zhan were even able to survive being beat 300 times with that medieval torture device. At the very least their spines should’ve been broken, paralyzing them for the rest of their lives. In the novel they were only caned 100 times, which is still a lot but it’s still a somewhat grounded enough number that I could believe they would be able to heal from their injuries. But 300? They should be maimed. I’ve noticed that with chinese dramas though: they tend to be excessive when it comes to inflicting punishment. I actually stopped watching a show once because the main character was being beaten repeatedly in the stomach (Princess Weiyoung) while being held prisoner. That particular character should not have survived that beating…at the very least he would’ve needed his nutrients to be delivered by IV for the rest of his life (even though IVs didn’t exist yet) because there was no way his stomach was ever going to work again after that. I was almost offended by how ignorant the screenwriters were about basic anatomical and biological functions so I decided to just stop watching (well, the fact that I wasn’t that into the show anyway probably contributed to my decision as well) Of course the 300 floggings weren’t enough to discourage me from continuing forward with The Untamed, but it did throw me out of the show for a good moment because I couldn’t get over how ridiculous that number was.  Uncle Lan really has a sadistic streak in him

Not to mention, he was also surprisingly tactless. He had just learned about Wei Wuxian’s mom from big bro Xichen and I couldn’t believe that he would just throw that info at the Wei Ying in such a careless way, only to shut him down when the poor guy desperately asked for more details about his mom. Uncle Lan had to know enough about Wei Ying’s background to understand how sensitive he would be in regards to his deceased parents, so I was actually taken aback by how heartless Uncle Lan was being during that scene, so much so that for a while after, I really wasn’t feeling much love towards him. Although, now that I think about it, love is probably a misnomer any way since I doubt I would ever love Uncle Lan nor can I even say I ever actually liked him–he’s too much of a fuddy-duddy for my tastes. It’s more like I just accept his existence, appreciate his importance to the Lan brothers, and I find his disapproval of Wei Ying kind of amusing. But in that moment, I definitely did straight out dislike him for being such a cold SOB, especially towards Wei Wuxian.

To be continued in Part 2…(posted)

#The Untamed #陈情令 #spoilers #WangXian #Untamed Rewatch #Mo Dao Zu Shi #CQL #MDZS #魔道祖师 #Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation #Founder of Diabolism #Wei Ying Wei Wuxian #Lan Zhan Lan Wangji #Jiang Cheng #ChengQing #Lan Xichen #Lan Qiren #Nie Huaisang #Jin GuangYao #Qin Su

[hoodie-lover]

My Multiverse

Error was wandering through a large empty AU, something that was very uncommon. It put him on edge, why would Ink make an empty AU? It was quiet as the anti-void, but it was just a large desolate valley, the colors were bland and pale, and the sun, though it shined, was bleak and dim. Error was attracted to the AU because Nightmare said he felt a strange aura coming from it and he couldn’t enter it, so Error was sent out to investigate. 

Error was passing over a surprisingly tall hill, surprising in height and the fact it even exists in such a wasteland, he saw a small cottage. It was quaint and cute, small yellow bricks, a wooden door, strong roof, and a large chimney puffing out smoke. Curious as to who could be living there, he teleported to the house and knocked on the door. 

It opened slowly, creaking and squeaking every second the rusty hinges moved. Thoroughly creeped out, Error was torn on whether he should enter the house, but heard a large crash and decided to investigate. The house was dark, almost no light except from a few windows tucked up into the corners of the kitchen and living room. It was very rustically decorated, old and rusty metal dishes and silverware were sloppily set out on a wobbly table. 

Another loud crash came from upstairs, and Error bolted up. That was when he saw a large ornate fireplace, velvet chairs, animal skin rugs, and paintings of a large array of Sanses, almost two to every wall. Error saw two china vases on the floor, shattered to pieces. Ink was standing there, heaving and shaking. He began to scream and tear the paintings and other expensive vases to shreds. Error had no idea what was going on, but he was scared, he had only seen Ink this mad when the fought, and even then, it was rarely this bad. 

Error decided to slowly leave Ink to his own devices, assuming the AU was made so Ink would have a nice place to vent his anger. Error was slowly backing up, not taking his eyes off of Ink for one moment, until he bumped into something, or rather, someone.  Turning his head ever so slightly, he saw Dream, Ink’s number two. Well crap. 

Dream grabbed Error by his shoulders and dragged him towards Ink, posture perfect and grip horrifyingly tight. Ink looked at Dream, and then his eye drifted onto Error, and a wicked smile spread across his face. His eyes were a bright red, the color of rage, and blood. 

He was thrown onto one of the chairs, and cuffs locked him onto the chair, hands far away from his eyes, rendering his strings, his main and only weapon, useless. Twas only now that he saw Dream’s eyelights, were gone. He recoiled and snuck a glance at Ink, he was slouching in the chair, resting his head on his fist. 

“Why don’t you tell me why you’re here?” Ink had asked, eyeing him carefully.  Error was shaking from the fear. 

“I-I-I was c-curious...” Error stuttered, looking for a way to get out of this situation. 

“I see, I see. Well, why don’t you stay for a while, I’ve been plenty bored recently?” Ink asked, his eyes locking with Error’s expectantly. 

“I’d really love to, but I have to get back to my...puppets! I need to finish some of them.” Error lied, praying to whoever could hear him to save him from Ink, but as he expected no one came. 

“You won’t be. I’m keeping you here until you’re boring.” Ink stated, getting up from his chair and walking over to Error. 

“What’re you going to do?” Error asked, and Ink snapped his fingers, but nothing happened.

Ink donned a puzzled look, and snapped his fingers several more times. Nothing happened. Ink snapped his fingers one more time and Dream collapsed. Error was startled by this, but Ink just seemed more confused. Dream got up, dizzy and clearly disoriented. 

“What happened?” He asked, unaware of what’s been going on. “Where are we Ink, why is Error tied up like this. Why are your eyes red?!” Dream cried out, shaking as he backed away. 

Ink snapped his fingers once again and Dream’s arms were pinned to his side by invisible bonds, or that was the closest analogy to the scene beside Error. 

“What are you doing?!” Dream screamed, trying to break free, even shedding a few tears. “Answer me!” He screamed again, before Ink snapped his fingers again. Dream’s mouth snapped close, causing him to thrash and squirm more so than he normally did. 

“You were always so loud and squirmy, no wonder I keep you as a huck most of the time.” Ink reflected, causing Error to shriek. 

“You WHAT?!” Error exclaimed, almost rebooting from the mix of rage, disgust, horror, and confusion. 

“Oh, I see. You don’t know~.” Ink chimed. “I can control and puppet people around, just like you can. But I don’t need any silly strings, I can do it with a snap of my fingers,” Ink snapped his fingers for emphasis and Dream was allowed to speak and screamed in pain. “But I can do it with a simple thought.” Ink continued, and Dream stopped screaming, now sweating profusely. 

“But it seems that you glitches and alternate classic timelines, have a resistance, or just an immunity. The worst thing I can give you is a migraine.” Ink elaborated, and Error was shocked. All those times that they had splitting headaches and migraines, that was Ink trying to control them? What about Nightmare, Cross and Fresh? Was this a setup done by Ink? Did Nightmare actually care about them? Or was Ink just stringing them along only to break their hearts? 

“It’s fun to watch you question everything you know.” Ink giggled as he snapped his fingers once again, and Dream’s eyelights went out once again. He pointed towards the downstairs area and without a second of hesitation, Dream walked off, completely rigid and frozen. Ink laughed at the scene before him and then looked back at Error. 

“But it seems my blabbermouth has let you know far too much Glitchy~. It seems that I need to use, alternate methods other than memory erasure.” Ink stated, and opened up a viewing portal, showing Cross, Fresh, and Nightmare all standing stiff, rigid, and eyes blank. 

“Spill anything, and I’ll dust them. And if you let me mess with your code, I won’t kidnap them and torture them.” Ink told him, smiling a creep smile. 

Error thought about it long and hard for a few moments, he 

“F-fine. Just don’t hurt them, don’t make me hurt them.” Error begged, his knees shaking. 

“There’s something called a reputation. No one currently knows I can manipulate code as well as I can. If you start killing your housemates people’ll be suspicious as to why I lied.” Ink said matter-of-factly, and Error breathed a sigh of relief. 

It was at that moment dream walked up with a small cup in hand, he handed it to Ink and with a dismissive wave of his hand, Dream walked off. 

“Our deal goes into effect now, drink this to knock yourself out so the transitions will be easier and I won’t have to hear you scream as I mess with your soul.” Ink told Error, holding out the drink to him.

Error took the cup and downed the whole thing in one gulp. It tasted like chocolate and caramel, but it was very bitter as well as sweet. A wave of dizziness hit him and be passed out soon after, Ink’s sadistic laugh sending him off to dreamland, and he didn’t know when he would wake up.

Next

Characters belong to their respective owners

#undertale #dream sans #nightmare sans #error sans #ink sans #cross sans #fresh sans #fanfic #my multiverse

[elenatria]

How to turn a London Con trip into a “Chernobyl” trip.

I’m home so I can finally make this post.

Where to start.

Okay-

Let’s start with “Chernobyl”. It happened a few months ago, fell on our heads like a nuclear bomb. We all loved the protagonists but Viktor Charkov, the KGB chairman, is also a memorable, creepy, hateful character who got under our skin with the cold truth of his words, the harsh reality of his behaviour. He was too real, too pragmatic to be ignored. From stories I’ve been told in person, he’s no different than the executive arms of tyrants we had here not more than forty years ago. He exists. People like him live among us.

As for the actor himself, so strange. See, there is no mention of Alan Williams’ age on IMDB or Wikipedia and that’s enough to show that, apart from his theatre, TV and film work, little is known about him. Where to find him, contact him, he’s too old to care about social media and apparently he never was too sought out, not with a “face like a bagful of donuts” as he jokes.

But I was thrilled. I wrote the first chapter of “A single bullet” after watching “Chernobyl” and I just had to show it to this elusive low-profile thespian who inspired me. Because... I don’t know, because. Just to say “Thanks for doing a magnificent job. Thanks for helping me understand evil.”

So I tried contacting his agent. I gave her my name and nationality. I thought I’d just send her the link and forget about it.

Apparently, she forgot about it too because I never heard from her.

After a month London Con was upon us, but what to do in the evenings? Plays of course. I booked a ticket for “The woman in black” and “The Hunt” with Tobias Menzies. Then I searched and searched for Alan Williams plays but, to my dismay, he had finished playing Ivan Romanovich Chebutykin in “Three sisters” at the beginning of June and his new play, “Faith, hope and charity”, wouldn’t premiere before September. Just my luck to be in London in between the two plays. No stage door queue, no autographs.

After spending a full Saturday at London Con and Sunday at the British Museum, Monday had to be a day of leisure. A free concert at St Martin-in-the-Fields before lunch was all I was capable of attending, drag my steps towards the closest bus stop that would drop me off… wherever. I didn’t care.

But then I decided to read my post from the previous day about managing to buy a ticket for “The girl on the train” at the very last minute and meeting Alex Ferns, the naked miner. The unexpected ticket, the unexpected hug.

Now how difficult would it be to meet an actor who is NOT doing a play at the moment?

Very very difficult, confirmed one voice.

He’s rehearsing for ‘Faith, hope and charity’, isn’t he? disagreed another. He must be. It’s almost August and the play opens in September. He’s at work right now. He must be!!!

I googled and googled for almost an hour. I found that “Faith, hope and charity” would be staged at the Dorfman theatre near Waterloo station so I called the stage door. I explained to the receptionist that I did not know Mr Williams in person but I was visiting London for only a few days, was a big fan of his work in “Chernobyl” and I would really love to greet him. The man on the phone was very helpful revealing that this was their first day of rehearsing (the incredible coincidence!) and they had started only… an hour ago. He asked my name and I said “Well… you can say Eleni”, I mean, who needs my complicated surname, right? The guy said he’d save my number and let Mr Williams know.

Oh god.

But I couldn’t just sit there waiting for a call, I’d never get that call, come on.

So I rushed to the Dorfman Theatre. I was breaking my brain trying to figure out how I could get the Charkov chapter of “A single bullet” printed in a district with no stationary shops whatsoever. I was hoping I could… shove it into his face I don’t know, and later imagine he’d be reading it. He didn’t really have to read it, just nod condescendingly and lie that he would, and that would be enough to put a smile on my face. Just like all those toys and drawings people give to celebs at cons that end up in the hands of volunteers, assistants or charities, if not in the trash.

When I got there I talked to a different receptionist, a very professional, very unhelpful young man. For safety reasons he wasn’t supposed to disclose neither the time they’d finish nor the time of recess. For safety reasons I had to go through Mr Williams’ agent to get to him. Outrageous, the woman didn’t even forward my story to him, let alone give me permission to meet him. I was hopeless, I was being turned down. I was being an idiot.

“But they must have a lunch break, right??” I insisted. “Can’t I just wait outside?”

That guy was a goddamn sphinx, and the helpful guy was still talking on the phone or to some lady there, I don’t remember, so I couldn’t reach out to him. Suddenly I felt unnecessarily needy as if I was sitting on the subway floor, shaking my hat to passers-by, clinging my few coins. How humiliating.

With heavy steps I exited the theatre. Why is it so complicated, why do I need someone else’s “permission”? I’m not a child. I looked around, it was a sunny day, people were sitting in coffee tables out in the patio. Some tables were empty but I didn’t care, I just sat on a column by the entrance, far enough to not be seen by the receptionists and feel like shit for lingering, close enough to catch anyone exiting.

For an hour and a half I crouched over my phone trying to figure out how to contact the agent without sounding too stalkery. I called the agency but the girl on the phone gave me the same email address where I had sent my fic. Fine. I changed the wording of my message again and again so as not to sound too needy or creepy even if I knew it wouldn’t work.

I knew I had missed my concert for no reason and I would soon have to leave because who doesn’t like giving up? It’s better to give up than stress over something that’s never gonna happen. It always is.

I was seconds away from clicking “send” and making a fool of myself to the agent for a second time when I thought I saw someone, a towering presence stopping a few meters away, looking over, hesitating, waiting.

I raised my head.

There he was, three-dimensional, bathed in sunlight. Not an image in my head anymore.

Believe me when I say that I was staring at Gandalf, Santa Claus, the Grail Knight from “Indiana Jones”, the Big Bad Wolf.

I honestly don’t know what I was staring at.

But there he was, in all his elderly silver-bearded glory. A myth in my mind, in the flesh. How did he know I was there? I didn’t tell anyone. I was supposed to be hiding.

After nanoseconds of deer-like stun I did the polite thing and jumped on my feet, ready for a handshake. I mean, I had to stand up, right? He had come out just for me.

Shit. What had I done? The nerve.

The first thing I remember noticing when I got closer were his faded blue eyes with a distinguishable light-shaded rim circling the iris. The rest was just word vomit, how we all love him on tumblr, write fics, make memes etc.

Memes?

I described to him the “Try me, bitch” edit we all love, courtesy of @two-screaming-rats.

He didn’t get it at first, then he laughed so HARD, so damn hard. You guys have to see Charkov laughing his heart out.

He said he only had a few minutes before he had to go back to the rehearsal so I decided to start the conversation with the Charkov fanfics. He was quick to apologize for not answering my email. “I’m sorry but… but I honestly don’t know what to say when someone sends me a story,” he admitted humbly. “I read all of them but… I mean I’ve been sent stories based on my characters before but I really wouldn’t know what to say.”

Okay first of all, he read my story. I don’t know if he read it a month ago when I sent it or minutes before he exited the theatre to greet me but he did.

Secondly, there are more stories about his characters? WHERE.

“I’m not a writer anyway,” I said apologetically.

The unexpected reassurance. “But you are.”

I guess one doesn’t have to be The Writer™, they just have to write. What a way to be courteous to a fan though.

Then I mentioned how we love Charkov’s trademark, his glasses, how we’re frantically looking for ‘80s-looking glasses, how we obsess over specific frames and brands.

“They’re not a brand,” he clarified, “they were specifically made for me, they’re an exact replica of Viktor Chebrikov’s glasses. Just like our clothes that were made by seamstresses who worked during that era.”

Naturally I praised the production’s attention to detail that has us ranting, how beautiful and “European” it all looked, how true the script was to Lyudmila’s story as it was described in Svetlana Alexievich’ “Chernobyl prayer”. I talked about my thoughts when I first heard there would be a “Chernobyl” TV series: the Americans made a TV show based on events that affected Europe, now that’s a new one. He mentioned Russian media admitting that they should have made that show, not the Americans. I agreed but also added “That’s the thing, it may be beautifully made, it may be the truth, but it’s still propaganda. Just because it’s true, just because the Soviet government did all those horrible things, that doesn’t mean that the show is not serving someone’s agenda.” He disagreed saying that the Soviet people were shown in a good light for their bravery and sacrifice. Well, we knew that, didn’t we.

I said how impressed I was by his portrayal of Charkov because we were told about people like him by dictatorship victims at school. People who had been tortured in the ‘70s came to us, talking about their time in underground cells, in the hands of sadists like Charkov. I told him about my uncle who was arrested and executed by the Nazis for distributing left-wing leaflets, about my grandmother who had to escape to the mountains during the civil war that followed the German occupation because she was a communist. I explained how real it felt to me, his last scene with Legasov in the kitchen. How bleak and horribly accurate.

He mentioned “You’re one of us, Legasov”. To him Charkov was just doing his job, working for the greater good and he agreed with the quote in my fic, that Charkov “couldn’t wait to retire”.

He then joked about Charkov being blasé after the committee meeting, “Meh, I’m done with arresting people, I let others do it for me”.

I assure you all those questions were answered in a couple of minutes, and I was certain our meeting was about to come to an end.

But then… he gestured toward an empty table.

Don’t let an aged man standing, was my spontaneous thought. I was reminded of my father.

Then I realized. He gestured toward an empty table.

Table. The two of us. On a sunny day.

Time, he was offering me his time.

And… oh my god, this was practically an interview, why was I not recording this, he was answering my questions so effortlessly.

No. That would be rude, that would be greedy.

Just relax and enjoy the moment and try to remember fucking everything.

I asked him what his inspiration for Charkov was, if he based his portrayal on other actors or historical figures. He paused to think and explained that the script was very strict anyway, very defined. However he did mention  Charkov’s line, “I know you’ve heard the stories about us. When I hear them, even I am shocked” and how that reflected Stalin’s hypocritical quote, “What do I know, I’m just a peasant”.

His favourite line was “Trust but verify, and the Americans think that Ronald Reagan thought that up”.

“Is that really an old Russian proverb…?” I wondered.

“I… don’t know!” he laughed.

During the rest of the conversation he mentioned his friend whose job was to translate the Pravda, and his years in Canada where he met Czech-Greeks, namely Greek communists who were driven away by our right-wing government after the Second World War. Even the Soviets didn’t want them so they were sent to the Czech Republic and ended up in Canada. These people belonged nowhere.

I didn’t know that, and he didn’t know about Vladimir Gubarev, the writer of the play “Sarcophagus” and science editor of the Pravda who was the recipient of Legasov’s tapes. I quoted him saying “Why call the protagonist Legasov since that’s not how Legasov was, they could have used a character who’s a scientist and give him any other name.” Like Ulana, I added, who’s a composite character, or Chebrikov/Charkov, mostly fictional.

Our conversation was coming to an end; he asked me what plays I saw in London and he smiled when I mentioned Alex Ferns in “The girl on the train”.

It was truly overwhelming; I was torn between being swept away by the moment, focusing on nothing but the faded blue of his eyes, bathing in the calm rhythm of his voice, and actually paying attention to what he was saying. Only once did my eyes dart at his left hand spotting the unusually thick golden ring on his finger. When one’s mind plays tricks the best way to discipline is a glimpse at The Ring because if he didn’t have nearly my father’s years I’d probably be having a horribly inappropriate crush.

“Time to go,” he apologized.

We took a couple of photos and I pulled out Svetlana Alexievich’ book, asking for an autograph.

“Where should I sign?” he asked.

“Wherever you want.”

He flipped through the pages noticing my page markers, notes and underlinings. “What are these for?”

“Just… just notes. Do you want my—” I suggested grabbing my big-ass permanent marker.

Without a word he gave a knowing smile and, like an experienced conjurer, he pulled out of his jacket an elegant little sharpie. Delicate pens for delicate words.

I didn’t dare read what he wrote to me then, I could only make out his name through that intelligible doctor-like writing. Surely my name wasn’t there because I hadn’t introduced myself. Still, I thanked him from the bottom of my heart.

Time to go.

We shook hands and I said how honoured I was that he had spent time with me. I tried not to stare as he disappeared into the theatre but before I left I ran into the foyer, quickly thanked the receptionist to whom I had talked on the phone and stormed out of the building with that huge wave of adrenaline pumping violently in my ears.

As I crossed the street I was grinning like an idiot. I knew I had to stop right there and write down everything before I forgot - but it was pointless. I’m not a recorder to have to write down everything the minute it happens. It’s enough to remember the pale rimming of his eyes.

Now, two days after meeting him, I’m still torn between pride and embarrassment. What the hell was I thinking? Doesn’t a man deserve to work in peace?

But as I’m writing this and attaching his signature on the first page of “Chernobyl prayer” I dare for the first time read what he wrote to me.

Pleasure to meet you.

People say they have religious moments when meeting their favourite celebs.

Mine was poetic.

What a darling, darling man.

#chernobyl #alan williams #viktor charkov #vikor chebrikov #fan encounter #dorfman theatre #alex ferns #the girl on the train #london #kgb

[winterheart17]

How To Provoke A Writer

TITLE OF STORY: How To Provoke A Writer

CHAPTER NUMBER/TITLE/ONE SHOT: Part 23

AUTHOR: winterheart17

WHICH TOM/CHARACTER: Loki

STORY GENRE: Romance, Drama, Erotica

STORY SUMMARY: I think we can all just agree this has turned into a proper series even though it started off as a compilation of one shots for my story ‘How To Love A Writer’! What happens when a struggling virginal historical romance writer and the God of Mischief are thrown together, locked in a mansion and agree to a game of love and seduction?

STORY RATING: M

STORY WARNINGS/TRIGGERS/AUTHORS NOTES: No erotica, just a long-awaited confrontation ;) Loki doesn’t make an appearance here, but what can I say? The claws are out.

FEEDBACK/COMMENTS: Takes off exactly where the last one left off! Mistakes are all mine. Feedback would be wonderful and ever inspiring for writing updates! <3 Do let me know if anyone would like to be on or of the tag list. Tagging @devikafernando @ureyesonly21 @nuggsmum @queen-sands @ihatespoilers @say-my-name-assbut @hsvbabe @jrubalcaba @dandelionlady96  @ashleyloveslots  @kiera-auroraborealis @alexakeyloveloki @damageditem @lokilvrr @cuteandnerdythings @everythingeverywherelistening

Masterpost of How To Love A Writer

Alternate link to Masterpost of How To Love A Writer (in case the above doesn’t work)

“How sweet of him to bring you to the very place he used to bring me.”

I froze – blood turning into piercing shards of ice in my veins. I’d know that nauseatingly saccharine voice anywhere.

“Halwen,” I breathed, turning around, slowly.

My mind raced, trying to figure out what I’d say. What I’d do. I had barely come to terms with her existence and all the insecurities and jealousy that shrouded just the mere mention of her name.

She emerged from the bushes behind me, her crowning glory catching rays of sunlight that lit up her strands like silky, soft-spun gold. And once again, my heart shrank at how ethereally breathtaking she looked.

No wonder he had fallen for her.

Unrivalled bitterness permeated my mouth, roiling and roiling within until I was certain I would hurl.

She locked her eyes on me, dead-on, almost feline-like with a lingering darkness behind them and I knew this was a confrontation that had been a long time coming.

How long were you standing there for?

I willed my lips to part, willed my tongue to move. But nothing.

A shiver ran down my spine as I struggled to call upon whatever drop of liquid courage Loki had placed in my hands just moments ago.

“What a touching scene that was,” she purred, taking a step closer towards me as her eyes scanned every inch of my body – the derisiveness evident in her face.

As if to say, this is all?

She took a turn, encircling me – every step a calculative measure meant to intimidate.

Just waiting to pounce.

Instinctively, I wanted to shrink – make myself as small as possible with my shoulders hunched forward and inwards. It was a lonely thing, this – being a foreign inhabitant in this new world I had barely just discovered existed while she had walked the lands long before I did and commanded such charismatic confidence and attention.

“… but how utterly unimaginative of him. One would think that with his new Midgardian pet…” she paused for effect, the last word filled with such disgust, before continuing, “��� he would take liberties to impress you with a place other than the one he used to romance his previous flame at.”

Oh.

She smirked as the blood drained from my face and I felt the ground shift beneath my feet.

Tried as I might, I couldn’t stop my chest from caving in. Couldn’t stop my heart from shrinking further as I stood by and watched on as she snatched from my grasp the one good thing I had been desperately trying to hold on to.

He’s brought her here before, God. He’s brought her here before.

And suddenly, I felt stupid. I felt so blisteringly stupid as I stood there, clutching at my dandelion, as I scrambled inside to protect the sanctity of this place.

Mine.

Mine.

I wanted to wail at her and scream.

Pain tore through me and I felt my knees buckle a little.

This place.

Him.

Those words.

Had they all been nothing more than an elaborate lovely little ruse?

But then why go through all that trouble? Why drag me out here to this very place when he had known better than anyone that I was his – completely and utterly after the previous night where he had made me repeat it over and over again.

Her grin widened, dripping with spite as it became exceedingly clear that she had managed to draw blood.

And I would be damned if I allowed her to get away with it.

“I am not his Midgardian pet,” I hissed, angrily.

Slow-burning lucid rage crept up my chest and I used as an anchor to find my footing – to steady myself.

There would be time later for everything else.

She raised a brow and her dainty rosebud-shaped lips puckered, mockingly.

“Oh? Was that not what he had been referring to you as? I could have sworn that was what I had heard,” she drawled, making another turn as I swiveled my head around to face her.

“He didn’t mean it that way,” I said, through gritted teeth, wondering when this torture would finally be over.

She let out a little laugh that should have sounded like a peal of bells. Instead, it was nothing but nails on chalkboard, and I winced impulsively in response.

“Pray tell then, what way had he meant the term?” she taunted, her chin dipped.

“Perhaps you should ask him,” I shot back, her lips pursed grimly as my eyes widened, feigning innocent revelation as I countered, “Oh wait, he wants nothing to do with you.”

The smile on her face faltered, if but for a second as she recovered quickly.

Her eyes narrowed, determined to draw another round of blood.

“You’re not the first, you know? He’s had many before… me,” she jeered, pausing for effect.

It was enough to put a lump in my throat.

It really was – but in this very instance, I wanted nothing more than to claw the blood-dripping grin from her face.

“You’re just one in a long line of chambermaids, daughters of officials, guests of Asgard…” she listed, spitefully, using her fingers to sadistically tick titles off the list.

“I get it. He was a rogue,” I snapped, losing my cool momentarily as intimate images of him with other women flooded my mind.

Her eyes flickered amusedly to my flustered face and I berated myself for having let her get under my skin once more.

Fuck.

“But, what does that make you then?” I hurled back.

The insult cracked through the air like a whip and her nostrils flared at my impudence. Her cool was beginning to slip and it didn’t take a fool to figure out that nobody had ever spoken to her in such a manner. For a second, I was sorely tempted to throw my head back and laugh at how at the very least, Loki and her were similar.

She paused, as if ruminating over her next jab as the corners of her mouth drooped in displeasure.

“He’ll return to me,” she finally declared, coolly.

Her eyes held mine, steadfastly, as if daring a challenge.

Well, I certainly could not disappoint.

“Strange, that’s not what he said to me in bed last night,” I just about snorted.

Now, I wasn’t one to usually indulge in bitchy comebacks that could potentially hurt someone, but what irritated me the most was how matter-of-fact that statement had been.

So assuming.

So confident.

So final.

That I was nothing more but a speck of dust in her eyes was enough to set the little firecracker in me off.

“And you think you’ll be his last then?” she growled, my retort having finally earned enough ire for her features to contort in anger.

As I looked at her with eyes washed anew, I realised that there was very little that was truly beautiful about her.

So what if her goddamn fucking hair looked like sunlight – even the sun cannot stay high up in the sky all the time.

So what if her skin was translucent almost like porcelain – it would take very little to smash it into smithereens.

She was nothing more but a spoiled brat who was upset over the loss of her favourite toy and she wasn’t quite used to having someone say no to her – what with being born with a silver spoon in her mouth and all.

Time to yank it out.

I shrugged – a seeming act of nonchalance to twist that knife in deeper when the ugly truth was that I was terrified of that unsettling question I had asked myself far too many times.

“I’m pretty sure the point of contention here is that you… aren’t,” I flung back.

That completely wiped the grin off her face.

She stomped her foot on the ground – that temper of hers finally showing through the cracks of her façade.

“Grown claws after that long sickening speech of being likened to a dandelion, have we?” she spat.

I raised a brow with a coy smile playing on my lips, as if to say, naturally. My fingers tightened further around that stalk. At this point in time, it was pretty much the only thing keeping me grounded and going.

Her eyes widened further with rage at my evident dismissal of her.

“I wonder if you’d still feel as special if you knew he too, once waxed lyrical about the delicate beauty and sought-after preciousness he recognised I had in my favourite… roses,” she snapped.

It was a stab to my heart.

And for a moment, just for a moment, it was as if the world had stood still and there was nothing I could do except stand there, frozen as I bled.

I wasn’t special.

He had given me the crumbs of his affection – affection that was nothing more than the pathetic remnants for what he felt for another – and I had lapped them all up like a fool.

My mind screamed and screamed until the voice inside me grew hoarse and weak and I could barely keep my body from trembling.

They were all lies.

“But one only has to observe the dandelion to realise that it is its strength – it is its nerve in thriving in the harshest of elements that blindingly outshines the fragility of the rose.”

Those words rang loud like betrayal in my ears and I could feel them resonate right down to my very bones.

Her venomous jabs had hooked their claws in me and I felt sucker punched in the gut.

But as she smiled – that cold, bloodless smile that would have probably once put me to shame with its artificial beauty – I felt something bubble inside my chest.

So what if they had been lies?

So what if he had only said what was convenient for him at the time?

Why couldn’t I rise and be my own dandelion?

When had I needed him to grant me the agency to be my very own person that would refuse anyone else to walk all over her?

Where the fuck was that wise-cracking writer with a tongue that was sharper only than her wit?

And suddenly, there it was.

I felt it.

Felt that fire burn brighter than anything else in my belly as it coursed through my veins.

“Excuse me, you strike me as neither a lackwit nor deaf – though the first is highly debatable and the second is something I sorely wish I was in your presence…” I began to say, pausing only to revel in the way her lips parted in surprise at this sudden attack.

“Wh—what?” she.

I grinned, tilting my head tauntingly as I clicked my tongue.

“My, my, Halwen, will I have to revise my judgement of that second bit?” I jeered, arching a brow.

“I'm pretty sure I’m saying this word for word, but did he not say that the dandelion ‘blindingly outshines the fragility of the rose’?” I asked, hand raised with my palm facing upwards.

Her brows were furrowed and it was almost amusing to see her mind race to form a coherent response, but not a single peep came from her.

How does it feel like to be on the other side of the fence now?

My eyes ran up and down the entire length of her body as I scoffed – even if it was only a show of bravado.

“Well, how disappointing – it appears I’ll have to retract the first part of my earlier statement as well. And here I thought, you were doing so well,” I goaded.

Her eyes widened and her skin took on a blushed hue of livid rage.

“Yo—you little…” she sputtered, but I cut her off with a purposeful flick of my wrist that I knew would incense her further.

“Pray tell, does his statement not clearly outline how he believes the rose pales in comparison to the dandelion?” I asked, rhetorically, not even bothering to wait for an answer, before pushing, “I mean, how does one speak of and elevate superiority without drawing comparison to something else that is inferior and beneath it?”

I held her gaze, daringly this time.

There was no trembling, no quaking, no sliver of my desire to cower.

Satisfaction spread like how rage stretched across her mottled skin as her shoulders shook.

Goddamn if it didn’t feel good.

I wasn’t usually one to go about starting fights – nor had I ever dared to envision myself going up so scathingly against her – but she could damn well bet her putrid little hiney that I would finish it.

“Well, one could hardly blame you for still grasping on the slipping remnants of yesteryears. After all…” I drawled, lips curling up into a deliberate sardonic smile, “That’s the only thing you have to hold onto while your name is the furthest thing from his mind as he walks around with the taste of me on his lips.”

“You lying whore,” she snarled, her hands balled into tight fists by her sides.

I raised my hand immediately – clasping it to my chest as my lips parted as if affronted.

“Oh, did I not mention?” I asked, in feigned innocence.

She glared at me.

I suppose I should thank my lucky stars Light Elves couldn’t put someone six feet under the ground with just a stare.

I smacked my lips together.

“His words, not mine,” I grinned.

Her eyes narrowed on me.

“Then why did he agree to meet me in the gardens tonight?”

#how to love a writer #how to provoke a writer #htlaw #loki #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki fic #tom hiddleston #hiddlestoner

[voltron-s7-8-rewrite]

“The Way Forward”

This is part of my Voltron Season 7 & 8 re-write. If you are interested start HERE

  Previous

Teleporting into an unknown cavern, Keith realizes the others are in danger, and tells Kosmo that they need to get back to help them. However, before anything can be done, Macidus teleports nearby. Keith and Kosmo teleport again, hiding from the Druid.

 Macidus slowly searches the cavern as Keith and Kosmo hide underneath floorboards. The Druid passes by, and after a moment Keith relaxes. His moment of relief is cut short as Macidus stabs a sword down into the floorboards, just barely missing Keith. The Black Paladin Grabs onto Kosmo and they teleport once more, Macidus smiles and teleports as well.

 Back at Macidus's "home", the Druids finish charging up their dark energy, and prepare to unleash their attack against the Paladins when they are suddenly bombarded by laser fire. With the Druids distracted, Allura focuses her power, absorbing the energy keeping her and the others in place, freeing them all.

Once able to move, the Paladins turn to join the fight that's broken out, only to find that their saviors are Galra who are being led by Axca, Ezor, and Zethrid. The Paladins are surprised, but join their fight against the Druids.

As the groups work together, Krolia recognizes some of the Galra in the Ex-General’s group.

   On the run through the tunnels, Keith and Kosmo try to hide and stay ahead of Macidus, but the Druid relentlessly chases them down, never allowing them a break.

Eventually Keith and Kosmo come to a cavern where Kolivan is being held. Macidus appears and Keith, unwilling to leave Kolivan, no longer runs. Unsheathing his Blade, and summoning his Bayard, Keith fights the Druid.

   As the Paladins and the Ex-general’s forces finish off the Druids, Allura orders Pidge to find Keith’s location. Scanning the area, she discovers that he’s underneath them, Allura uses the energy she absorbed to break through the floor into the caverns below.

The Paladins, Shiro, and Krolia head down into the lower caverns where they find Keith fighting Macidus. The group assists Keith, but the Druid is able to evade their attacks. Seeing Macidus attacking his friends, Keith hesitates; closing his eyes, he senses as the Druid teleports. Throwing his blade he is able to hit Macidus, killing him.

   After the fight, the group helps Kolivan, who, despite being in bad shape, is conscious. Keith asks him about the Altean colony, but Kolivan says the Blades were never able to check on it,as they were overwhelmed by attacks from the Druids and Galra factions.

Keith turns to Axca, Ezor, and Zethrid and asks them if they know anything about it, but they say they never even knew of its existence. They had known Lotor had special pilots that he attempted to send into the rift, but they were never told who they were, or where they came from.

Lance asks how they can trust them as they’ve worked against Voltron alongside Lotor, Zarkon, and Haggar. One of the Galra from the Ex-General’s force steps up and defends them, saying they are trustworthy. The Paladins don’t know who this Galra is, but Krolia reveals that this Galra is a Blade, as are many of the others in the Ex-General’s group. Hunk says Macidus said the Druids killed them all, but a Blade says that’s not true, many had been saved by the ex-generals.

Keith asks the three to explain everything and Axca, Ezor, and Zethrid share their story; growing up as half-breeds they were mistreated by Galra for not being being pure blood, and by the other half of their species for being part Galra, causing hatred to form in their hearts. When Lotor came, he used their pain, promising that he would change things for half-breeds. They followed him and his promise to create a universe where they would be accepted, not realizing how Lotor fed their hated by having them believe that only he could bring change for them.

The Ex-Generals lived believing that lie was true, until they saw Keith. Here was another half-breed, embraced by the Blades, by his human friends, and by the Voltron coalition as a whole. At first they could not understand how he did it.

It wasn’t until Lotor admitted in his final battle that he wanted to wipe Galra from the universe, that they realized how they had been nothing but pawns to him this whole time. They had embraced his lies wholeheartedly, blindly following someone just because he was like them and said what they so desperately wanted to hear; rather than working for acceptance and trying to change minds. They ended up rejecting everyone who wasn’t like them in the same way they had been rejected.

After Lotor and the Paladins vanished, they decided that they would no never blindly follow someone again. Instead they decided if they worked at it, maybe they could create a place for themselves in the universe.

Eventually they ended up stumbling upon a damaged Galra cruiser whose surviving crew had been abandoned by their commander. The Ex-Generals took control and worked with the survivors to get the cruiser back up and running. Due to their aid and hard work the Galra crew pledged loyalty to them, not caring that they were half-breeds.

Now, with their ship that they named “The Narti,” they decided to continue doing what they had done for this crew, finding those who needed help and giving aid where they could. Drawing inspiration from the Blade and Voltron coalition, they wanted to change the perception of Galra and half-breeds.

It was then that they started picking up on Blade distress signals and realized the members were being hunted by Druids and other Galra factions. Their mission became finding and aiding any Blade and Rebel call, which caused their crew to grow. Their hope was to find Kolivan, reunite the Blade into a unified force, and continue Voltron’s quest of freeing the universe.

They explain that there are still more Blade distress signals out there, and they plan to continue on their mission. They hope that now, with Kolivan, they can unify the Blade.

Hearing their story, and believing their words, Kolivan asks Axca, Ezor, and Zethrid to assist him in that goal, and offers them an official place in the Blade, which they accept.

The Blade and Paladins decide that while the Paladins continue to Earth, The Narti will find and tell the Rebels of Voltron’s return, and once they finish their mission they will join the Paladins on Earth to form the coalition’s next plans.

Kolivan asks Krolia if she wishes to join them, but she says she is needed more with Voltron. Kolivan accepts this, but gives her his own Blade as a weapon. Kolivan then tells Keith that he is glad to see Keith is back where he belongs, but says that he will always be welcomed in The Blade.

As the Lions of Voltron take off, Kolivan watches from the deck of The Narti. Axca, Ezor and Zethrid join him, all in Blade uniforms.

.::+::.

So, I have Major issues with how all of the General’s stories went, but especially Ezor and Zethrid’s. First off, it's all over the place, ‘We’re loyal to Lotor-, no Zarkon-, wait, now Haggar-, nope, back to Lotor-, Oh, look, we’re pirates now! Guess we can help Voltron? Yay, we’re Blades!’

Like, I get that they were characters who were just trying to survive, but there was no flow to their story, and without getting any of their actual backstory you are just left questioning all their actions.

But even without that, to me their characters were completely derailed and destroyed in season 7. By the end of “The Way Forward” Ezor and Zethrid are just too irredeemable. I mean, they take sadistic glee at the idea of torturing the Paladins, for goodness sake! If they had been permanently killed in that episode I would have been fine*, however they both show back up later with no explanation, do practically nothing, and then are redeemed at the end, despite never showing a genuine change of heart. The fact those two got to live, while Allura died is just beyond comprehensible to me.

*note, I said I would have been fine, that does not mean I would have been happy with their story. I wanted all four generals redeemed since the moment I saw the leaked art of them.

Another thing that felt so wrong was only Axca willingly seek redemption. I had thought that the four generals were close to each other, as in the early seasons Axca came off like a sister to Zethrid and especially Ezor. I thought these ladies were going to have a strong bond, especially after Narti’s death, and Lotor’s treatment of them. But nope, there was nothing there.

So, that’s what I’m giving them. The idea of these three having a strong bond, leaving the empire together, and forging their own path would be such an beautiful story for them. Then through embracing the Paladin’s way of helping others, and gaining respect and loyalty from those who at one time would have rejected them, would be inspiring. Unlike the Empire they grew up in, they didn’t gain power and use that to control others beneath them. They won true loyalty it through their actions and care for others.

As for Krolia staying; she’s just a great character. It’s such a shame that they had her leave in S7, especially after saying she would never leave Keith again. Then to do nothing with her after that is just such a waist! I think it would have been much more interesting if she had stuck around, and we got to see the Garrison react to her...

NEXT

#voltron #Allura #lance voltron #keith voltron #voltron shiro #voltron pidge #hunk voltron #MyVoltronSeasonSummary #MyWritings

[artinmovingframes]

The Bitter Irony of Commander Lawrence’s artworks in The Handmaid’s Tale

[CW: physical and psychological violence against women, violence against minors, murder, racism]

These are my thoughts regarding the relation between the art displayed in the set and the tv show The Handmaid’s Tale. Over-interpretation is part of the reflexion, but please let me know if anything I said may have hurt you or seemed to be completely misconstrued.

In the 12th episode of the second season of The Handmaid's Tale, we were introduced to a new character, Commander Lawrence, who "welcomes" Emily (Alexis Bledel) into his house. The whole setup is somewhat disorienting and the artworks displayed are an important part of it, so I would like to give you my train of thoughts when we were introduced to the house and its inhabitants.

Aunt Lydia (Ann Dowd) accompanies Emily and comments on how no-one wanted her, following her history of revolt. Of course we are intrigued as to whom would open their house to her, in the context of Gilead. And when the door opened for the first time on a one-eyed Martha, Cora, I had two very opposite insticts, which were then kept up during the episode:

first I thought the Commander would be a cruel cruel man, taking the women nobody wanted anymore to do whatever he wanted to them, a sadist even worse than the "norm" in Gilead.

then I hoped it'd be a kind and considerate man, trying his best to help the scorned, tortured women, (since Emily has also suffered inhumane mutilation).

We then enter the house, a cluttered house full of trinkets, books, paintings unlike the ones we've been accustomed to before (naked bodies, abstract and expressionist art etc.). Quick side-note: most of the art on display in Commanders' houses so far were Impressionnist works, Monet in Waterford's office, Pissarro in Emily's previous commander's bedroom.

Aunt Lydia is surprised, as we are. The maid freely "jokes"(?) and talks back to the Commander as though there wouldn't be any consequence, or maybe she doesn't care about the consequences.

In the staircase, two paintings:

"Julius Caesar on Gold", Jean-Michel-Basquiat, 1981, Sotheby’s "Dark tree trunks", Georgia O'Keeffe, 1946, Brooklyn Museum

Contemporary art in these households?

But then, Commander Lawrence appears. And of course we know Bradley Whitford from The West Wing, but the role which he's now associated with is that of Dean Armitage in Get Out (what, you haven't seen Get Out? Go watch it and come back thanks). In Get Out, his racism (and that of his family) is for the first part of the movie contained to a "fascination" towards black people, hypocrite statements and intrusive behaviour. And the same uneasiness transpires through his character in The Handmaid's Tale.

During this episode, we learn from his wife, seemingly mentally broken and abused, that he is the founder of the Colonies system. We also learn that she was an Art professor.

“Life didn’t turn out the way she wanted it to. She was an art professor. She wanted everything to be beautiful.”

And like Mrs. Waterford who's in charge of the decoration in her home and chose impressionnist paintings (we can assume stolen from museums) to reflect her love of watercolor, it might be an indication that she at least participated in the decoration of the place, maybe even collected these pieces before Gilead existed. However, like everything in this world, and an earlier scene of Commander Waterford supervising the hanging of a family portrait reminds us, men are in charge, and the art surrounding them reflects on the taste and character of these men.

According to me, the art in the Lawrence household is very loud, and talkative.

The Handmaid's Tale has handled very poorly its treatment of race relations (or lack thereof), even though the Colonies are a shameless parallel to slavery and plantations. Here, the casting choice of Bradley Whitford combined with the artworks is voluntary, even though no explicit commentary is made. The irony of a Basquiat representing a black Julius Caesar hanging in the home of what would clearly be described as a white supremacist is not lost on us. O'Keeffe's paintings are known for their erotic symbolism, but here, deprived of any woman agency, the dark trunks might be an echo of a (black?) woman's body, dehumanized. This point of view is reinforced when Commander Lawrence forces his wife back to (her or their) room, and you can see in the background a painting representing two naked women, akin to the orientalist harem paintings of the late 19th century.

This manipulation of art, described as "the elite absorbing the Rebellion" is also evident in the painting by Sidney Nolan featured in the dining room during their last talk.

“After Glenrowan Siege (Second Ned Kelly series)”, Sidney Nolan, 1955, MoMA

The artwork depitcs Ned Kelly, a bushranger, an ambiguous figure of Australia's history, a defender of worker's rights, also associated with the killing of policemen. As an ultra-conservative religious system based on strict order, we could hardly see them align with the politics of Kelly; but as a sectarian minority who imposed their law by force, they might see themselves as rebels (remember the right always complaining of being oppressed by people wanting to be treated equally and respectfully...)

Gauguin is featured as well, surrounded by sculpted women torsos. in my opinion joining the contradictions of this Commander. The painting is that of christian Britton women in a landscape. For the post-impressionnist, Britanny was already an elsewhere, a place of wonder, deep religious fervor even though he was anticlerical, but not enough. He then traveled to French Polynesia where his "fascination" for the autochtones led him to abuse women, minors. We remember the art as one lauding the simple state of nature, with bright colors, celebrating pleasure and harmony, even though that art emerges from his imperialistic and machist desires and abuses.

“Landscape with two Breton Women”, Paul Gauguin, 1889, Boston MFA

The invasive and creepy conversation imposed by Commander Lawrence on Emily is ambiguous at best. I have little hope that we are presented with a respectful, righteous man. Even though in his turns of phrases he seems to disregard the hypocrite politeness of Gilead, and even their beliefs, as he seems to recognize Emily as a woman married and with a child, and not a gender traitor. But his interest is that of a man who maybe enjoys the brutality itself, celebrates genius and intellect and thinks art strives only from pain. So he appropriates that struggle, that of the artists, their history and fights. He is as entitled as the rest. His wife, complicit to a point, may have understood too late, may have felt guilt over their actions (her panick is shown as an illness when she is a voice of reason). She participated in that art deal, because she felt she could make the world beautiful, evidently according to her vision of beauty, so she bought, decorated, put varnish on a system that stripped creators from their agency, perverted their voice, or hid away their true nature.

At one point, Emily, who, as a woman, is not allowed to read, leaned over an open copy of Art Spiegelman’s Maus. The graphic novel is (as best as I can remember), about the artist learning about his family's history, the Shoah. This, too me, is as perverse as the game gets for Lawrence. He purposefully let that book open, at a page where people are shown hanged. We can imagine in this world how "provocative" art could be burnt, destroyed; maybe Aunt Lydia thought so when she entered. Commander Lawrence knows how Gilead could be compared to Nazi Germany (interestingly enough, right wing conservatives who call everyone nazis for wanting gun control, abortion rights etc. always feel offended when Trumpism and their "free thinking is called out as fascist, but I digress). Lawrence shows the totality of his power, how he controls her no matter how free she thinks she can be (by reading). He controls the narrative.

There is something potent in art, especially when we consider who owns it. Because there we either see the limit of the works, or that of the owner's honesty. The apparent failure of a piece brings about that of the person who chose to select it. Therefore, the failure, the crackling varnish, is not only that of Lawrence, whose perversity filters through his presence onscreen and not just because of how the artworks mirror his ambiguity, but a failure of the show itself, either because I gave them too much credit where it is not due, or because this awareness reflects on its previous flaws. I really hope I am wrong about this character, that he is in fact charitable, that the art is there for the wife, and allowed because he’s such an important member of Gilead (think of the high ranking officials who kept artworks for themselves in Nazi Germany). However, I wanted not to give a diagnostic but merely to try and think of ways to interpret art as reimagined in their fictional surrounding. For more debate I invite you to check the Handmaid’s Tale subreddit (as I did... after writing all this down urgh) here here and there. Other mentioned artworks I seem to have missed include Cézanne, Klimt (another wink at Nazi spoils)...

#the handmaid's tale #handmaid #basquiat #o'keeffe #gauguin #art spiegelman #sidney nolan #ned kelly #maus #brittany #commander lawrence #bradley whitford #alexis bledel #house #painting #art #art in moving frames #mfaboston #brooklyn museum #moma #sothebys #agency #klimt #cezanne

[regiqoa]

Why Chara Is Evil and You Need To Shut The Fuck Up About Them

So recently I’ve been seeing so many videos, texts, essays and even blogs by the UT Fandom defending Chara, making some of those Character Defense Squads, saying that they’re actually good and that there’s much more to them besides how they’re portrayed in the Genocide Run and it’s honestly becoming a hassle, if not worrying. I am familiar with Tumblr’s habit of going out of its way to look deeper into things just for the sake of erasing an evil character’s traces and dark tendencies and thus turn them into a pure sweetie who did nothing wrong and it’s honestly annoying me. You guys are having sympathy for a character that’s supposed to be a PSYCHOPATH. And before you come saying “Chara is good, the player is responsible for the Genocide Run! The PLAYER is the real villain!”, the hole is a bit lower than that. Just because the player is indeed responsible for the Genocide Run doesn’t mean Chara isn’t evil. Bear with me. Let us begin then. Let’s look into the arguments people use to defend Chara as a “good” character and I will turn them around and, trust me, there’s not much you’ll be able to say to defend them after this because the logic in those arguments are HORRIBLY flawed.

“Chara was only laughing away the pain when Asgore got sick and nearly died after eating that poisoned Butterscotch pie made by them and Asriel!”

While laughing away the pain is a huge theme in Undertale (Hell, Sans does it all the time), I HIGHLY doubt they were laughing at stress. Let’s look into the VHS tape where this situation is mentioned and talked about by Asriel:

Asriel: Howdy, <Name>! Smile for the camera! Ha, this time I got YOU! I left the cap on... ON PURPOSE! Now you're smiling for noooo reason! Hee hee hee. What? Oh, yeah, I remember. When we tried to make butterscotch pie for Dad, right? The recipe asked for cups of butter... But we accidentally put in buttercups instead. Yeah! Those flowers got him really sick. I felt so bad. We made Mom really upset. I should have laughed it off, like you did... Um, anyway, where are you going with this? Huh? Turn off the camera...? OK.

So Asriel playfully tricks Chara, they start laughing and all of a sudden they just remember how they nearly killed their dad along with Asriel, right? In those circumstances and context, it means Chara remembers poisoning Asgore as a prank, something funny to laugh about, the same way purposefully leaving the lens cap on was for Asriel. So, yeah, they weren’t laughing any pain away; they were sadistically laughing at the pain Asgore was in and how probably they were rubbing their hands together while cooking up their little plan to use Asriel to destroy humanity under the guise of “freeing everyone”. This tape also really goes to show how different Asriel and Chara are, as Asriel also mentions how he felt so bad at the incident. I should also mention how Chara smiles creepily at Flowey’s distress when they make him scared of them when he realizes Chara would never hesitate to kill him if he got in their way and they are also shown smiling when we see them for the first time after killing Flowey at the end of the Genocide Run. Also, isn’t it Flowey himself who comments Chara has a "sick sense of humour”? Hell, many many Monsters comment on the protagonist’s “creepy smile” or "strange expression" throughout the Genocide Run, not to mention the =) face that appears instead of the exclamation point (!) atop the protagonist’s head before they fight a monster starting from the Waterfall area is highly associated with Chara. They’re HAPPY to be fighting the Monsters they come across and hunt, they’re happy to kill.

“Chara is clearly uncomfortable with the player the second time they do the Genocide Run”

This argument likely stems from that one line of Chara’s during their monologue if a Genocide Run is done twice:

"But you and I are not the same, are we? This SOUL resonates with a strange feeling. There is a reason you continue to recreate this world. There is a reason you continue to destroy it. You. You are wracked with a perverted sentimentality. Hmm. I cannot understand these feelings anymore."

I’d say “impatient” is the right word, not “uncomfortable”. At this rate, the player’s and Chara’s motives and desires are different. The reason the player continues to recreate and destroy the world is to satisfy their completist desire of wanting to find out every single thing there is to know about Undertale (or any game, for that matter), even if it means traversing the Genocide Run more than once, which is exactly the “perverted sentimentality” Chara is referring to and, considering how much of a real pain in the ass it is to complete it, it’s no surprise that Chara calls such an action “perverted". So they don’t understand you anymore, your desires are not the same anymore. The same is commented by Sans during his fight:

“i know your type. you’re uh, very determined, aren’t you? you’ll never give up, even if there’s uh… absolutely NO benefit to persevering whatsoever. if i can make that clear. no matter what, you’ll just keep going, not out of any desire for good or evil… but just because you think you “can”. and because you “can”… you “have to”…”

Chara on the other hand desires to go out and destroy humanity (and the Monsters, too), which brings me to my next point: The post-Genocide Pacifist Run. Chara is dead and thus lacks a physical body to do anything, so they know the only way to escape the Underground is through Frisk, the character the player controls. Have any of you ever paid attention to what Chara says after what I just put above?

"Despite this. I feel obligated to suggest. Should you choose to recreate this world once more, another path would be better suited."

Chara is suggesting the player “tries another path” and is thus manipulating them into doing the True Pacifist Run so they can go out and destroy both the Humans and the Monsters that now reign the surface.

“Chara didn’t destroy the Humans and Monsters of the surface in a post-Genocide Pacifist Run, they’re bringing justice to the player! They care about the Monsters and is thus punishing the player!”

No, it’s NOT Chara punishing the player, that’s the game itself doing this. One of Undertale’s main messages, especially the Genocide Run, is that your actions have consequences. The only thing that happens at the end of a post-Genocide Pacifist Run (or Soulless Pacifist Run) is that Chara fully possessed Frisk’s body after the player sold them their SOUL and now, with the Barrier separating the Humans from Monsters destroyed, Chara can now go out and destroy both species that live in the Surface. I mean, DAMN, Toby Fox said it himself in his Twitter when asked about the Soulless Pacifist Ending. There is absolutely NO “justice” in Chara’s side. If they were REALLY a good and pure person who loves the Monsters then, well, I’m sure they wouldn’t have to kill them just for rubbing it in the player, right?! Seriously, don’t ANY of you realise how pathetically contradictory this argument is?!

“But Chara is just a child!”

Bitch, have you ever watched two movies called “The Good Son” and “Child of Rage”? Go watch them, your argument is once again invalid. I will also mention how these two children are psychopaths. Also, the youngest arrested and condemned killers of the 20th century were brought to justice when they were both 10 and their names are Robert Thompson and Jon Venables, who kidnapped, tortured and killed 2 year-old James Bulger. So yeah, with real-life evidence, children like Chara are completely capable of being psychopathic murderers.

“Chara is the narrator of Undertale! They nicely narrate every enemy and object to you!”

No, it’s not canon. It’s never said anywhere that they are. The narrator through the ENTIRETY of Undertale is completely up to speculation. Have you ever heard of something called an “omniscient narrator”? Hell, it could be Frisk narrating stuff to you in a Neutral or Pacifist Run. It wouldn’t be that much of a stretch to say it could be the player themselves, considering the amount of 4th Wall Breaks in the game and how Flowey is aware that there’s people that watch gameplays of Undertale out there. The only pieces of narration that are clearly narrated by Chara are the ones in red in New Home in the Genocide Run (which are written in first person). This is also the very same place where Flowey talks about him to Chara the most, should I add. This argument likely exists because the narrator in question is always saying “you did <insert action here>”, in third person as if talking about someone else. Well, the same thing happens in the Genocide Run. There are TONS of entries in the Genocide Run narrated in third person.

“Papyrus is sparing you”

“You punched the dummy at full force. Feels good.”

“Glad Dummy lets you go”

“You took the Snowman Piece”

“You took the key and put it on your phone’s key-chain”

“You feel like you’re gonna have a bad time”

“You feel your sins crawling on your back”

It’s also worth noticing how darker and crueler the narrations both in first and third person get the more the Genocide Run progresses, right? It’s because the more you kill, the more you allow Chara to posses Frisk and the more they can manifest themselves.

“Chara lectures the player when the world is completely destroyed”

Yes, that is true but that still doesn’t make them good, they’re merely acknowledging the reality of the player’s actions. They sound completely cold and stoic saying those words and asking the player if they’re above consequences, which shows they’re neutral about this, not sad or bothered, not to mention it is them who destroy the world REGARDLESS of the player’s choice. I should also remind you that, right after that, the player is left with no choice but to make a literal deal with the devil (as Chara calls themselves “the demon that appears when people call its name”), giving Chara their SOUL as a deal to make them bring the world back. Chara also calls the player a “great partner” if they agree to destroy the world with them so its plausible to think that this is yet another form of manipulation.

“Chara may call themself a demon but Asriel calls himself the ‘God Of Hyperdeath!’"

Exactly. Asriel is the GOD of Hyperdeath. “Of Hyperdeath” is merely a name and a very obvious one, considering Asriel inherited his father’s trait of being terrible at naming things. However, think about this: A God is a creator or recreator, a deity, a divinity. When you look at what he says during his fight, this name makes perfect sense:

“You know, I don’t care about destroying this world anymore. After I defeat you and gain total control of the timeline, I just want to reset everything! Then we can do everything all over again!"

Asriel’s intentions are not remotely bad, even. He does not wish to harm anyone, he only wants to reset the entire timeline and redo what he and Chara did wrong, even if it means killing the protagonist to gain their Determination, for the greater good.

“Chara forgave Asriel for his betrayal!”

Dude, WHERE do people get this from?! Chara clearly DIDN’T forgive Asriel for betraying them and is clearly merciless to him at the end of the Genocide Run. They inclusively mention his betrayal when talking to the player:

“At first, I was so confused. Our plan had failed, hadn’t it?"

When Flowey is talking to Chara in New Home, they make him scared of them the moment he realizes that they would never hesitate to kill him if he got in their way, not to mention Chara is the one to make Flowey realize that his “kill or be killed” philosophy does not work, he knows Chara is much stronger than him. Hell, Chara clearly doesn’t care at all for Asriel as they, not the player, CHARA completely MUTILATES Flowey right when he reveals his true identity as Asriel after killing Asgore in one shot. Also, speaking of which, it is clearly stated on the books in the “Librarby" that the stronger the will to kill a Monster a human has, the more damage their attacks will do. One more thing worth mentioning is this parallel right here which pretty much speaks for itself:

Asriel, in the second True Lab VHS tape: Okay, <Name>, are you ready? Do your creepy face! AHHHHH!! Hee hee hee! Oh! Wait! I had the lens cap on... What!? You're not gonna do it again...? Come on, quit tricking me! Haha!

Flowey, in New Home: S-s-stop making that creepy face! This isn’t funny! You’ve got a SICK sense of humor!

The real thing that goes to show that Chara is evil is their relationship with Asriel/Flowey. Asriel was never comfortable with Chara’s plan, to the point that he cried at the thought of having to hurt or kill anyone. Flowey (who is equally evil), on the other hand, understands and even admires Chara for their murderous genocidal tendencies when he talks to them at the end of the Ruins and in New Home, not to mention Flowey only recognizes the protagonist as Chara if the player is doing the Genocide Run. It’s also worth mentioning that it was because of Chara that Flowey acquired his “kill or be killed” philosophy. Hell, Asriel even comments that Frisk and Chara are completely different from each other despite their very similar fashion choices and that he was only projecting. Hell, he’s the one who admits and recognises that Chara was never the greatest person.

Now on to something to top it all off: The Sociopath Flowey and Psychopath Chara theory. What you’re about to read now is a written adaption of a video in Portuguese explaining that Chara is a psychopath, whereas Flowey is a sociopath.

So, as you’ve probably gathered, there’s not much data about who Chara truly is but the they are just enough for us to understand their mentality and perspectives throughout the game. Chara was the first human to fall down Mount Ebott after the war that separated humans from monsters. Upon falling, they are found by Asriel, Toriel and Asgore’s biological son, and is adopted by the Dreemurr family as a family member. However, when Asgore gets awfully sick after eating a pie prepared by Chara and Asriel, Asriel feels bad about everything that happened, yet Chara LAUGHS in relation to that (I already proved your little “they were laughing away the pain” point wrong so shut the fuck up). Instead of putting “cups of butter” to make the pie, Chara uses Buttercups, poisonous golden flowers in the recipe, causing Asgore to fall horribly sick. Seeing the potency that the flowers have in Monsters, Chara starts to cook up a plan. Chara then gets terminally ill (too) and, before passing away, they ask Asriel to take them to see the golden flowers of their village in the Surface. Throughout the game, it is revealed that Chara had poisoned themself intentionally so that Asriel could absorb their SOUL and thus cross the barrier so that they could kill humans together and harvest their SOULs. So, yeah, Chara INTENTIONALLY poisons themself so that they have the chance to kill humans (which they succeed with the sole exception of Frisk that they posses depending on the ending we achieve in-game). But anyway, upon reaching the Surface, Asriel is attacked by the humans, for they have thought Asriel had attacked and killed Chara. This causes Chara’s desire to kill humans to manifest into their fusion and put it in a state of hatred but Asriel is able to resist that and let the fusion be attacked. Asriel then returns to the underground horribly wounded and both Asriel and Chara thus die. This story takes us to the story of Flowey; when Asriel died, his dust was spread across Asgore’s garden of golden flowers. Later, Alphys, doing experiments with Determination, injected the first flower that bloomed after Toriel left Asgore with Determination. The initial experiments didn’t work, which made Alphys return the flower to Asgore to be replanted in the garden. However, the flower woke up alive in the garden and thanks to Asriel’s essence from his dust in the garden, Flowey retained Asriel’s memories, but he also noticed that he din’t feel any emotions since he didn’t have a SOUL and thus was unable to feel love, joy or compassion. Those, dear readers, are all the information available about these two characters, so now let’s move on the psychological part. All of these informations affirm that both Chara and Flowey suffer from psychological problems, with Chara being a psychopath and Flowey being a sociopath. Now let’s analyse this a bit; many people assume amiss that psychopathy and sociopathy are the same but that’s wrong. Indeed, both disorders are very similar but there are a few details that set them apart so let’s see what psychopathy and sociopathy have in common, first:

Both are “antisocial personality disorders”;

Both lack empathy;

Both despise and disobey rules of social behaviour;

Both do not feel remorse or guilt;

Both are violent and hurt people;

Now that’s where things change. Differing from a sociopath, a psychopath possesses the following symptoms: The origin of their disorder is in the innate condition of their existence. According to a research made by the International Institute of Minnesota, 60% of psychopaths are psychopathic by heredity, meaning they were simply born this way. Now:

A psychopath has GREAT chances of being a nice and well-mannered person with a good professional career;

A psychopath possesses a very controlled temper and behaviour;

A psychopath is highly manipulative;

A psychopath is completely incapable of creating (real) bonds with other people;

A psychopath is generally very smart, intelligent and carefully calculates and plans their actions and risks, leaving the least amount of evidence as possible in their crimes;

Whereas a sociopath is very different. The origin of their disorder has great chances of being generated due to the environment they live in. Researches show that great part of sociopaths have become sociopathic due to their precocious institutionalisation, meaning they were NOT born this way. Now:

A sociopath has difficulty in being polite or well-mannered and generally cannot maintain themselves in a job;

A sociopath has a behaviour of loss of control that generates hate and anger;

A sociopath is impulsive and spontaneous;

A sociopath is capable of creating bonds with other people or an individual group;

A sociopath is spontaneous and thus leaves marks and evidences in their crimes;

Now it’s when we analyse how Chara and Flowey fit in those profiles, starting by Chara. Chara is a psychopath: If we analyze their story enough, we’ll see that their story is indeed based in a frenetic impulse of psychopathy. Like I said above, a psychopath is usually a well-mannered person and gets very well socially. Chara was very well-seen by the Monsters while living in the Underground, so much that they say they “filled the Underground with hope” and therefore had great capacity of interacting with others. However, when we look into the manipulation thing, Chara is an extremely manipulative character, both while living in the Underground and at the end of the Genocide Run. Their attitudes in relation to the player at the end of the Genocide Run testify that: They induce the player to erase the world and is thus manipulating them by doing exactly that. They are intelligent, they know they need you to escape to destroy and kill everyone, so they need you to do their bidding, which is exactly what happens at a potential post-Genocide Pacifist Run. The same way they manipulated Asriel: to take him to the Surface as a SOUL inside him and carry their own dead body so the humans can see and make the mistake that leads them to attack him. Chara is clearly manipulating him by doing that. Chara also does not possess sympathy or empathy for anyone; When Asgore eats the poisoned pie and gets sick, Chara sadistically laughs at what happened and thus does not feel remorse before that. Another example of Chara’s lack of empathy towards anyone is how they didn’t care for how clearly uncomfortable Asriel was with their plan, they literally have to convince him through guilt-tripping and manipulation when he’s CRYING to go along with their plan:

Asriel (fourth True Lab VHS tape): I... I don't like this idea, <Name>. Wh.. what? N-no, I'm not... ... big kids don't cry. Yeah, you're right. No! I'd never doubt you, <Name>. Never! Y... yeah! We'll be strong! We'll free everyone. I'll go get the flowers.

This tape really goes to show how Chara clearly despises weakness, chastising Asriel for being “weak" and only cares about gaining more power, not caring a thing in the world on how other people feel. Remembering that Chara does all of this calculatedly, planning everything step-by-step, the same way a psychopath would do. Now, it is said by Asriel that Chara “hated humanity” and people just assume that this somehow means that they are actually depressed and abused and jumped on Mt. Ebott as an attempt of suicide, right? Well, that’s unfortunately NOT the case. The real reason why Chara “hated humanity and felt very strongly about it” is NEVER stated out loud and Asriel even goes to say that Chara never said why they felt this way. That’s right, Chara has no reason to hate humanity, they do what they do because they want to and because they LIKE hurting and killing. Like I said above, psychopaths are born psychopaths; They just want people to die and suffer by their hands and they leave it as less evident as possible, to the point of using Frisk as a physical vessel for them to kill Monsters and they only reveal their true colors and their plan to erase the timeline at the very end of the Genocide Run. Not to mention the way they fell down Mount Ebott is a bit suspicious to me. The intro of the game shows them tripping on a vine then falling on the hole leading to the Underground so it isn’t really a stretch to say that they’ve been lying to Asriel to gain his sympathy (another form of manipulation). Now on to Flowey. Flowey is a bit more different. Yes, Flowey also has the very same destructive impulses to destroy everything and everyone, but differing from Chara, his attitudes and motives to do that are different. First off, Flowey doesn’t have that much of a good capacity to interact with other monsters, as his explosive temper and his urge to attack everything he comes across turn Flowey VERY distanced from the others. Indeed, Flowey usually resides in an place that’s excluded from the Monster society, the Ruins. Flowey also isn’t very polite, his way of speaking is very different from the others. His signature “Howdy!” is southern slang, the way country people speak, whereas Chara, should I also add, politely greets the player with “Greetings”, a very formal way of saying hello. All of Flowey’s explosive behavior and lack of control towards Frisk, especially at the beginning of the game, shows that he doesn’t calculate his attitudes or his actions and is impulsive, the same way a sociopath acts. Also differing from Chara, Flowey has and had bonds, with Papyrus and possibly many others after he found out about his power to reset, save and load and, of course, with Chara. Flowey constantly feels like he has to do Chara’s bidding and even apologises to them at one point, showing that he is capable of bonding with someone, different from a psychopath. Flowey’s acts of violence are also very clear; he doesn’t do it all in secret like Chara does, he shows it in your face that he is indeed an antagonist. Who else makes crimes leaving marks behind? A sociopath, obviously. And surely, Flowey wasn’t always a sociopath, he became one, he is what Asriel became after being manipulated by Chara, Chara made him a sociopath (if not the boredom he felt after seeing all the Underground has to offer but you get my point). Indeed, Flowey/Asriel only turns evil and sociopathic due to the manipulative influences of Chara, Chara made him this way, Chara was the starting point for Flowey to start having those attitudes of violence in the game. To sum it all up: Chara was born a psychopath, as they have no reason to hate humanity, and Flowey is a sociopath because he was manipulated by Chara as Asriel. He doesn’t do what he does because he wants to, he only wants to satisfy Chara.

Conclusion (Chara=The Player/Character Analysis): Now, it is indeed a bit difficult to explain this line of thinking. Every RPG has in its essence killing and defeating your enemies, getting stronger, winning new equipments, gaining experience to evolve in levels and going to face new challenges. But that’s different in Undertale. This game values every single character it has, from simple enemies to NPCs, killing and defeating is not a necessity. Indeed, the more you kill, the worse your (most precisely Neutral) ending becomes. It really goes to show how being stronger than everyone else doesn’t necessarily make you better than anyone else, and in Undertale, the exact opposite happens, it makes you the worse. It completely goes against the idea that the more you kill, the better you are, without caring about anyone else, without the least bit of remorse, being the very best at every cost even if it means killing everyone around you. Chara is never met in person at all in every other route of Undertale besides the Genocide Run, and that’s because every EXP and every LV you gain gives them power, thus causing them to grow stronger and mentally posses Frisk. Why do you think Chara is the embodiment of the feeling you get every time your statuses increase? Why do you think you’re supposed to name them after yourself as the player (as stated by Toby Fox himself)? That's because completing a Genocide Run would be just like completing an RPG like any other and Chara is that feeling we have inside of us every time we gain more power, when we feel nothing upon seeing people get hurt, upon seeing the news of terrible things happening in the world and feeling nothing at all. They’re that evil voice whispering “kill them, you have the power” when we’re clutching a knife in our hands just about to cause pain and suffering for those who hurt you instead of feeling empathy and learning to forgive. Have you noticed how Chara is the only character in the entire game that we don’t fight? It's because Chara, being the feeling of only wanting more power and feeling no empathy for others at all, can only be defeated by doing good to others, by forgiving, by making friends and not using or manipulating them into doing what only YOU want them to do. Chara only resurrects at the very end of the Genocide Run, when everything and everybody are truly destroyed and only for wanting more power, they tell you that your “human SOUL” and your “Determination" are what brought them back to life, meaning that, upon wanting to become more powerful, you as the player, acquired their traits. HP. ATTACK. GOLD. DEFENCE. EXP. LV. Every time time a number increases, that feeling, that's Chara. With your guidance, Chara has finally resurrected, they could have never done this without you and have finally realised why they’re back to life: power, and that’s exactly what Chara represents. As that old saying says: “Power corrupts. Absolute power corrupts absolutely”. The player needs an equal, a representative in-game to represent their thirst and lust for power, their want to be the best at every cost and to kill everyone in their way if needed. Chara is a separate entity that lives in all of us, our thirst and lust for power that, if one lets it grow, can destroy worlds regardless of one’s choice, because YOU are never in control. Chara takes the game's control away from the player more and more as the Genocide Run progresses and, towards its end, more and more and more Monsters do not recognise Frisk as human anymore. That is because, as you kill, you literally strip yourself of your humanity. Is it really you in control of your actions, or your greed? Are you really the one making the rules, or your selfishness? Is there really anything more than just your ego and your futility that keeps you going? Are you leaving good things to the people around you or are you just an asshole wishing to manipulate everyone and have an easy life? Are you a true true friend or do you manipulate your friends and steal their attention, their empathy and sympathy with lies just so they can all cater to your needs and whims? In other words, you inner Chara? Soulless monster, you have no excuses to say you haven’t been warned, for when there is nothing nor nobody around you, do not complain that you did not know where you were going to.

I am open to discussions and will ignore flames.

#chara #undertale #chara undertale #undertale chara #chara is evil #why chara is evil #discourse #essay #by me #arguments #your argument is invalid

[bluewatsons]

Ryan Britt, Harlan Ellison Still Has a Mouth, Thankfully Still Screaming, TOR.com (Apr. 25, 2013)

I was barely 20 and when I first met Harlan Ellison in the too brightly lit cafeteria of South Mountain Community College in Phoenix, Arizona. I had driven with a posse of fellow booksellers to see the infamous SF legend speak at the college, and after what can only be described as Ellison doing stand-up comedy, I made him sign my copy of Troublemakers, got my picture taken with him and then arrogantly told him to remember me. He responded, “Sure kid.”

And more than a decade later, I’m happy to report Harlan Ellison still calls me “kid,” and is just as charmingly outrageous as ever.

Last week, over the phone, Harlan and I discussed the recent re-release of his very first 1958 novel Web of the City, now being reissued by publisher Hard Case Crime. But truly, any discussion with Harlan Ellison won’t be limited to the boundaries of one subject. Most interviews I’ve conducted with authors are a kind of sound-byte piracy: I swoop in and scoop out from their brains exactly what I need to create the perfect piece.

But chatting with Harlan Ellison isn’t like that! It’s the most fun you’re going to have in an interview, but it’s not really an interview. It’s a shoot-out at the O.K. Corral. Sure, these bullets might be rubber, but you’re definitely not just going to get what you think you want. You’re going to have to earn it.

“You’re three days late!” Ellison growled after I introduced myself. This is unfortunately true, and possibly my fault. I decided to remind him that not only did we meet over ten years ago, but also that we spoke on the phone in 2011. That time I talked with Harlan Ellison he thankedme for an article I’d written on Tor.com about a short story of his called “How Interesting: A Tiny Man.”

Luckily he remembered this and said, “Well, I try to be punctilious in these matters,” and then laughed like a jolly gargoyle.

Web of the City, Ellison’s first novel, is in essence a snapshot of gang violence on the streets of New York City, capturing a time and circumstances—an entire universe—which doesn’t exist anymore. The novel concerns the machinations of Rusty as he attempts to leave a gang called the Cougars, who will surely kill him for this transgression. Ellison based much of the character of Rusty and the events of the book on his own experiences in being in a Brooklyn-based street gang at a young age. But just how much of the book is really Harlan Ellison? A lot!

“A lot of Rusty’s background parallels my background on the road as a kid, because I was off on my own very young, age 13. A lot of the scrambling and the shoe leather is autobiographical. The rest of it is just straight action adventure.”

But the New York City of Rusty is not the New York City of now. Having lived in New York City for almost a decade myself, I tried to figure out just how much of Harlan Ellison’s New York and the New York of Web of the City has changed. Ellison tells it like this:

“It’s a very different city now than it was then. And I haven’t been back since before 9/11. But that may be a lie…I remember my city, my New York very clearly. I can walk those streets, but all those people are gone and one by one all the places I went are gone.”

In the introduction to this new edition of Web of the City, Ellison writes of a possible legend about Ernest Hemingway intentionally destroying his first novel. From the introduction:

Yes, the story goes, Hemingway had written a book before The Sun Also Rises, and there he was aboard a ship, steaming either here or there; and he was at the rail, leaning over, thinking, and then he took the boxed manuscript of the book…and threw it into the ocean. Apparently on the theory that no one should ever read a writer’s first novel.

And yet, here we have a reissue of Harlan Ellison’s first novel! I demanded to know from Ellison if we younger writers should all be throwing our first novels into the ocean. As with most of the questions I presented him, his first response was a peal of laughter followed by an amused response:

“The question is an acerbic one…I read so little these days…things coming out are of so little interest to me…that I’m the last savant in the line to ask this question whether their work should be shitcanned.”

This part of the conversation segued into asking what Ellison watches on TV these days. “The test pattern,” he quipped, referring to the bars of color that appeared on CRT televisions, allowing you to adjust your set to its optimal settings. I assured him I was 31, and able to remember such things, but Ellison was nevertheless suspicious and fired back with, “31? I have software older than that!”

One of my favorite anecdotes about Harlan Ellison is the fact that he supposedly wrote his short story “Pretty Maggie Moneyeyes” completely in the nude and that he frequently wrote naked. So I wanted to know, what’s the deal with Harlan Ellison writing naked? He chuckled mischievously before saying this:

“Well it has been fairly recurrent. I wear whatever it is I’m wearing, when I get the urge to write, so if I get out of bed at two in the morning and wanna write I haven’t got the time or the patience to throw on pajamas…but in Vegas when I wrote that story, I did write it naked…God knows why. But that’s like asking ‘why did you put on shoes this morning.’ What is, is.”

Returning to the more serious matter of Web of the City’s relentless violence, I couldn’t help but feel a connection between these switchblade-wielding gang members and some of the other more malevolent forces in Ellison’s SF stories, specifically the sadistic computer from “I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream.” In that story, humans are tortured endlessly by something they once programmed, but I wondered, are we as a species able to escape our cycle of violence? From street gangs of the past to killer artificial intelligence of the future, where does it end?

“We are a very strange species. On the one hand we have Picasso’s paintings, on the other we have the AK-47. And some people are literarily drawn to the physical art of weaponry. If you take a knife, a knife can carve meat, it can carve a whistle for a child, it can be used for sculpting, or it’s a murderimplement. A gun can’t do anything but kill!…I don’t know if we can ever escape this. I mean, we’re a fairly young species, but we don’t show a lot of promise.”

To this, I asked Ellison if it was possible that fiction like his own might shine a light in the darkness and maybe, just possibly, help make humanity more aware of the violence it commits. He laughed again before responding:

“You must have mistaken me somewhere for someone who has some knowledge! It is hard to go through life as I have, being a guy who thinks we’ve had a good chance at it and we should turn it over to the cockroaches…BUT every once and awhile there is a ray of light. Every once and while there is an actor, or an artist or a philosopher who says or does something that makes a tiny difference. And for me now, at an upstanding age, I’m no longer the buccaneer, I have to be a little more philosophical…I cannot give you an answer. I’m not that wise!”

While the author’s relative wisdom still up for debate, Harlan Ellison is at least famous enough to be considered on wider platforms. The week before our interview Harlan Ellison recorded a guest spot on The Simpsons.

“I finally made my appearance on The Simpsons. They’d written a Harlan Ellison part for Harlan Ellison. And apart from taking a tumble out of chair in the writers room…it was great fun. And everyone said ‘YOU’RE FAMOUS NOW!’”

But Ellison has always been famous to me and one of my favorite old-school stunts of his was the writing of new short stories in public. Whether in bookshop windows, on the floors of conventions, in art galleries or outside, Harlan Ellison used to frequently sit around and create stories in the interests of reminding people that writing is a real job and quite hard work. I asked him a little bit about his feelings of doing this public writing and what he felt like it meant to people.

“It’s a dog and pony trick…I work well under pressure and most people don’t. Most people look at writing not as a holy chore, but something beyond means. Most other people think it appears magically. A kid came up to me sitting in public [writing on a typewriter] at an art show…and he looked at me punching away on the typewriter and said to his mother ‘What is that thing?’ And she said ‘That’s a typewriter,’ but he couldn’t figure out what it was. So I said ‘It’s magic! I think into it and what I want comes out!’ And he screamed ‘Mommy, mommy, you gotta get me one!’”

This, to me, couldn’t be a greater representation of the dark magic that is Harlan Ellison; lying to a child about the magic of a typewriter, while somehow also telling the child the truth. Even though he might misdirect you with faux-pomposity or a seemingly cynical view of the failure of the human race, he’s actually a laughing chuckling wizard with more in common with Socrates than he lets on. Harlan Ellison’s work is there to make us talk about it and Harlan Ellison is here, maybe even unwittingly, as an example of those rare artists who occasionally make a difference.

Underneath all the humorous bluster, Harlan Ellison loves you, whether you like it or not. Because as I got off the phone with Harlan, the last thing he said to me was: “keep it up, kid.”

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