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ajokeformur-ray · 4 years

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The slumbering beast within // Joker x Reader // hair wash fluff.

Summary: You need to wash your hair but lost within yourself are you in thought. Joker can’t turn away from you, not now... and just as you have saved him many times before does he now do the same for you.

A/N: Self-indulgent and self-insert to the max skksks I don’t care today (or any day). I was washing my hair yesterday and this was all I could think about. There’s some emotional heaviness to this and canonical angst.

Word count: 2,002.

“Do you need the bathroom? I’m gonna go wash my hair.”

Joker exhaled his lungful of cigarette smoke as he said, “No.” The sound was breathy and soft, and barely audible over the noise of the television. His legs were crossed at the ankles and somehow were his knees bouncing a mile a minute, watching the news was he. He had broken out of Arkham only a week ago and still did the search continue. No one ever looked for plain Arthur Fleck, and so it was only too easy for you to, by all intents and purposes, harbour a fugitive. Your husband may have been the clown prince of crime, but little was known about the man himself; people only knew his reputation, which had come with the name he had chosen. Oh, but he hadn’t wanted this and daily did it break your heart.

You were frozen in thought beside the television, your eyes on Joker’s painted visage. Even in the daylight did his face take on an eerie glow due to the harsh blue light of the screen and his makeup, meticulously applied this day, looked so crisp. Oh, but he was so handsome. Your thoughts were fixed on the night he had killed Murray and you felt the familiar sting of tears in your eyes. Nothing made you sadder faster than all that he had ever gone through... as hard as he had worked, as hard and as relentlessly as he had tried, and still was it not enough. Your sweet Arthur Fleck was failed again and again by society and in the end had he succumbed to all that was making him numb, even with your best efforts to ease him into his truest, freest self. No amount of love could prevent the inevitable, not that you wanted or needed to prevent something which others took for granted; discovering their real selves in their own time. No. Arthur have been shoved into his and he had been left reeling, his only grip on reality the feeling of your hand in his, of your fingers in the gaps between his own. You had never left his side and though you didn’t condone some of what he had done, you understood and you empathised so deeply with him. If only you could really have been there for him every step of the way. You had always and would always love the man sat on the sofa, no matter who he became or what he did. The weight of your rings became more apparent the longer that you stood there in thought, your eyes fixed on Joker’s face, and you felt the urge to cry stronger now. Though you hated how upset you got over something which couldn’t be changed, you also hoped that you never stopped getting upset, for surely that would mean that you no longer cared. If you no longer cried, would you still be so in love that the feeling overcame your entire self and threatened to choke you? Would you still -

A broken, strained giggle shattered your silent reverie. “Y/N.” Joker called your name once, his tone firm but loving, and your eyes, glazed over with the ghosts of all which haunted you, refocused on your husband. You must have made some kind of noise because Joker leaned forward and stubbed out his cigarette, almost burned down to the filter, out into the crystal ashtray which was on the coffee table. He shook his head and leaned back, a weary and knowing smile on his face. “There you are. Where did you go, sweet thing?” You were both aware of what you had been thinking of but Joker knew as well as you did that if you wanted to talk about it, you would. Even so, Joker continued with, “Leave it in the past, Y/N, where it belongs. Go wash your hair. I’ll be here when you come back.” His tone was gentle, full of empathy and of shared pain. Always so taken aback was he by the depths of the feelings you had for him, because of him. Joker sometimes wondered if he felt little about his past because you were burdened with feeling enough for the both of you. Green oceans met yours and you nodded slowly, still feeling outside of yourself. Joker was somehow right in front of you and really far away and even though you tried to focus on him, to let yourself know that he was there and he was okay, something in your thoughts still refused to let you go, so plagued were you by all you hadn’t been able to protect Joker from. You had forgiven him long ago for all that he had done, but you had yet to forgive yourself, and that was the core of the issue.

As you moved into the bathroom, a faraway look still in your eyes, so full of sorrow and sadness were you for another person, for your person, Joker sighed, swept a hand through those romantic curls which brushed gently across the tops of his shoulders as he did so, and stood up. He couldn’t and wouldn’t leave you. Not like this. He knew not why you were thinking so heavily on the past, but he knew that you would try to hide it from him, now. You would cry over the bathtub while you were washing your hair, and when you came out you would go into the bedroom and stay away from the source of your grief and of your comfort; so multifaceted was your clown and the things he could make you feel in the same moment. One of your worst habits was emotionally distancing yourself when you were hurting for any reason and so Joker made his way into the bathroom quickly, before you even had a chance to put your defenses up. He knocked twice with a single knuckle on the closed door and then let himself in. You were already bent over the bathtub and in the process of washing your hair. He heard you sniffle and his heartstrings tugged in his chest. Like they were connected did his lips turn downwards, too, and Joker shut the door loudly to catch your attention over the sound of the water. You froze and Joker smiled without humour. He had been as intuitive as always was he with you and oh, how he hated being right sometimes.

Joker shed his red blazer and draped it over your shoulders. He took the time to tuck it right around your body and as you began to relax into what you were doing, Joker took the shower head from you. “Let me do it, doll.” The contrast of the hot water to the coolness of Joker’s fingers and of the hard setting of the water against the gentle way Joker was running his hand over the back of your head to make sure that every part of your hair was soaked made you shiver, a cool tingle running down your back and pooling at the base of your spine. Joker was quick in how he washed your hair; he had seen you do it often enough to know how to do it himself. His nimble fingers massaged your scalp as he applied your shampoo. His grip was firm and you couldn’t help your occasional moans; Joker was so tender with you. Neither of you spoke while Joker was washing your hair. There was no need to. Everything was in his touch and in the way you just knew how to turn your head, when to shut your eyes and the like; so much of what the two of you did and said together was unspoken. Joker was done with your hair way before he turned the water off, but he kept it on because the both of you were enjoying the quiet stillness of the moment.

Finally, though, Joker leaned over you to shut the water off. You shrunk into his body and your hands brought the blazer tighter over you, completely immersing yourself in all that Joker was. He made a soft appreciative noise and grabbed a towel off the railing which was nailed to the wall near the toilet. Having watched you dry your hair before, Joker knew not to rub at your hair but to simply squeeze it in the towel and pat your hair dry. “Get up for me, darling.” Joker giggled at how you flipped your hair up and over your back. “Perfect,” A heartfelt murmur and then Joker sorted out your hair, a genuine look of concentration on his face as he found your parting. Strands were moved this way and that and when at last did Joker deem you finished did he slide his fingers into your hair and ruffle the strands so that your hair didn’t lay flat as it dried.

You smiled. “You know me so well.” The sadness from earlier was still there but Joker’s gentle touch had chased it away, much like the water had washed away the grime of the city which stole the life of the residents and replaced it with a passivity which was just as lethal as any posed physical threat. The both of you were aware of this but much like the past could it be unchanged, it could only be felt for the time that it demanded to be and eased with the touch of Joker’s hand, by the sound of his voice and so medicinal was the effect of his love upon your soul that all else faded away in the end. So potent and so rich an experience was he in all that he was, all that he had ever been and all that he would ever be that all else ceased to matter when he made his unconditional and undying love clear to you. You were his one and only and even when your sadness was for him would Joker endeavour to chase it away; for anything less than peace within you was something which he just couldn’t abide. Indeed was it much the same for you; the two of you lived and breathed for the other’s well being and safety.

Joker grinned. “Mm-hm.” The sound was saturated with smugness and his grip on your hair remained as he pressed his lips to yours. His lips were reverent upon your own and they contained everything you needed in this moment; reassurance that what you had together was real, confirmation that Joker was alive and well, and love. All you had ever wanted from Joker was his particular brand of love and he made sure that you received it in abundance. Similarly did you spend your every waking moment making sure that Joker knew so vividly that you loved him that not even he could convince himself otherwise. You had yet to fail in your daily goal. With one hand clutching the blazer which was still draped over your shoulders like a crimson cape and the other holding tightly onto the teal collar of his shirt, you allowed yourself to fall into Joker’s kiss, knowing that he would catch you, just as he always did. He didn’t ask how you were feeling - he didn’t need to. Everything he needed to know was in the way you clutched onto him so tightly, like he was the only thing which made sense in your life, and Joker knew that this moment, right here, with your body pressed fully up against his and your lips so firmly against his own, with nothing but the most tender of loves in the air between you, more than made up for all of those loveless nights which had come before.

He had waited almost thirty-six years for you and, oh, had his patience been rewarded. You were precisely what Joker deserved and finally did the werewolf within succumb to its exhaustion. It yawned, stretched and closed its eyes...

... And never awoke.

AF/J @impulsiveclown @notyourlittledoll @astheworlddturns @fluffedstar @jokersqueenofchaos @germansarechill @tsukiakarinobara @d-dreemurr @lynnesm @sagyunaro @docsportello @ezziesworld @flowerglitterwoman @ben-solos-writing-avenger @jokers-doll @jokershyena @arthurjokersgirl @antonija89 @lilliryth @hotpacino @obsessedandthirsty @call-me-harley-quinn

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the-awkward-outlaw · 4 years

Note

I was just playing the mission where they clear out beaver hallow and it made me want to request something where healthy! Arthur rescues a reader in the cave and the aftermath where they fall in love and what not 👀😬🥰 pretty please

Yay, I was so happy to write this one! So happy I went and wrote like 13 pages 🙄 Anyways, enjoy.

Warnings: blood, gore, witnessed rape, but I make it up with a lot of fluff!

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Read on AO3

Cold. That’s all you feel. Physically, mentally, emotionally. The entire world has grown cold. How can you believe in warmth and light and love or kindness in a place like this? You’re surrounded by constant darkness, only occasionally broken up by the firelight of torches, hidden somewhere around the bend of the giant pillar holding the ceiling of this massive cavern. If only you could leave, but you’re trapped in this steel cage, the door bound tightly shut by thick ropes.

It’s impossible to say how long you’ve been here. There’s no way for you to tell between night and day, and therefore you haven’t been able to count. It feels like an eternity though. All the others you were with, your brother and his horrible wife and spoiled daughter, they’re all dead. Why you were spared by these murderers is a mystery. Maybe because you were the only grown woman who showed no signs of being spoilt by another man, maybe it was just a random choice.

Not that the others in your caravan were killed immediately. Some of them were, sure, shot down by the rifles in the Murfree’s hands, like your brother for instance. He hadn’t even seen them coming before those men put a bullet in his skull. You, the other women and a few of the men were bound and dragged to their cavern while a few stayed behind to butcher the others. If only their screams were the only ones you heard.

After being dragged into the cavern, the Murfrees took the three of the four men left alive and began to attack them, cutting off bits and pieces of them, gutting one and skinning the other. It was bad enough to hear and see what was happening, but then you watched, held down by a Murfrees boot, as your sister-in-law was stripped, raped and then cut into pieces. Her massacred torso was shoved onto a spike, a warning to travelers of what was waiting for them. She was an evil, horrible person, but she didn’t deserve that.

You and your niece were two of the four left alive. Another woman and the last man were dragged inside. All the women, including your niece, were thrown into this cage while the man was taken somewhere else, apparently meant to be tortured slowly. There was no rhyme or reason to this savage attack, but as time passed and you picked up bits and pieces of the Murfrees talking, you gathered that they viewed this area as their territory and would defend it however they deemed fit, and that was through extreme violence and foul savagery.

As the days passed, though you could not count them for lack of light, the Murfrees began to prey upon the other two women in the cage with you. They picked the oldest one first, dragging her out, shearing her hair off, raping her. Apparently she was too old for their taste and they killed her only a few hours later.

Your niece, though spoiled rotten and one of the worst people you’ve ever known, you would never wish any of this on her. They picked her next. They dragged her from the cage, strapped her to a rack and left her naked. Every once in a while, some of them would gather around her, rape her, cut her, whip her. Her screams were the worst as she was little more than a child. YOu were glad she didn’t last long. But her death meant that it was your turn.

However, the Murfrees haven’t done anything just yet. They’ve come up to the cage, rattled the bars, screamed all sorts of horrible things at you, stuck in their hands to try and grab you, but they haven’t done anything. It’s clear why. This waiting, the anticipation for the inevitable horrors lying ahead for you, is a form of torture. And torture it is. You wished they’d just kill you already.

It’s impossible to say how many tears you’ve shed. Your throat is cracked, dry and painful from the lack of water and the hours you’ve spent screaming for help. Your captors haven’t bothered to offer you food or water, but that’s the last thing you’re worried about. You know they’re capable of far, far worse.

Your niece must have died days ago. They still haven’t bothered to remove her corpse from the rack on the other side of the cavern from your cage. The smell of this place is choking. The stench of her decay, and the decay of other rotting bodies, overwhelms you. That mixed with urine and feces threatens to make you vomit what very little nourishment is left in your stomach.

At one point, a Murfree walks past your cage. You look out with a tear-stained face. “Kill me, please!” you beg.

He just chuckles, showing rotten teeth. “Oh not so fast there, little girl. Your friends died way too quickly. We plan on making you last a while.”

You try to make him angry, to spur him to kill you, but he doesn’t fall for it. You try everything you can think of, but nothing comes of it. They’ve left you in nothing but your underclothes. If you weren’t already so terrified of them raping you and leaving your naked body on display, you’d strip yourself out of your chemise and hang yourself. As time goes on though, that idea becomes more and more appealing. How much longer can you last?

Finally the cave falls silent. There hasn’t been any screams for some time, all their other victims must be dead or incapacitated. The Murfrees are quiet too. Maybe they’re sleeping, or out scouting for fresh blood. This gives you the opportunity to lay on the back wall of the cage that’s right against the pillar, meaning no one can grab you through the bars. Despite the fear and pain in your bruised body, you manage to fall into a light sleep.

Suddenly someone screams out, jerking you awake. It isn’t the scream of someone getting tortured or murdered. There’s words in them.

“Someone’s in the cave!” it says.

You stand up, your heart in your throat. A gunshot echoes through the cavern making you jump out of your skin, and it’s followed by more screams. Murfrees begin to swarm towards the gunshots, screaming and calling out threats. They’re armed with machetes and guns of their own.

After several minutes, the air finally falls silent. Then the face of a man comes into view. You’ve never seen him before. His intelligent eyes glitter from a dark face and he calls behind him.

“There’s someone alive, she’s in a cage.”

All you can think of is that they’re new captors, and that they’re just as bad or possibly worse than the Murfrees. A whimper escapes your lips as you try clinging to the back wall of the cage, looking for somewhere to hide.

The man comes back into view, followed by another man. He wears a leather hat and he slings a gun to his back before approaching.

“S-stay away from me!” you yell out, your voice surprisingly strong.

“It’s okay, we’re here to help,” the white man says. He gets close to the door, despite you pleading for him to leave and then pulls out a knife. You begin screaming, your legs turning to jelly as you sink to the ground in the corner. This is it. You’re going to have a number of unspeakable things done to you and then you’re going to die.

“Shhh, we ain’t gonna hurt ya,” says the man, quickly cutting through the rope that locks your door. He sheaths it immediately and holds his arms up. His voice is soft and gentle.

“Easy, easy. We’re here to help.”

“Please leave me alone,” you sob. Your hands are over your ears as tears sting your eyes. He’s getting closer, causing your heart to beat painfully. Your head drops to your knees so you don’t have to see him anymore, hoping he’ll go away.

Something gently touches your shoulder, but you flinch as though stung. It touches you a little harder, but there’s no pain to it. When you uncover your eyes, you see it’s his hand. Blue eyes meet yours and he talks gently again.

“It’s okay. I’m here to help ya. Gonna get you home.” He slowly gets closer, enveloping his arms around you. Despite your intense fear, you lean into him, burying your face into his chest. He smells good, but that’s in comparison to the foul stench of the cave. Heat emanates from him, allowing you to escape from the cold, and you shiver.

“A’right, let’s get ya outta here.” The man stands up, but you cling to him, suddenly afraid of his absence. Contrary to what you believed a few moments ago, this man represents safety, light, warmth and hope. You cling to his hand, sticking close as he begins walking through the cavern, accompanied by the other man you first saw.

“So, where you from?” your hero asks.

“Valentine. But… but… I don’t…” You blanch as you see the fresh corpses of the Murfrees spread around.

“It’s okay,” he says, squeezing your hand. “They’re all dead. You’re safe.”

You swallow, your lower lip trembling, sticking closer to him as you both walk towards the mouth of the cave. Your feet scrape against the cold rock and small bones of animals that are strewn about. Light hits your eyes suddenly, harsh and painful, causing you to wince. After a moment, you adjust to it and look around the uncomfortably familiar clearing, littered with bodies and broken bits of wagons. You avoid looking at the pike holding what’s left of your sister-in-law.

Your hero stands next to a horse and he looks back at you. “You okay to ride a little? I’ll take ya home.”

You begin shivering and then break into tears, crumpling to the ground. “My family…. There’s…. There’s no one left.”

The man walks over and gently picks you up so you’re standing. He offers himself as a support for you and you lean into him, wishing this was all nothing more than a horrible nightmare.

“You sayin’ you ain’t got a family no more?” he asks softly.

You nod into his shirt. “They’re gone. They’re gone.”

“Well… ya can’t stay here. Let me take ya home, then you can figure out what ya wanna do.”

Slowly, he lifts you onto his horse and then climbs on in front. You cling to him as though your very life depends on it, which it partially does. He bids his companion farewell and then kicks his horse into an easy gallop.

“You okay, miss?” he asks after a few moments.

“They’re… they’re animals!” you say with a harsh sob.

“I know, but you’re safe now.”

“I haven’t slept in days! My family, they killed them!” You bury your head into his back and cry, exhaustion ripping through you. The weight of the last few days is finally slamming into you. All you want to do is curl up and sleep, never to wake up again. Part of you wishes this man would take pity on you and just put a bullet in your head. It would be easier. But amidst your crying, you don’t have the strength to ask him.

He rides on, giving you encouragement every once in a while. When he passes O’Creagh’s Run, you guide him to your cabin, which isn’t too much farther away. Once there, he helps you down from his horse and you stare at the cabin miserably.

This cabin, you thought it had been hell before. After your parents died, you had nowhere to go but your brother’s, with his horrible wife and worse daughter, all of whom are now dead. If you’d had the money, you would’ve left a long time ago. Then, your brother got a job in Boston, which was why you were caravaning up to Annesburg, to board the train and go there. That is what led to you ending up in the Murfree’s clutches.

The cabin lies cold and empty now. Your hero walks up to it with you and you open the door, finding the very little furniture that was left behind, including your rickety bed but it has no blankets. Only the lumpy mattress you slept on. The man looks around, clearly worried about your predicament.

“You sure there ain’t no where else I can take ya, ma’am?”

You shake your head. “I don’t h-have anyone else, mister.”

He sighs and nods, then goes to his horse where he pulls off his bedroll. He hands it to you. “Here. I know it ain’t much, but sounds like you need something warm to sleep in. You gonna be okay?”

Your lip is trembling again and more tears are swelling up, but you nod. He looks at you, his eyes saying he doesn’t believe you.

“Here, why don’t you lay down, try gettin’ some rest. I’ll um, see if I can cook you somethin’ to eat.”

You’re so tired and confused that you can do nothing else but obey him. He sprawls his bedroll on the old mattress and you climb into it. All you want to do is fall asleep now that you’re warm and protected by this stranger, but the memories and the screams come back to you, preventing you from doing so. Soon, the smell of cooking meat fills the cabin and you look up.

“I got some venison cookin’ up for ya.”

The thought of eating any kind of meat, after the things you witnessed, makes you want to gag. He sees your green face.

“Somethin’ wrong?”

“I… I can’t eat that. Not…. not like this. Not now.”

Realization dawns on his face. “That’s a’right, I’ll eat it later. Well here, I got some beans, canned fruit. Here, got this too.”

He reaches into his satchel and pulls out a chocolate bar and hands it to you. Despite having not eaten in days, you’re really not hungry. You take the candy and just hold it, sniffing lightly. You hear him sigh and then he drags the one chair left in the house over to you, sitting down so he can look at you.

“Ma’am, I know you seen some bad things back there. I know those bastards killed your family. I’m real sorry, about all that. But… well, you’d make me feel a lot better if you’d eat somethin’.”

Tears streaming down your cheeks, you open the chocolate up and take a bite, though you don’t really taste it. He pats your knee, making you flinch.

“What’s your name?”

You tell him and he nods. “Arthur. Arthur Morgan. You, uh, you gonna be okay here?”

You just shrug your shoulders. Although you’ve no appetite, you’re starting to feel better now that your stomach has something in it. When you’re finished eating, Arthur offers you some peaches but you deny them. You really don’t think you can handle any more food. Instead, you lay down to try and get some sleep. Arthur stands up and begins heading for the door.

“Wait,” you say, your voice shaking. “Arthur, will… will you stay with me? At least until I… I’m not awake anymore?”

He turns and looks at you. It’s obvious from his face he’s got something heavy weighing on his mind, but he nods and sits back down in the chair. “Sure. Guess I can do that.”

You lay back down, your eyes unable to close for fear of seeing the horrors you witnessed. You can’t stand to watch your family get butchered again, hear their screams. Arthur pulls out an old journal from his satchel and begins scratching at a page with his pencil. The sound, and the exhaustion, finally lulls you to sleep.

Contrary to your surety, you end up having no dreams. Perhaps your mind’s so tired it can’t muster up the energy to dream, or maybe it’s trying to block the memories out. You don’t care though, you’re just grateful. You wake up after a few hours. It’s dark outside your window. Arthur’s gone and you’re all alone.

You feel like crying again, but you’re extremely thirsty. A result of having nothing to drink for God knows how long. You go out into the family room and kitchen of the cabin and find something lying on the cold stove. There’s several cans of food, a full waterskin, a bundle of money and a letter. Reading it, you see it’s from Arthur and he begs you to take care of yourself as best you can and that he’ll try and check on you in a few days. The thought of him returning sends a jolt of hope through your chest.

After drinking nearly half of the waterskin’s contents, you try going back to sleep, but you’re afraid. Afraid of the isolation, the darkness. You light a candle, but it does little to help. Shadows flicker along the walls, the silhouettes of the leaves outside play tricks on your eyes.

You know that not all the Murfrees were in that cabin when Arthur saved you. There were still plenty out there, alive and probably angry. Would they hunt you down? Would they hunt Arthur down? You have more questions than answers. The fear that they will track you and find you here tears through your chest. Should you leave? If Arthur returns, should you ask to follow him? He must have a group of people he lives with, but the thought of living with strangers makes you afraid too. You’ll be lucky if you ever trust another person after this. How can anyone be good when you just witnessed such extreme brutality?

***************************

A few days pass with no sight or word of another person, which is lucky for you. You talked yourself into going to the stream not far from the cabin and bathing, happy to strip the dirt and the blood from your skin. You rubbed yourself raw, as though convinced that by stripping your skin as much as you could, you could strip away the memories.

You struggle to sleep, and when you do, it’s very light. The slightest sounds wake you. If only Arthur were here, you felt safe with him. However, you doubt he’ll return. Why would he? You don’t know each other, he owes you nothing and you’ve nothing to offer him in return for his services. Still, you count the days until you see him, happy that you can see the sunlight.

The day after you came back, a young stag started to visit your house. Your home has always been frequented by deer, of course. But none of them ever stay long. The stag, though, seems to like this spot. You’ve caught him napping beneath your bedroom window a few times. He seems to have no fear of you, nor does he seem aggressive. In fact, he seems curious about you, liking to watch you pick through your sister-in-law’s garden, which is beginning to grow wild. The stag is a welcome companion. You know his senses are far more powerful than your own, and if he’s afraid, you should be too. He never gets worried though, until the fourth day.

You’re out picking some ginseng from the garden when the stag looks up from his grazing and bolts off into the trees. Looking up, you see Arthur walking in on his horse. He waves to you in greeting. A sigh escapes your lips and your stomach unclenches. You’d been afraid it’d been one of the Murfrees coming down the path.

“Hello, Y/N,” he says, dismounting.

“H-hello, Arthur,” you say with a croaky voice. You haven’t spoken a word since you last saw him.

“How are you?” he asks, stopping a few feet away. “Ya look tired.”

You shrug again. “It’s… it’s been hard to sleep.” He just nods, not expecting you to go into detail as to why. You notice from his eyes that he seems tired himself.

“I’d… Let me cook something up for you,” you say. “Afraid all I have is the food you left for me. Thank you for that, by the way.”

“It’s not a problem, ma’am, and you don’t need to do that. By the way, do you know how to feed yourself out here?”

It’s clear he means hunting, and you shake your head. “I don’t think I can do it. Maybe before all this I could’ve, but now…”

He nods, understanding what you mean. “Give it time, Y/N. But I brought more food for you. Thought you might need it.”

You invite him inside, stammering your thanks. Of course, there’s really not anywhere to sit, but you and Arthur do by sitting on the floor, eating out of the cans. You’re both quiet for a time, but then you ask Arthur what his life is like, desperate for a distraction from the hell that is your own life.

He tells you that he’s an outlaw, that he’s running with a gang. They’ve run into the worst of times, which is what led to him and his friend Charles to Beaver Hollow where they found you. He finishes by saying they’re all holed up there now and they’ve cleaned it up.

“You’re not afraid of the Murfrees coming back?” you ask, your eyes wide.

He chuckles. “Trust me, they’d be damn stupid to do that. With how my gang is right now, they’re nastier than those Murfrees.”

“I don’t believe that for a second, Mr. Morgan. You… you don’t kidnap and butcher people,” you say slowly, still getting used to talking again.

“No, but we’re all turnin’ on each other like a pack of wild, starvin’ dogs. The gang leader, Dutch… he’s… gone crazy or somethin’. His girl came back, drunk and mad, sayin’ she betrayed us. Our matriarch, Susan, shot her dead. I wanted to spare Dutch’s girl, but they killed her anyways. I honestly have my doubts that she betrayed us. Think she was just heartbroken, woulda said anythin’ to hurt Dutch like he hurt her.”

You don’t really know anything about what he’s saying, but it sounds like his gang’s in trouble. You swear you recognize the name Dutch though.

“What… what is Dutch’s last name?” you ask.

“Van der Linde. Why?”

Your eyes widen again and you stare at Arthur with a new sense of recognition. “You’re with Dutch’s boys? The gang of murderers, train robbers and bandits?”

He sighs and just nods.

“I read about the Blackwater heist, the Valentine massacre. Were… were you involved with those?”

“Not the Blackwater heist. But I helped shoot up Valentine, Rhodes, Saint Denis. I’m afraid I ain’t the hero you believe I am.”

Even though you know you should be appalled and disgusted with the man sitting beside you, you don’t. Instead, you put your hand on his knee. “You saved my life, Mr. Morgan. You killed those bad people, brought me home. Not only that, you’re here now to make sure I’m okay. You can’t be all bad.”

“But I ain’t all good neither, Y/N. Trust me, I killed just as many folks as those bastards who put you in this situation.”

You pause and withdraw your hand. “Did you like it? Killing those people?”

He sighs. “No. I ain’t never liked it. But I had to with most of ‘em.”

“Then you’re not as bad as those Murfree bastards. They… they liked it.” For the first time since you returned, you willingly delve into those memories, trying to get Arthur to see your point. “They said they’d do horrible things to me, Arthur. And I believed every single one of them because I watched them do those things to my family. My brother and his family weren’t good people, but they didn’t deserve what happened. Forgive me, but I don’t see you skinning a man and laughing as he screams. I can’t imagine you raping a girl as young as my niece. I can’t believe you’d mutilate a woman and put her body on a pike for display.”

He swallows. “No. No I’d never do that.”

“Then you ain’t a bad man, not like them. You… saved me and you don’t even know me.”

He looks at you and pats you on the knee. “I’d save you again, miss. Listen, even though things are bad with my gang and I got a lotta work to do, I… I’m hopin’ you’ll be a’right if I stay here every few days?”

You smile for the first time and squeeze his hand. “Nothing would make me happier, Mr. Morgan.”

****************************************

As Arthur promised, every few days he returns to your cabin and usually stays for a day or two. He sleeps out in his own tent during the night, resting in a new bedroll since you still have his old one. You offered it back but he told you to keep it.

After his third visit, he brought tools he bought from Valentine and started making you furniture. You had no means to get it yourself, and you were incredibly embarrassed that he’d do such labors as that, but you were grateful. He made a table first and then a chair to go with the single one you had.

Every time he comes, he brings food and often leaves you with some money. You ask him to keep it, of course, as you haven’t gotten the courage to go to town. However he ignores your pleas and does it anyways, stating you need it more than he does.

Along with this, he decided to teach you how to shoot a gun, stating it’s useful knowledge in case the Murfrees do track you down. You don’t like it much at first as the bang always makes you jump. When you grow used to it, it gets easier. Arthur ends up leaving a carbine repeater with you so you can have some form of protection when he’s gone.

When Arthur isn’t here, the young stag always returns. You find great comfort in the deer’s company, almost like he’s watching over you when Arthur can’t. He always leaves when Arthur visits, but within hours of his departure, the stag comes back every time.

As the weeks go by, your memories slowly begin to grow less harsh and you start recalling them less. You still don’t trust strangers and any sight of one from the trail sends you running into your cabin. The threat of the Murfrees still hangs heavy over your head. The nightmares started some time ago and you still aren’t able to sleep very well. You notice you sleep best on the nights when Arthur’s visiting.

You look out your kitchen window and see him coming down the trail now, making your heart lift. Opening the window, you call out to him and he waves, a big grin on his face. As he dismounts his horse, he looks over at you.

“What you cookin’?” he asks.

“Just some turkey. I shot one earlier.”

“Did ya?” he says, pride in his voice. He tried getting you to eat some eat a couple weeks back but with no success. However, even you can’t deny how much weight you’ve lost since the cave. Even though you’re eating enough beans, vegetables and fruits, it’s obvious you need to eat some meat to keep going.

He walks into the cabin, sniffing appreciatively. You can’t help but blush. The more you two have gotten to know each other, the more you’ve grown to like him. Not only that, you’re quickly developing a crush on him. You have an idea that he might like you too. After all, why else would he keep visiting you like this?

Just as you’re setting dinner down on the table, the cabin is suddenly illuminated by and quickly followed by a huge bang, causing you to jump out of your skin.

“Easy, easy,” Arthur says, his hand planting on the small of your back. “It’s just lightning and thunder.”

You blush at his touch and nod. He goes over to the window and looks up at the sky. “Hmm. Looks like a pretty good storm.”

You pause. You’ve no bed to offer him, but you don’t want him sleeping out in the rain either.

“You can, um, take my bed if you want,” you offer. “You’re the guest, after all.”

“No, miss, I’d never kick ya out of your own bed.”

You think to offer him sleeping with you in the bed but you quickly dash away that thought. No way would he go for it and you doubt you’d be comfortable with that.

However, as the night sets further in, the storm grows stronger. The lightning and thunder last for a long time, even to the point where you’re huddled in bed and shivering. You’ve never been a huge fan of thunder during the night, but after the Murfrees it’s even worse.

After a while of heart-wrenching fear of the storm, you get out of bed and look out in the kitchen, where Arthur’s laid his bedroll out on the floor.

“Arthur?” you whisper.

He grunts over the howling wind, letting you know he’s awake.

“Arthur, will… will you come be with me? I can’t sleep over this.”

He sits up and nods. Before he stands, you go back to your bed and huddle against the wall, still cold. He comes in, his eyes glancing at the lit lantern on your bedside table. You never sleep without it anymore. Silently, he crawls into bed and lies down on his back. At first, you give him his space, but the lightning and thunder persist. This sends you to pack yourself against him, your head buried into his shirt. He doesn’t seem to mind though, in fact his arm wraps protectively around you.

After this night, things noticeably change between the two of you. Arthur’s much more likely to touch you and he spends most nights in your bed. Despite everything you saw happen to your sister-in-law and niece in the cave, it doesn’t take long before you end up having sex with Arthur. It had been in the morning and he’d been spooning you. You’d shuffled your hips a little and felt his morning wood. Being already attracted to him, you couldn’t control yourself and one thing led to another. He was the first person you’d slept with too, but he was gentle and did his best to make sure you felt good.

You were honestly surprised with yourself about sleeping with him. You hadn’t even kissed and yet there you were with him between your legs. However, you wouldn’t deny that it felt right. After the deed was done, the two of you talked for a while about what would happen between the two of you. Both of you admitted your feelings for one another. It was the best thing to have happened to you since Arthur saved your life. All the walls came tumbling down. He told you the details about his gang and how bad things had become. You told him about your past too, the abuses you suffered at the hands of your brother and his family, which explained why you weren’t devastated by their deaths, though disturbed by them.

Since that morning, sex between the two of you has become a fairly regular thing. Arthur’s careful, not wanting another situation like Eliza and Isaac. Your feelings have quickly spiraled out of control. You wish he was around all the time but understand when he has to leave to try and help what remains of his gang.

Arthur says he loves you, but it’s not until one night that he discovers he’s never loved anyone more. The two of you had just finished fooling around and he’d collapsed on top of you. Things had been so hard in the gang lately, he and Charles had aided Eagle Flies, the Wapiti chief’s son escape prison, and Dutch had found out. He’d been irate when he discovered Arthur was helping the Wapiti behind his back. Things had hit an all time low, so being with you was the greatest form of relief for him. However, as he settled on top of you, you held his head to your chest and stroked his hair.

Never before had you lay with him like this. From the beginning, it was him who held you, him who brushed your hair, him who comforted you in the night. But here you were, with his head on your shoulder, whispering in his ear that things would be better. No woman in his past ever did this, and he knew he’d like nothing more than to spend the rest of his life with you.

****************************************

Arthur rides down towards your little cabin with the heaviest of hearts. The betrayal crushes down on him, and the pain of everything sags his shoulders down. When he sees you out in the garden, looking so beautiful as you sing to yourself with the sun glowing on your hair, he feels like crying, knowing you’ll accept him with open arms.

When you spot him, you break out with your big smile. The one he loves so much. When he embraces you, burying his face into your hair, you know something real bad has happened. You ask and he tells you how the Wapiti attacked the oil fields in retaliation to all the horrible things the army and Cornwall have done to them. He tells you how Dutch used the Indians to get rich, how he himself had been knocked down and nearly killed. Dutch had a chance to save him but abandoned him.

“He was like my father,” he sniffs into your hair. “Him and Hosea, they raised me. But now I see I’ve never been anything other than a means to an end for him. I’m expendable. All those goddamn years. Wasted.”

“What will you do?” you ask softly when he composes himself.

He leans up, his hands still on your waist. “I ain’t goin’ back. I’m done breakin’ my back for that fool. If… If you’ll have me, I’d like to stay here with you. Try for a… a new life.”

You smile and brush his cheek with your hand. “Nothing would make me happier, Arthur.”

The kiss that follows is one you’ll never forget.

#rdr2 fanfic #red dead fanfic #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x female reader #awkward asks

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undignifiend · 3 years

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Theme Ramblings - On Evil, Honesty, Violence, and Better Ways to Rule Number Two (Local Windbag Spends All Night Pontificating Again)

I really like Trollhunters and Tales of Arcadia. I feel like it addresses important themes that I also want to address in my own writing, and I feel like that is part of what makes it an awesome world and story to explore, through the original stories, and through fanfiction. I find exploring ideas within an already established world is very helpful and therapeutic. So here are my current thoughts on some of those themes, which have also been informed by various other stories. Narrative is one of the ways through which we process the world. And one of my goals is to learn how to do that with clarity, practicality, and compassion. So here’s a bit of what I think I’ve learned so far.

Warnings: Talking about violence, with pain and trauma. Stay safe. Also, spoilers for Tales of Arcadia - Wizards, and for the film You Were Never Really Here.

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‘Evil’ is not a word that holds a lot of weight with me, at least not the way I feel it’s commonly used, especially in stories. Some bully without any redeeming qualities beating someone up for a power trip is a common motif, but I don’t find it a compelling or useful model of how or why some people act shitty, or how to possibly fix it nonviolently. As something of a determinist, I don’t believe our decisions just pop out of a vacuum - rather, that they are informed by our experiences, which we react to in healthy or unhealthy ways depending on what we think we understand and what we want to protect.

Or at least I think that’s a nice idea, but I don’t know how practical it actually is. For instance, maybe there are actual people who are just idiots, cowards, or cruel and nothing more, and interacting with them in a good-faith manner is an entirely hopeless waste of our limited time - especially when those mofos are actively threatening people. “They’re complex people, too!” seems kind of irrelevant when they’re calling for killing those who disagree with them, for example.

Maybe I’m having trouble with this idea because I haven’t actually recognized such mind-numbing simplistic malice in anyone directly involved in my life. I’m starting to think I might be spoiled that way.

I also want to emphasize that I’m not even remotely claiming “Everyone is right in their own ways”. Some mofos out there are objectively incorrect. I’m currently convinced that we all think we’re right, but not that we all are. Or that even when we realize we’re wronging someone, we tend to spin narratives that twist the situation to make ourselves look better, or even like we’re “The Real Victims! D:” to justify and excuse something we may otherwise deem tragic.

What horrifies me (what I’ve witnessed) is when harm is done by people who think they’re doing the right thing, or that they’re justified, or that it’s normal. People who otherwise have potential to do good, making a selfish call out of fear, anger, apathy, a misplaced sense of righteousness, or even just a desperate and ill-advised attempt to feel seen or important. The ‘evil’ that scares me most is a loss of perspective that leads to (and justifies or excuses) tragedy. That loss of perspective, I also think, is a key part of what makes propaganda possible. Calling someone ‘evil’ is often intended to deface them and simplify them into a problem or obstacle to be rid of - no longer a complex individual, but a symbol of all that is wrong with the world - a bully or ‘monster’ without redeeming qualities. (Often represented as something “subhuman” that we supposedly don’t have to feel bad about killing.) An external threat to vanquish in favor of facing whatever horrible truth we’re running from, or what conditions led to people acting in these harmful, tragic ways. (And if we can understand those conditions, perhaps we can guard against them and hopefully even save some lives and change them for the better?) I think calling someone ‘evil’ is not only impractical (and useless when it comes to diagnosing why someone is behaving a certain way, or how to effectively either help them grow up or maybe at least help prevent them from causing more harm), I think it opens the door for otherwise good people to do horrific things, all the while avoiding the root of the problem, and calling themselves justified and heroic.

That’s part of why I’m so excited about Wizards. (Finally got to ToA!) I appreciated Arthur as an example of what’s familiar to me, and the kinds of thinking I want us to learn to recognize and avoid. His grief was relatable - we’ve all lost someone, and we all have people we want to protect. But it’s monumentally important that we don’t commit Arthur’s tragedy, and take our pain out on others. And it’s also important that we don’t dismiss the pain that others are struggling to cope with, as Arthur dismissed Morgana’s and the trolls’ when he called them evil. And part of why I genuinely like Arthur as a character (not just an antagonist) was that he came around and admitted that he was wrong, and wanted to repair the damage he did.

At least until his Green Knight chapter, the motivations of which I’m still unsure of. I’m not the sharpest crayon in the shed, but it seemed like a non sequitur to me... after a certain point. If you have some insight into what’s going on with him, I’m all ears. I’m a little worried I might just be projecting my issues again.

So far, here’s what I think I can glean: I relate to the lines “How can I be at peace when the world is still broken?” and “He awoke to a legacy of a violent and awful world.” I don’t want to get into the specifics of my own experiences, but I understand the horror of “waking up” to a horrifying reality, and the motivation to try to change it somehow. The all-consuming restlessness of it, and the inability to escape or reconcile it, and the constant, never-ending tension that slowly rips you apart and isolates you from everyone and poisons your faith in humanity because you’ve looked into the abyss so long you now recognize that it’s where you’ve lived all along. Because no matter what kind of new equilibrium you scramble for, the truth remains that terrible, unnecessary harm is being done, and will continue to be done (and justified and excused and even laughed at) by otherwise good people until we all die out - and that will be our legacy even as we continue to squawk empty platitudes about how intelligent and compassionate and special we are, and nothing makes any of that okay.

In my worst, most melodramatic moments, I even understand the ‘Let it all burn, if it can’t be saved’ mentality. But I don’t have a lot of patience for defeatism, so it’s not a mentality I can take seriously for long at all, and that’s where my understanding (if I may be so pretentious?) of the Green Knight stops. Because I know there are many others who have seen what I’ve seen and feel the same way I do, and believe that a better way is possible, however distant, and who have done loads more than I have to change it. And (perhaps more importantly) I know that even those who perpetuate some of the same harms I want to stop, and even crack jokes about it, are still good people who mean well, and have their own pains to cope with.

What I want is for us (and our heroes) to recognize when we are being dishonest or unfair, and to call ourselves out, even when it’s inconvenient (or when it feels impossible, like when we’re scared, angry, or hurt). I love and admire people who can face their feelings and uncertainties honestly, and I want to be like them, because I believe that’s the most important, constructive kind of courage there is, it’s part of growing into a stronger, kinder person, and this stupid world needs a lot more of that in it.

And I think the whole topic of Evil is connected to our fascination with violence, and those who are skilled at it. (Though I’m not here to say ‘Violence Bad’. I know it’s not that simple.) In some situations, no other method has a chance of saving you or those you want to protect, and if you find yourself in such a situation, it pays to be good at violence, and to have friends who are, too. The stakes are high, so it makes for great drama, and is prevalent in stories all over the world. This also makes it a rather dramatic delivery system for Justice - or the Retributive version, anyway. Retribution is visceral, and easily understood, and speaks to our instincts of promoting and preserving status (teaching others not to screw us over or They’ll Pay), and discouraging harmful behaviors by harming the perpetrators...

I consider myself a rehabilitationist. But I understand the draw of retribution. I really do. The vast majority of my intrusive thoughts revolve around it, in particularly violent manners. It’s not fun, and it doesn’t feel powerful, and it feels weird to me to see stories that portray it as powerful, rather than as a failure or a loss. I understand the emotional desire to punish someone who has hurt an innocent. But I also understand it to a degree that transcends its original feelings of righteousness, takes itself to eyebrow-raising extremes, and makes me sick. Retribution has been glorified all throughout our history, and it scratches a primal itch, and yes, sometimes it may be the only available answer in order to prevent further harm. (Rehabilitation requires far more resources than Retribution, often making it impractical or overly risky in contexts of scarcity. I think that’s a huge factor in why ideals like Law, Justice, and Decency break down in a lot of Post-Apocalyptic story environments. It’s not just that our sense of Order has collapsed, it’s that we no longer have the infrastructure to support the ideals that Order was established to protect - though I would Not say that our current “justice” system in the US is rehabilitative or even ethical, but that’s a whole other rant.) But beyond that, I don’t believe Retribution is practical or productive. I believe it’s tragically ironic, loses sight of context and systemic issues, lends false-credence to the idea that people are the way they are due to innate, immutable qualities rather than taking their environment and experiences into account, and as a result, opens the door for good people to, again, do and justify horrific things.

It’s a hard, brutal film to watch, but I recommend You Were Never Really Here. The violence in this film feels far more real than the violence I’ve seen in any other because they don’t dress it up, or make it flashy. It’s more like something you’d see in a hidden-camera documentary. And their honest treatment of it was a visceral reminder of what violence actually is.

It puts a gut-wrenching twist on the ‘revenge fantasy’ and what it actually means to watch someone suffer and die. Even someone who had it coming. There’s a painful empathy to this film in its treatment of the characters and all the rituals (harmful or not) they use to cope with the violence they in turn have suffered. And the climax of the film centers on the awful realization that, despite his efforts, the protagonist was unable to protect someone from violence, or having to inflict violence of her own - like him, she’s marked by it now, too. She absolutely did it in self-defense, but the fact that she had to do it is still tragic. She has to live and cope with it now, as he does. And in the final scene, there’s this hellish sense of separation between them as they are, and the comparatively bright, happy lives they might have lived if they had not had to go through such horrific experiences. It’s unstated, but there’s this intense feeling that they’re haunted. Like they can be near that bright, happy life, but never cross the veil to reach it, themselves. The film ends with the girl deciding to try and find some happiness anyway. (“It’s a beautiful day.”) It’s not a happy ending, but it’s a hopeful one. It’s not a Good Triumphs Over Evil story. It’s a painful confrontation with an awful reality, and the struggle to find a way to carry on somehow.

And that resonates. Because we all know to some degree or other what it’s like to confront something awful, something we can’t just deny or forget or reconcile, and to try to find some way to cope with it. That tension can be so painful that it’s understandable (but still not excusable) why people sometimes try to pin it all on a scapegoat - so they can take something insurmountable, and turn it into something they can fight and triumph over. It’s a form of processing our grief, but it’s unfair, dishonest, and harmful, and inflicts more grief on others.

Anyway, in this fanfic I’ve been puttering around on (and trying to explore these themes through), Jim tries to solve things non-violently (as he often tried to do in the show, which I really like). Someday/night, he might not have the option, or can’t see any other way out. He knows that he (or someone else) is being seen as an outlet for someone’s frustrations - they’re using him as a symbol to project their own problems and issues on - something external they can beat up and triumph over in place of something intangible.

If he’s going to fight this outlook, I think he has to understand it - on more than a theoretical level. He has to go there himself. Maybe he punches Steve after all. (Maybe in the 2nd draft - or maybe later in the current iteration.) And he hates it. He’s changed forever, but not the way he expected to be. He feels capable, and righteous, and he doesn’t regret standing up for Eli or himself, but he doesn’t feel good. Because even if it’s easier to just dismiss Steve as a bully, and even if it occurs to Jim to do that - and even if he can feel it viscerally for a moment, Jim isn’t going to lie to himself. He can still see what Steve is, past his own anger. Steve is lashing out because he feels wronged and powerless, and he’s acting like his dad because that’s who made him feel that way, and that’s who showed him how to deal with those same feelings. Steve is a kid trying to process what he’s been through. It’s easy to forget that when Steve is trying to beat Jim down - when Draal has been trying to beat him down, too - and he’s had enough of all these angry people twisting their ideas of him in their heads and taking their anger out on him. He fought back because he couldn’t see any other option for handling it, and Steve was not willing to give him one. But from this, Jim knows how it feels to be demonized (seen as a manifestation of someone’s problems, some enemy to vanquish). And it becomes monumentally important to him never to succumb to that way of thinking, himself.

He’s not a crusader. If he has to fight and hurt or kill someone, it’s not because he thinks they’re a manifestation of evil. It’s because he does not see any recourse in stopping them from hurting or killing others. To him, violence is a tragedy meant to prevent another tragedy. And whether that justifies it or not is a question he will have to carry.

A lot of the combat we see in media, I would classify as “action”, and not violence. The vast majority of the time, it’s a choreographed dance that’s fun to watch, full of cool stunts that look like they’d be fun to do. It’s more like competitive eye-candy than anything else.

It’s fun, and I like the idea of writing that, but only in the context of sparring, or play. I don’t even want to call those “fights” or make a distinction between those and a “real fight”, because fighting is violence, and I hope to write about violence as honestly as I can. That’s part of what I like and admire about a lot of Guillermo del Toro’s other works, too. It’s not a dance, and it’s not glorious*. It’s ugly, terrifying, and it hurts to watch, and it makes us worry for his characters all the more, because it forces us to acknowledge how vulnerable they really are.

*Or, glory as it’s often treated, I think. If there really is any glory to be had in real violence, I think it’s in the willingness to act in a crisis to protect others. Terror is notoriously paralyzing, so this is where the value of training comes in - as a kind of autopilot mode to fall back on, and suppress our panic in the moment. The emotional fallout and trembling will come after the crisis has passed, but in an emergency, not knowing what to do, and feeling helpless, can be one of the most devastating weapons against us.

Sparring and training can be a fun and exhilarating test of skill, where no one intends to maim or kill you. It’s completely different from fighting. In a fight, the goal is not to learn or grow or compete, the goal is to either kill someone, or hurt them so badly that they can’t try to hurt you (or anyone else) anymore (or enough to give you time to get away). It’s very stressful and often traumatizing. One wrong move will have lasting consequences, if you’re lucky enough to survive to put up with them. Even if you win, odds are, you’re going to get hurt - maybe permanently. It’s the visceral understanding that someone has decided to disassemble you, and the only way to stop them is to disassemble them first. It’s an ugly reminder of the components of our bodies, and how fragile they really are.

“There are better ways to finish a fight than punching someone in the face.”

I agree with this - there are better methods of conflict resolution, and we must use them. And I really like how Jim carried this forward in sparing Chompsky and Draal. But I also felt like Claire fundamentally failed to understand what she had witnessed (and maybe I’m the one who misunderstood). I just didn’t appreciate what I felt was a lecture from someone who didn’t get it. Not that I’d wish for her to get it - it’s a horrible position to be in. When someone is actively trying to hurt you, it’s hard as hell to remember those better ways, and there’s no guarantee that they would work - at this point, you have to get the attacker to stop quickly. Steve resisted all other attempts to defuse the situation, and I don’t think it’s fair to blame someone for fighting back.

“A hero is not he who is fearless, but he who is not stopped by it.”

But I’m also not going to put down someone who still seeks to defuse a situation, even despite the risks. That’s a huge gamble, and it requires a massive amount of courage and good faith in the other party, and it won’t always pay off. But when it works, I believe it can open up possibilities that might not otherwise exist, because to demonstrate good faith in someone is to demonstrate that you are Not The Enemy. I think Douxie demonstrated this marvelously with the Lady of the Lake in Wizards. He gave up the most powerful weapon he had - or what was left of it - to free Nimue rather than fight her when it looked like she was about to End everybody. Once he realized the truth of her situation, he took action to alleviate it - because he wasn’t going to beat up a prisoner, and he did not consider her imprisonment acceptable in the first place.

Jim is not a pacifist, in Trollhunters canon, or in the AU idea I’ve been messing with. He will fight to stop others from killing, and he might end up having to kill in the process if all other attempts fail. But (at least in this AU thing) he will see it as a tragic failure to bridge a gap. He refuses to succumb to the way of thinking that presents his opponents as evil, even if that would make it simpler for him to process their horrific actions. They’re living, complex beings, not symbols of everything wrong with the world. And often, the reason they’re trying to hurt others to begin with is because they have succumbed to that “seeing their opponents as evil” way of thinking, themselves. As Jim sees it in Building Bridges, that Lie is everyone’s greatest enemy. It’s part of what allows otherwise good people (like Arthur and Morgana) to do, justify, and condone horrific things.

He will fight if he must, but he will do his best to reach others first, to show them the truth, and try to find a way to effectively address whatever underlying pain is causing them to lash out. If Maria Edgeworth has a point about how “The human heart opens only to the heart that opens in return,” Jim will transcend “human” by taking the risk of opening his heart first (whether or not he also becomes a half-troll in this AU idea). I currently think that’s the most profound way to prove that “evil” view wrong.

This is not to say that he will do so incautiously. Jim takes his role as a protector seriously, and he will do what he must in service to that. But he sees potential in others, and values it. He’s not a saint, but he strives to be understanding and compassionate. And that’s damn hard work. It takes effort to be good, and to see the good in others, especially when you’re hurting.

#rambling thought-barf #theme talk #fanfiction notes

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feygana2 · 4 years

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morgana as an entity, or morgan of the faye, is linked heavily to the goddess matrona of celtic mythology, and also to a goddess specifically known for the ulster cycle as of her involvement in la morte de arthur, written in 1470. while i will have a much, much longer headcanon dealing with her link to matrona, especially being that the same deity was linked to be a protector of modron, or mordred.... i specifically wanted to talk about her similarities with the another goddess of irish mythology known as the morrigan. the goddess is more of a primordial force than a ‘god’ by conventional means, and is known more by her moniker ‘the phantom queen’. while she is linked heavily to the outcome of battle and bloody war, rather than being wholly associated with the actual fighting of a battle, she has more to do with the fate of those in and after a clash and the gruesome deaths that follow. but instead of acting as a means to transport someone to the afterlife, they were simply a symbol of death on the battlefield to some lesser extend.

A huge part of the Tuatha de Danann, the Morrigan was also known to have been made up of three distinct goddesses known mostly today as the maiden, the mother and the crone. All of which have a link to Morgana in one of the many stages of her life and to goddesses such as Ceredwen,

The morrigan would often appear in the form of a black crow, which happens to be morgana’s symbolic familiar, and upon seeing one on the battlefield it was believed to mean that death would befall that person imminently. this aspect of the morrigan made her popular for worship by those going into battle. interestingly, in most forms of media that portray morgana, this also links to her being used as an instrument of war, offering her services to the queens and kings of the north in exchange for shelter and safety, or for troops to fight of camelot and the rest of growing mercia.

but the morrigan also has in-depth protective qualities that enable her to protect her people. namely those who were worshipers of these ancestral gods and practitioners of magic, which also directly aligns with morgana’s personal interests. morgana le faye was a symbol to most practitioners of witchcraft and druidism of this time as a pariah that fought against the Anglicization of what would become albion. remember that at the time of her life (presumed to be around the timeperiods of 400-600 ad, respectively) it was when the heavy Catholicisation of what is now great britain, had begun. uther pendragon, and later the knights of the round, had pushed those that they had deemed uncivilized (magic-users) into areas in and north/west of lothian, gaelic and pictish lands.

BECAUSE OF THIS, TOO, morgana can be seen as a protector of those who were like her, especially if we bring popular canon such as bbc’s merlin into view, which i take some inspiration from in terms of magic being ‘outlawed’ at the time through penalty of death. fighting against the oppression of pagan ritualistic practitioners all over briton, as well as the druids of the dal riata alike, she was turned into a martyr of sorts and later demonized to the point of gaining a status of ‘evil’ ... while the kings who had oppressed or slaughtered these people (particularly the druids, like uther pendragon or his son in historic canon, not in the case of bbc) were instead built of as heroes to the people of albion for ridding them of the ‘evil’ pagans that had previously (as termed by uther) ‘infested’ their lands. propoganda against them surmounted and the britons and anglo-saxons continued their territory war, until separately the battle of camlann occured [ where king arthur had lead his knights of the round table into a war that would have claimed most of the northern territory in the name of camelot against the anglo-saxons, which had currently belonged to several albic tribes including that which belonged at the time to his nephew, gwaine of loth. ]

almost ironically, this battle is what enabled the bernicians to take even more land for themselves, creating the kingdom of deira (which, in my canon is what pushed morgana even further north of lothian, into the lands of the gaels). the reason i bring up this battle is because the morrigan is famous for taking part in the battle against the fomorians. the morrigan did naught at first but speak in chant, which caused the fomorians to scatter in fear until they fell into the seas.

another story she is involved in is that of Cú Chulainn, who threatens the morrigan when she releases his cattle back into the wild, only to realize who he has angered and explain his misdeed. when the morrigan prophecies ill-tidings for him on behalf of his threat, he tells her that she has no power over him. as we would expect, Cú Chulainn is given numerous chances to mend the relationship with the morrigan and botches it every time, eventually leading him to his inevitable death with the morrigan, as a crow, standing atop his dead body as a means to confirm his death. interestingly, morgana was also present at the battle of camlann, which i mentioned earlier, when both her nephew and her half-brother (mordred and king arthur) were slain by a single blow from one another’s enchanted blades.

so why bring up the morrigan at all? in my canon/headcanon, morgana didn’t just receive simple ‘fae’ powers from becoming the high priestess of avalon. i believe she drank from the proverbial spring itself when there was nothing more to learn from merlin and nimue and was granted similar powers to the three major goddesses, including the ability to dictate fate - albeit with a price she was not ready to pay. morgana in general is almost always seen as both a victim and chooser of fate, so i felt this was a very nice way to tie these figures together.

#₍ ♚ ₎. ⁘ ━ ⁘ 𝖆 𝖓𝖆𝖒𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖆 𝖈𝖗𝖔𝖜𝖓. ⁕ intro.#religion tw

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halothenthehorns · 3 years

Text

OWL POST

Next morning dawned very bright and early for the household, despite their late evening they were all up and around well before a normal breakfast. Since he was the first one up, Sirius decided to make breakfast before Lily could kick him out of the kitchen, which also meant breakfast was a very quick affair. They were all settled down and ready to read within an hour of being awake, highly anxious to get reading again.

Sirius, having finished off last time, passed the book along to Harry for his start.

The narrative starts by stating the simple fact that Harry Potter was considered an unusual boy.

"Oh come on Harry, you're not that weird," James said bracingly, "odd stuff just seems to happen to you."

Harry grinned lightly without looking up, deciding to read the reasons he felt he was so weird before he really believed him.

Beginning to list the reasons, the first of which was that he hated his summer holidays.

"So do I," Sirius mock pouted, "so are you saying I'm unusual."

Before Harry could even answer, Remus really did mock him, saying, "Sirius, Harry doesn't have to say that. I'm saying it for him."

While Harry laughed at the pair, Sirius just huffed and grumbled a bit with a smile.

Another reason was that he actually wanted to do his homework,

"That's not so odd either," Lily chuckled, getting into this now, "I enjoyed doing my homework all the time. It was always something fun and unusual."

"That's just because you didn't grow up around magic," James rolled his eyes, "if you did, you'd just think of it as boring homework."

but was forbidden and now did it in secret during the nights.

Then they all grimaced in disgust as they now firmly remembered where exactly Harry was, and why he would be doing that.

The last of his reasons, he was a wizard.

"Right," James drew the word out in disbelief. "So what about all of that made you unusual again?"

"Well when you put it like that it's not," Harry chuckled, "but sitting around thinking about it..." he trailed off.

They all smiled indulgently at him, pleased he truly did seem to be relaxing and finally making more jokes.

The timing properly started at midnight, Harry lay awake under his bed sheet working on previously said homework, an essay about Witch Burning from the Fourteenth Century and why it was pointless, and gaining knowledge of the subject from his text entitled A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot.

"I actually remember that essay vividly," Lily giggled, "it was pretty funny to find out the lengths wizards go to hide themselves from Muggles, when Muggles can't hardly find us when we're not even trying to hide."

Using his quill he was scanning the page looking for something to add to his essay and came across a likely paragraph, going into details about one witch in particular deemed Wendelin the Weird who enjoyed being caught simply for the use of using a tickle charm she'd hidden in the flames.

"I can't imagine how she got her nickname," Sirius said, mock-puzzled and wondering why she didn't just perform that charm herself, rather than being 'caught.'

"How did that work though?" Harry asked, realizing the book wasn't going to explain further. "The Muggles would have been sitting there watching, and wouldn't they have noticed she wasn't burning up?"

Remus happily explained, "since the smoke was in everyone's eyes so much, they most often did these in open fields and such, they could just disappear before the charm wore off. Anyone who

heard the loud crack it makes, just assumed it was logs or even the bones breaking, stuff like that."

Harry nodded in understanding, having a pang in his chest as he realized this kind of answer would never go in his essay, because he hadn't been able to ask them this. It was the small, little things that still got to him and reminded him that his home life really had sucked.

Harry carefully pulled out a bottle of ink and then used his quill to carefully begin scratching notes on the topic, silently as possible. He feared that if the family he lived with, the Dursleys, heard the pointed sound,

"I always wanted to ask," Harry butted in again, "why do we use quills, instead of pens?"

Both Lily and Remus released bursts of laughter at this, Lily explaining, "trust me, I think every muggle-born's asked that at some point or another. Professor Flitwick explained it saying that it's just more traditional. He tried to give a muggle comparison, saying it's why some teachers still want you to use print instead or cursive on your homework, even though there's no real difference at the end results."

Harry shrugged and said thanks, happy that random little thing was explained.

he would definitely get in major trouble for it, likely being locked in the cupboard for the remainder of his holidays.

Their good mood was gone in an instance, all wanting to threaten or far worse to those Muggles Harry was forced to live with, but Harry wasn't hearing of it as he read on loudly.

The Dursley family of number four, Privet Drive, was the reason that Harry never enjoyed his summer holidays.

Sirius began saying something rather foul at once, but Harry was still diligently ignoring them and continuing.

His Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and their son, Dudley, were Harry's only living relatives. They were Muggles, and they had a very medieval attitude toward magic.

"Medieval, that about sums it up," Lily agreed bitterly.

Harry's dead parents,

Even Harry couldn't keep a hitch out of his voice as he forced himself to read that.

who had been a witch and wizard, were never mentioned. For years in Harry's younger life Petunia and Vernon had done their best to keep Harry as miserable as possible, hoping to squash his hereditary magic out of him.

This time Harry had to cut across all four of them trying to continue their threats, but Harry refused to let them get on for long. He didn't want their tempers' spiking, and for them to possibly rile themselves up enough to go out and act on those threats.

To their horror, it hadn't worked, so they now lived in fear of what anyone would think if they knew where Harry had spent the majority of his last two years of life at Hogwarts.

"Who exactly is anyone?" James scoffed in disgust. "It's not like they have any friends."

Harry just sighed, not really wanting to indulge them and explain that the Dursleys were very neighbourly people, often boasting loudly about the goings on of their life. He didn't quite know what the neighbourhood thought he'd been doing the past two years at school, but he knew without a doubt the Dursleys hadn't been saying it in a good way.

All the Dursleys could get away with now was to take Harry's magical means, including his wand, school books, and supplies and stow them away in the cupboard and forbid Harry from speaking to any of the neighbours.

This time they didn't actually try and cut Harry off, realizing he wasn't going to let them, so they quietly simmered and grouched about that line.

This could have been a real problem for Harry, as he had summer homework and knew one teacher in particular who would never take any excuse for him not doing it. Professor Snape would take any opportunity to give Harry a solid month's worth of detentions for any reason.

"I can see that," Lily agreed fairly, before any of the boys could get in a more biased opinion, "a teacher would have the right to scold you for not doing homework. Though admittedly," she continued even more loudly when James looked about to cutting her off, "I do wish you had explained why you wouldn't be able to do your homework."

Harry just shrugged, knowing that Snape wouldn't have cared no matter what, and never having bothered with the other teachers either.

Harry had outsmarted them though, biding his time and found an opportunity the first week of holidays. Vernon had received a new car and had brought Petunia and Dudley out front to have a look at it, boasting loudly enough that surely the neighbours heard as well.

Remus muttered something under his breath that caused Sirius to release a bark-like laughter, causing James to scowl at them mostly because he wasn't in on the joke.

Harry had taken his chance and gone to the cupboard, picking the lock,

"Glad to see Fred and George taught you that nifty little trick," James approved.

and stowing away a majority of his school things. So long as he left no evidence of it, the Dursleys need never know he was studying magic by night.

"That's my pup," Sirius grinned from ear to ear, "stick it to those bloody Muggles."

All four of them were beyond pleased Harry seemed more and more likely to stand up to that rubbish family of his and even doing small things like this boosted their moral of the ratty situation.

Harry was particularly keen on staying out of their crosshairs as of late, as they were in an especially bad mood with him,

"As opposed to?" Lily asked, genuinely curious.

"Just, a normal bad mood," Harry shrugged, unable to really explain that any other way.

"So, what did they blame you for doing?" James asked without really wanting to hear the answer.

Harry sighed, remembering quite well that this essay marked the time passing from when Ron had called him. He explained the whole fiasco, which both delighted and infuriated them all at the same time. Harry regretted having told them this though when he realized the book was about to explain it, so it's not like they could move past this.

all because he'd received a telephone call from a fellow wizard one week into the school vacation.

"At least he tried," James sighed.

It had been Ron Weasley, Harry's best friend from school, who came from a family of wizards. This unfortunately meant that he wasn't very skilled in using muggle objects, like phones, hence his confusion when Vernon answered the call, and heard Ron bellowing at the top of his lungs 'hello?'

"Wow," Lily muttered, rubbing at her ear, "when you said he shouted, you meant it."

"Guess next time, you should go into a bit more details with Arthur," Remus sighed.

Harry was looking down at the pages sadly, suddenly realizing that he had left out the part where Vernon had shouted at him for this mess, but had merely said this is what caused them to be extra mad at him. Now the book was possibly going to show something he didn't particularly want his family to hear... sighing in defeat he pressed on.

Harry had happened to be in the room at the time, and could clearly hear Ron's continued shouting that he wanted to talk to Harry. Vernon turned on Harry on the spot, fury prevalent.

Not even Lily felt pity for this horrid man, she joined in as they laughed just a bit cruelly at his ignorance of the situation.

Vernon roared right back, demanding to know who was speaking.

"Poor Ron," Sirius chuckled, "he probably doesn't even understand he's doing anything wrong, since that arse is responding in exactly the same way."

"Where did he even get a hold of a phone?" James suddenly asked. "That's not something he'd have around his house."

"I asked," Harry shrugged, "he said his Dad apparated him into town to use one."

"Wait, you could still write to him?" Remus asked eagerly, misunderstanding how Harry had asked, "So did you pick the lock on Hedwig's cage this summer?" Remembering all too well the

injustice done to that poor bird last summer.

"Actually," Harry fully grinned this time, and deciding against correcting his assumption; really he had asked on the train ride home last year. "I really was just allowed to let her out at night. Uncle- err," he corrected himself at once for the slip that he knew they all hated for addressing them as

any type of family, "Vernon hated the racket so much he said I could so long as the neighbours didn't see her."

"Probably the most decent thing they've done in their life," Lily beamed, taking this small victory.

"Even if it was for the most selfish of reasons," James agreed.

Ron called right back in the same tones, speaking as if from the opposite end of a football field,

Sirius couldn't help but chuckle at the mental image.

that he was a friend of Harry's from school. Vernon's hate filled eyes narrowed in on Harry, who had been trying to edge back to his room.

"Uh-oh," they all muttered, Harry had left the part out that he'd been in the room when this happened.

Vernon steamed back that no Harry Potter lived there, now holding the phone as far away

from his head as if it were a ticking bomb,

"I wish," James grumbled, enjoying that for a moment longer.

Continuing to shout that no one had better come near his family!

"He is a bloody paranoid one, isn't he?" Remus said in an almost conversational tone of voice, if his hands weren't white knuckled from what he was dearly trying not to picture that man doing to Harry in retaliation for this. "Honestly, one stupid phone call, and he thinks Ron's going to kill them all?"

"Wish he would," Sirius huffed, "actually I wish Arthur or Molly would really go over there sometime this summer, and take Harry with them, and then never come back."

"If only," Harry agreed, though he really did want to move on now, never letting himself think like this for too long, since it wouldn't ever come true.

Then he slammed the receiver down so hard it was in danger of breaking. The following fight was one of the worst ever in that house.

Lily released a pitiful moan at that description, not even wanting to think on what this could mean...

Vernon rampaging that how dare Harry give out the houses number, to people like him. Ron seemed to have realized that he'd gotten Harry into trouble, because he had yet to try again.

"Wait, wait, back up!" Sirius demanded. "Is that all he did? Shout at you."

"Yes," Harry said quickly...a little too quickly. They'd all had this moment before, where they genuinely wanted to question what exactly Harry was hiding about his home life there. It was

something, of that they were all sure by this point, but the last time they had tried to press on the matter further Harry had gotten very uptight about the matter and had refused to speak on it, saying it wasn't important.

There were several options, none of them good, that would cause him to do this. They wanted desperately to know, but feared if they forced Harry to tell without making one hundred percent

sure he trusted them first, it could break the rather tentative hold they had on said trust. So they didn't question the obvious lie, and waited patiently for Harry to divulge the information willingly, well as patiently as any of them really could be. They weren't subtle about giving Harry looks that said quite clearly 'liar.'

Harry ignored all this, now reading on as fast as possible.

Harry's other best friend from school, Hermione Granger, hadn't made contact either. Harry had the suspicion that Ron may have sent her a warning against doing so, which Harry regretted as she did come from a muggle family and would have known perfectly well how to not only use the phone, but had enough sense not to speak of their school.

"Now that I'm not sure of," Lily disagreed, "since I can assume I'm right in saying you've never told your friends about how you're treated there. So Hermione wouldn't have found it odd at all to mention she knew you from school."

Harry just shrugged, muttering, "yeah, guess so," before quickly pressing on, they all noted Harry didn't exactly answer the first part of his mother's question.

So Harry had no word from any of his wizarding friends for five long weeks,

"Wait, what?" Remus snapped. "I thought you said Hedwig was allowed out? Why on earth aren't you sending them mail?"

"I said I wouldn't," Harry said like he thought it was obvious, rather annoyed he really couldn't just skip this part.

"Harry," James groaned, "this is one time you could have lied! Merlin, they wouldn't even know the difference."

Harry just shrugged again, which was all too common an occurrence whenever this type of thing was brought up. Usually the boy was more than willing to talk and interact with them, asking questions and demanding details, and always more than willing to say what went on around school where some of the deadliest things had happened to him. The fact that he was so closed up about this particular subject continued scaring them the longer this dragged on.

making the summer drag on as horribly as the last one. The one improvement on the situation was his owl, Hedwig. She'd finally been allowed out at night, after Harry promised not to let her send or receive mail.

They all clenched up and muttered a bit more, and were growing beyond frustrated at Harry's not letting them get a word in this time.

The only reason this had even been allowed was because of the racket she made when Vernon had caged her up last summer. Speaking of Hedwig, Harry rolled out from under his bed, eyes burning and putting away his homework for the night into a loose floorboard under his bed.

"Props for finding that," James grinned weakly, happy he had any reason to do so again. Merlin, were they only on the first chapter and he was already feeling like crap again?

Then he stood and glanced around his room, noting his owl's empty cage, before his eyes landed on the clock and he felt an odd jolt in him. The time now read one in the morning, meaning that Harry was now officially thirteen years old.

Then the four of them released pitiful sighs, knowing by now not to even ask about how this birthday was going to go, and only hoping it went at least a little better than last year...Merlin

almost anything would be better than last year!

Yet another unusual thing about Harry was how little he looked forward to his birthdays.

"Yeah, I've got nothing for that," James huffed in disgust, wishing with everything he owned he could fix that. His friends clearly couldn't do anything for Harry, even on this day in particular, so Harry's hatred for his birthday was both founded, and unarguable, plus just down right depressing.

"Congratulations Harry," Sirius said in a falsely bright voice, "we agree, you're unusual."

Harry really did laugh then, making them all feel just that little bit better.

He had never received a birthday card in his life.

Harry joined in on their wince of pain this time, not really appreciating that little reminder.

The Dursleys had made a practice of not even acknowledging the date, and Harry had no suspicions that this would change. His eyes again landed on Hedwig's empty cage. She'd been gone for some time now, but Harry wasn't exactly worried, she'd been gone longer. He was just hoping she would come back soon, as she was the only living thing in this area who didn't flinch at the sight of him.

"I can see how you would find that depressing," James sighed.

Harry then glanced in a mirror and reflected on his own physical appearance, thinking how he was still rather slight for his age with wild black hair, green eyes behind the glasses, and a lightning shaped scar. This scar just so happened to be the most unusual thing about Harry yet.

"Fair point on that," Remus agreed, "so you were right twice over now."

Harry just smiled weakly this time, knowing they weren't about to appreciate his remembering of how he got this scar, so hoping to get past this part quickly he speed read.

Harry had not received it in the lie the Dursleys had told him, that Lily and James Potter had died in a car crash.

'Pig's tail' Lily comforted herself when she made to start screaming all over again because of that lie 'just remember, they did get their due.'

They had been murdered,

James winced, and he probably always would whenever he was forced to hear that sentence. It didn't matter how many times it appeared, it would never not be weird, and heart-breaking.

by Lord Voldemort, the most evil wizard to ever have existed. He had sought out Harry's line and dispersed of his parents, but when he'd turned his wand on then one year old Harry, it had backfired, causing Voldemort to disappear that same night, and leaving Harry with fame. Sadly Voldemort was not gone for good, as Harry had now come face to face with him twice, and all things considering, he felt rather grateful to have reached another birthday at all.

There were several times many of them made to interrupt during that summarization of his last thirteen years of life, but it wasn't anything he hadn't heard already, and it was depressing enough to think about in his spare time. He didn't want his family to be sitting around thinking about it anymore than he had to.

Harry wandered over to the window and leaned out, letting the night air blow against his face as his mind continued to travel, until his eyes caught sight of an odd something heading for him.

"Crap," they all muttered at once, thinking 'it wasn't possible!' Harry was in a town full of Muggles, nothing too dangerous could be happening to him...right?

He froze for a moment, hand on the window and prepared to slam it shut,

"Glad you at least had that sense," Lily said uneasily.

before he recognized the shape as it passed below a street lamp and Harry lept aside.

"What was it?" Remus asked, mixtures of eagerness and fear still lingering.

Harry chuckled when he told them, making Lily say, "aw, the poor thing," while the boys laughed at the scene Harry described.

Through the window came three owls, two supporting the middle one creating such an odd shape. The middle bird was half unconscious, and they all landed on Harry's bed with a whump.

"He's not really dead, is he?" Lily noted with worry even though she knew Harry would read that with more concern if the bird was harmed.

There was something tied to all three of their legs, and Harry recognized the middle owl that was currently passed out as Errol, the Weasley's family owl.

"Oh, hey!" James yelped, grinning with glee now. "So this means Ron did send you something! Ha, can't imagine why he hasn't done it before now."

"He knew he'd gotten me in trouble," Harry reminded.

"Yes," Sirius waved his hand, trying to avoid screaming about that 'trouble' all over again, "but that was because of the phone. Why wouldn't he have sent you mail again?"

Harry just sighed, he understood Ron's reasons, but he didn't know how to explain it to them.

"It's a good thing you were awake for this anyway," Lily said, going back to the original point of this, "because that would have been odd to wake up for."

Harry ran forward and quickly unloaded the owl, setting its package aside and instead carrying the bird over to Hedwig's cage so that he could get a drink.

Lily beamed with unsuppressed glee, happy to see Harry taking the time to help out this owl rather than go right to his mail.

Harry then turned his attention to the other two owls, the white one being his own Hedwig, but the last unfamiliar in colour though what it was carrying was clearly a marked package with the Hogwarts crest.

"Nice," Sirius grinned, "so you got your Hogwarts letter on top of everything else today, and," he continued almost bouncing with glee, "that'll contain your Hogsmeade letter?"

For just a moment, Harry went as bright-eyed as Sirius. He'd heard all about Hogsmeade from the older students, and he was as keen to go as anyone, then that smile trickled right off his face when he realized who he was going to have to ask to sign it. They all noted his changing expression at once, and sadly didn't have to ask what it was about.

They all dearly wanted to sit around and make threats that those useless Dursleys had better sign Harry's form, but recognized it would only make Harry feel worse the longer they leaned on the subject, so they just desperately hoped Harry found a way to convince them.

Harry untied his parcel as well, and the school owl departed again at once, leaving Harry to look after his own pet curiously and remove a parcel from her leg as well. Turning back to Errol's package first, he tore apart the paper to find a birthday card slipping out and a present still wrapped.

Harry couldn't help it, his voice spiked with emotion as well, feeling a little silly something so small would mean so much to him, but not any kind of ashamed the people in the room all looked as if it was their own birthday as well. Surely, since they seemed just as happy if not more than him about this, it wasn't silly at all.

He found a newspaper clipping as well, the title of which declaring who had won a Ministry Employee Scoop Grand Prize; Arthur Weasley.

"Sweet," Lily grinned, "no one deserves that as much as them!"

"Best thing that could have happened to them," James agreed.

The article then described Ron's dad's position in the ministry, and how the family were currently using the money to spend the holidays in Egypt, and would return shortly so that five of their kids could go back to school at Hogwarts in the fall. The accompanying picture showed the nine Weasleys.

Harry at once began wondering why this photo felt significant. Why would it mean anything to him, except a nice reminder of his favourite family (outside of his own right now.) He brushed past it, wondering if he was really losing it.

The picture detailed each of the siblings that Harry recognized, including Ron with his pet rat Scabbers sitting on his shoulder, both of his parents, all of his elder brothers, and his only younger sister Ginny.

"Wish I could see that picture," Sirius chuckled, "must be funny to see them all squeezed in so tight for the camera."

Harry gave a little start and gave Sirius quite a look, one the others didn't even know how to describe. It wasn't truly recognition, but Harry knew this sentence was important to him... it was gone. He just shrugged, not really letting himself think about it too much since it was probably nothing.

Harry was more than pleased to hear of this news, knowing that no family deserved the pile of gold more.

"Hey, you said there were nine of them in the picture," Remus pouted, "how come you didn't finally describe the mysterious Charlie and Bill Weasley."

"Cause the picture wasn't that good," Harry shrugged, "just an old black and white one, and I could pick out two I didn't recognize. I'm sure I meet them eventually," he finished with

conviction.

Harry then turned his attention to the written note attached in Ron's handwriting, beginning with a birthday greeting for Harry, and going on to apologize for clearly getting Harry into trouble. He'd asked his Dad, who had suggested maybe he shouldn't have shouted.

Sirius couldn't help but release a surprised snort of laughter, while James said, "a fair thing to think, if you'd never worked one before and didn't know."

Then he described his time there in Egypt, but did promise that they'd have enough left over for him to get a new wand before he went back to school.

"Thank Merlin," Lily chuckled.

"I don't know, I agree with Harry," Remus laughed, "it did come in handy there at the end."

"Yes well, it was gone now, so we couldn't have kept it anyways," Harry reminded, still grinning.

Harry remembered all to vividly how Ron's wand had exploded at the end of last year, after having spent the whole of the year nearly being snapped in half when their flying car had crashed into a tree.

"Just thinking about that sentence without knowing the background of it," Sirius cackled, "makes it even more priceless!"

"So, I forgot to ask," Lily said, having to speak a bit louder than usual over Sirius for Harry to hear her, "did you ever tell anyone about the car? Or is it still in the Forest?"

"I told Dumbledore and McGonagall how we got away from the spiders," Harry admitted, "but as far as I know, no one went in and got it out. It's still in there."

"Where I hope it stays," James grinned.

Ron then informed that they would be back in time to get some stuff in London the last week of holiday, and if Harry had a chance of meeting them there?

"That brings up a good point I hadn't thought of," Lily said, frowning once again as she asked, "how are you going to get your school supplies this year? There's no way they're going to drive

you up to London, and even if they did I certainly don't want them knowing about your Gringotts Vault."

Harry just shrugged, saying honestly, "can't remember exactly, but I wouldn't worry about it too much. I'm sure when Ron gets back from Egypt, I can go stay round his place again, and someone there would have made sure I'd gone." Harry frowned as he finished saying this, feeling how wrong those words were. He got his school supplies, no the part that was bothering him was in saying he stayed with Ron. He had a very bad feeling all of a sudden, like something had happened at the Dursleys... the thought was gone. Even now as he decided not to push it, he could feel the beginnings of a pounding headache returning even as he thought to try, so with nothing else for it he read.

Ron began to finish off by telling Harry not to let the Muggles get him down,

All four of them scowled heavily, wondering just how much Harry had told his friends about how that lot treated him. Just like with any other time though, whenever they asked Harry about it, he remained suspiciously closed up.

and hoped to see him soon. Then he added a P.S., pointing out that Percy was now Head Boy.

"Oh, this ought to be great," Sirius muttered sourly, as if that boy wasn't big-headed enough already, no now he was given even more responsibility.

Harry turned to the added on parcel now and unwrapped it to find a mini glass spinning top.

"Nice, it's a Sneakoscope," James said eagerly, finding this a rather fun toy when he was a kid.

"A bit useless around school, what with so much untrustworthy students hanging around," Remus chuckled, "but fun all the same."

Harry dearly wanted to ask what it was, or what it did, but hoping Ron might explain he instead read.

Harry read the attached letter, which was from Ron explaining that he'd given Harry a Sneakoscope which was used to detect people who were untrustworthy. Ron didn't put too much stock in it,

"Nonsense," Sirius scoffed, "they're plenty useful."

because even as he'd been sending it, it had been going off. Though that could have been because Fred and George had been putting beetles in someone's soup.

"That'll do it," Lily chuckled, "those twins are as untrustworthy as it comes."

"Well that's a bit harsh," James grinned without any real heat, knowing she didn't mean it. "I like them, they're good for a laugh."

"Which explains why I don't trust them," Lily smiled indulgently at him and all the other boys who were chuckling at their joshing.

Harry carefully placed his top down, watching it balance and stay still in the dim lighting.

'I don't know' Remus thought, frowning suddenly 'I don't trust any of those Dursleys as far as I can throw them, so I really wouldn't have been too surprised if it had gone off then.' It hadn't though, so he just ignored it for now.

Harry then turned happily to his other present, the one Hedwig had come with, which turned out to be from Hermione.

"Aw," Lily cooed, "Hedwig went out to find Hermione, that is so sweet! I love your owl."

Harry nodded in fervent agreement.

Her letter began by saying that she had indeed heard from Ron about that phone call, and hoped he was alright.

"About as alright as he ever is there," James muttered bitterly.

Harry sighed, wishing desperately the book would quite mentioning this now.

She was on vacation out in France and had wanted to send Harry something, but hadn't known how, what if they'd open it through customs?

"Which is another reason we invented our own postal system," Sirius chuckled.

Then Hedwig had arrived and Hermione was able to send her present which she'd ordered via owl-order, through the daily prophet.

"Why haven't you subscribed to that yet?" James asked curiously.

"Hadn't quite found it relevant enough yet," Harry shrugged, "reading the paper just didn't interest me."

Hermione then went on to say that she was learning a lot over here, but was slightly jealous that Ron was in Egypt learning about their ancient customs.

"Oh yes," Remus nodded, trying his hardest to sound serious as he continued. "I am so sure learning's exactly what's on Ron's mind as he goes around those pyramids," he couldn't hold the

expression much longer as he burst into laughter.

Hermione had learned so much that she'd rewritten their history of magic essay, which was now two rolls of parchment more then asked for.

All four boys gawked at this, while Lily simply smirked and shrugged, completely unsurprised by this.

Hermione finished by saying she was going to be back in London at the same time as Ron, and hoped to see Harry then. She also added a P.S. commenting on Percy's Head Boyship, and how unpleased Ron seemed about it.

They all chuckled, glad to see Hermione still had her sense of humour.

Harry laughed as he turned his attention on her wrapped gift, feeling how heavy it was, and imagining it to be a complicated book of advanced spells.

James and Sirius frowned at the thought, but Lily and Remus scoffed, as Remus said, "I doubt that. Hermione might be bad around exam time, but she's hardly pressured either of you to be

studying more. No, I'm sure Hermione got you something she thought you'd really like."

Harry looked very eager and curious now as he read.

It was the opposite. When Harry unwrapped it he found a Broomstick Servicing Kit inside.

"Nice," all five of them praised, Remus giving his two friends rather superior looks.

"Alright Moony," Sirius scoffed, "knock off that, so you were right, again."

Harry chuckled affectionately as Remus' look only increased.

Inside were several objects all geared towards maintaining and keeping up a broom. Apart from his friends, one thing Harry missed the very most about Hogwarts was playing on his house Quidditch team.

"Can't blame you there," Sirius agreed with a groan, it had been ages since he'd been out flying, let alone played a game.

Harry happened to own a very good racing broom, a Nimbus Two Thousand, which was one of his most prized possessions.

"One of?" James questioned, a teasing smirk lighting his features.

Harry smirked and said, "yes, one of. I'm sure you can guess the other."

Sirius and Remus both snorted in appreciation at James rather put out look, he had been hoping Harry would correct him and say that his invisibility cloak was his most treasured object, and here his own son was, obviously teasing him and purposely saying the exact opposite.

Harry carefully placed this present aside and picked up his last bit of mail, which he recognized as being from Hagrid.

"Oh, so Hagrid sent you a letter along with your Hogwarts' stuff," Lily beamed, "wonder what he's been up to this summer."

Harry had only begun to unwrap the present however, and caught the hints of a book cover, when the object began to move, and snapped at him.

"Snapped?" Remus yelped, fear coming back at once. "What on earth could Hagrid have sent you that snap's?"

Harry was frowning, trying his best to describe what he had only gotten a glimpse of, but he wasn't doing a good job, so he turned back to the book in hopes for a better description.

Harry froze, knowing from first-hand experience that Hagrid didn't always have a good gage when it came to dangerous things.

Sirius released a weak chuckle, no one was going to argue Harry on that point.

The gamekeeper had been known to befriend giant spiders and sneak illegal dragon eggs into his home,

"And that's just the tip of it all," James muttered.

so Harry's caution now was quite warranted. He gingerly began unwrapping the rest of the parcel, now clutching his lamp as a defence should he need it, and out fell a book.

"A book?" Lily repeated faintly.

"A biting book?" James probed, looking like he was sure Harry was messing with him this time.

Now knowing the book in his hands was going to properly explain he read on curiously.

Harry only just made out the title The Monster Book of Monsters, before the book rolled itself right off of the bed, landing with a thunk, and beginning to scuttle around on its cover like some odd crab.

Sirius released a low, throaty whistle as he said, "damn, points for originality anyway. A book about monsters, that's kind of a monster itself."

"Guess it's no weirder than the invisibility books on invisibility," James agreed, still frowning at the odd little thing, and unable to stop himself from wondering why Hagrid would have sent that to Harry.

Harry tensed up at once, fearing that any noise made would draw unwanted attention. Harry tried to creep after the object, being as quiet as possible,

"But this would have been such a sight to walk in on," Remus muttered, "a book attacking them." Still hoping right along with Harry that the momentary humour it would have provided at the

Dursleys freaking out over this wasn't really going to happen, in favour of what they might do after the shock had worn off.

Harry reached out to pick up the book again, when it snapped closed over his fingers and scuttled away.

"Must have been quite the sight," Sirius really did laugh this time, unable to help himself at the rather annoyed look on Harry's face that he was being bested by a book!

Harry scrambled after it, threw himself on top of it, managing to flatten it in place. From the room over, he heard Vernon give a cough.

Then all four of them winced, already sick of this constant enjoyment flashing to fear and anger every other paragraph, all because of the house he was in.

Hedwig and Errol watched with interest,

Even Lily couldn't stop herself from giggling at that image, it must have been quite a sight.

as Harry got to his feet while keeping the book clamped tight to his chest and staggered over to a drawer, drawing out a belt, and clamping the book firmly shut. The book shuddered in clear anger, but was no longer able to go anywhere as Harry sagged back onto the bed and found Hagrid's accompanying note and read first a birthday greeting, then a cryptic comment saying that Harry may need this for his next year.

"That's right," James suddenly brightened, "Harry's taking Care of Magical Creatures this year! Hagrid might have sent that to him, for a jump start on the class."

"Well that was nice," Lily sighed, "though I'd much rather he'd just sent him whatever the school says."

Hagrid didn't put any further information in the note, saying he'd explain more when he saw him.

"Tell you what?" Sirius asked in confusion.

"Why on earth would any of us know," Harry pointed out, grinning over at him. Sirius shrugged, smirking right back.

Then Hagrid signed off his letter, and Harry instead went to his very last piece of mail from school, which contained its normal Hogwarts school list, plus an extra note this year explaining all about Hogsmeade and how he'd have to get a signed permission form to enter. Harry's enthusiasm wasn't very high when he realized who he was going to have to ask to sign it.

They all sighed, that old pang returning with a vengeance. Harry shouldn't have had to worry about asking permission for this, it should have been as simple as him going to see his parents and

having a nice conversation about all the shops available. This horrid reminder that he couldn't do this hurt worse every time they thought about it.

Harry glanced over at his clock again and found two hours had passed, and itching with sleep, decided to worry about it in the morning. Leaning up to a chart above his bed, Harry crossed off another day passed until September first arrived and he could return to Hogwarts.

"I did that all the time," Sirius nodded in agreement, "it helps the wait not seem as long."

Harry shared another smile with Sirius, oddly happy they had such a random thing in common.

Then he took off his glasses and fell asleep facing his birthday cards. Though Harry considered himself an unusual person, for the first time in his life, he was happy it was his birthday.

"Well that was a depressing end," Remus said in a forced chipper voice as he leaned over to take the book.

"And it's only going to get worse," Harry muttered, now knowing that vague feeling from before was growing stronger inside. Something really awful happened on this birthday, which was

saying something when compared to his other birthdays.

HPHPHPHP

Because someone asked, and it's a very good question, no there will not be anyone else joining the reading series. I did seriously consider adding Hermione and Ron sometime during the fourth book, but I'm still enjoying my idea that they don't really know what's going on. If any other people did join from the future, then they would ruin all sorts of stuff like Sirius, and Dumbledore, and countless other death's I'm still going to enjoy being a surprise. I could erase their memory, but it's the same reason I'm not going to be adding anyone from this timeline. If I have any other characters from their own time join, like say Molly and Arthur, then I would have to constantly deal with go back and read the book themselves, or 'we'll explain later' and just yeah not worth it. The five that are there are what you guys got.

P.s. If there are any book mistakes you'd like me to explain feel free to ask, and I will try and go back and fix them. Geeze this chapter's almost as much my talking as the characters.

#Harry Potter #The Life that Never Lived #Bookhater #James Potter #Lily Potter #Sirius Black #Remus Lupin

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cosmicjoke · 5 years

Text

Why the condemnation of “Joker” by certain people on Social Media is the real Threat

I’ve got to talk about all this “controversy” surrounding “Joker”, and the hypocritical absurdity of it.

Well, firstly, the vast majority of the social media criticism being leveled at the film is coming from people who haven’t even seen the movie, and yet are already condemning it as a dangerous, threatening, irresponsible work that somehow is going to endanger our very society. I would laugh if the very thing these people are themselves doing wasn’t, in fact, the actual danger. Because, whether these dimwits are aware of it or not, what they’re promoting is a thing called “censorship”. Big word kiddies, I know. They would have us believe that “Joker” needs to be shut down and suppressed as a film because it’s “dangerous to our society”. Gee, I wonder where I’ve heard that before? I seem to recall innumerable instances throughout history where the suppression of expression was excused by oppressive governments and regimes because, they claimed certain things being expressed or conveyed or examined was detrimental and dangerous to the society and culture. I mean, usually those sorts of things are, in retrospect, acknowledged as a consequence of living in a police state. You know, a society where individual thought and expression is deemed unacceptable, and where historically, if anyone dared break the law of what the ruling party deemed acceptable, they would be thrown in jail.

This all just brings me back to the sickening stupidity of these people now wailing about the dangers of “Joker” to our society.

Because god forbid a film should examine and depict the suffering of a mentally ill white man who’s been dismissed and neglected by a casually cruel and uncaring society. God forbid a mentally ill white man should be shown any compassion at all, or understanding. Because that sort of things doesn’t exist in the real world, hahahaha. Because bad people are all born in a vacuum, evil isn’t a man made concept but an actual, tangible and definable human trait that’s completely independent of any other factors of the human condition, and their circumstances and environment have nothing whatsoever to do with how they turn out. Oh no, chemical imbalances in the brain aren’t a real thing that can cause compulsive disorders in people. That’s not real. White people aren’t real people with real problems. What a hilarious and absurd notion! There’s no such thing as a white person that’s poor. There’s no such thing as a white person who’s treated like trash by society. There’s no such thing as a white person whose anything but fabulously wealthy and privileged and educated, and accepted with open, loving arms by the whole world.

That entire paragraph was sarcasm, for the slow people in the back.

It’s funny, though, how these same people that claim those things like social and mental factors have nothing to do with people committing crimes will turn around and talk about the higher percentage of crime rates among minorities as being a direct byproduct of them living in socially disadvantaged circumstances. I guess environment and mental health problems do effect people’s behavior, as long as they’re not white.

The point is, the people that are condemning “Joker” and shouting from the rooftops that it’s a “dangerous” film that should never have been made are by their very words promoting censorship and suppression of artistic expression, which in turn leads to an oppressed, police state society, where any given countries citizens are essentially prisoners of their own government. THAT’S dangerous. “Joker” isn’t dangerous. It’s a movie about something real. About how mental illness is something that often gets ignored by a society which isn’t comfortable with acknowledging it’s existence, and how that neglect of the problem only leads to it’s exacerbation. How people’s casual and thoughtless cruelty towards those who suffer with mental illness can have a devastating impact on those people. How unchecked extreme social injustice and obscene economic divides can reach a boiling point and explode in violence and rage. About compassion and understanding for the disenfranchised and neglected and abused. About how simply labeling someone as “evil” won’t ever solve any problem, because it’s an absurd and grotesque oversimplification of what really causes violence. The character of Arthur Fleck is depicted as a multi-layered, complex human being, suffering human frailties and living under the intense burden of a callous, cold society which has little to no regard for the people that don’t fit in, or conform, or fit the profile of normality. He isn’t a force of nature, or a being of pure, unstoppable evil, but a frail, vulnerable, broken man who, because of the stigma and ostracization of the world around him in relation to his mental illness, feels trapped and alone and misunderstood, with no outlet to express his pain, and no one to speak to regarding his darker, destructive impulses. “Joker” is a film that deals with real world issues. That doesn’t shy away from the ugly reality of those issues, and how those issues are treated by the world, and the responsibility of our society and our responsibility as individuals to help and look after those who can’t look after themselves. To do what we can to make those who are laboring under intense negative thoughts and emotions feel as though they can speak to someone about those thoughts and feelings without being dismissed, or made fun of, or just flat out rejected or even recoiled from. It’s a cautionary tale about what can happen when we as a society and as individuals fail to do our part and really allow ourselves to examine the true causes and reasons for why a person might resort of violence. When we’re simply more comfortable with the idea that “evil” as a concept actually exists, is something born out of nothing, and how much easier it is to simply label people that lash out as such, rather than acknowledging that they, too, are human beings, and to reflect that their violence and destructive acts are things we ourselves would be capable of, were we to find ourselves suffering under the same mental problems and experiencing the same environmental circumstances they do. Because it makes us uncomfortable to see these people as human beings, to see them being mistreated and abused, and to then feel sympathy or empathy in our hearts when we see them being hurt. Because we would much rather believe they have no true feelings, no true emotions. To believe that they aren’t people, but just things that should be regarded as nothing but repulsive monsters. To convince ourselves that they can’t be hurt by the things we do to them, so we don’t have to experience all those awful feelings of compassion and empathy for their suffering, or feel guilt for treating them as less than human.

Anyway, that’s my rant. It isn’t this film that’s a danger to society. It’s the people who don’t like what the film is expressing, and don’t want to acknowledge that what it’s expressing is based in reality, that are the real danger. They’re promoting censorship, which in turn can lead to suppression of artistic, political, and religious expression. Which leads to the destruction of freedom of expression. That’s a real world, tangible threat, and it’s being proposed by people who claim to be looking out for the welfare of our society.

#Joker #Joker movie #Joaquin Phoenix #DC #Todd Phillips

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sweetdimplesbruv · 6 years

Text

My brain when I was trying to sleep earlier: Heyyyy self! How about instead of sleeping....you think about details of a Bourne Identity/Kingsman Hartwin fusion AU instead?! 😁😉😘😘😘😘

How good would that be though? Verrrrry.

So Harry would obviously be the Bourne character...and Eggsy would be the Marie character except he’d never die, thanks. But like, say Harry wakes up somewhere (doesn’t have to be the sea like in the movie) with no memory of who he is, but he’s surrounded by a bunch of dead bodies...oooooh! Intrigue!!!

So he leaves, realizes he’s in London, and finds somewhere safe to patch himself up and that’s when he finds a chip hidden in the lining of his suit that leads him to an address somewhere in the city. So he goes and it’s full of passports, tons of money, weapons, and all that shit. It’s a Kingsman stockpile. He immediately is aware that something isn’t right so he makes his escape and realizes there are people following him so he goes into the rush of early morning commuters at a nearby train station.

This is where he spots Eggsy pickpocketing from some rich fuck that had just been a dickhead to a little old lady. So he makes a quick decision and walks by Eggsy, grabs onto his arm with a demanding, “Play along. I need a cover and I’ll pay you significantly more than however much you’ve just stolen from that man.”

So they both make their way out of the train station and blah blah blah, Harry explains he has no memory of who he is and needs to find out because he woke up in a room surrounded by dead men and now he’s being hunted.

Eggsy agrees to help him for a payout so they work to try and deduce information from the passports, and anything Harry has turned up thus far. More guys hunt them down and Harry dispatches them with effortless style.

Oooh, and he doesn’t even remember his name but one of the passports was for Henry DeVere, so Eggsy’s calls him Henry, k?

So eventually another baddie tries to kill them both, and Harry tortures him for information, which he actually gives up. Turns out he’s just hired help and not loyal to any particular organization and he reveals a sheaf of paper with Eggsy’s personal and family information on it and Eggsy has a proper freakout about the safety of his mother and baby sister and all that. But the baddie also reveals one word: Kingsman.

So now Harry and Eggsy are working double time, Eggsy with way more personal motivation now, and they try and unearth what Kingsman is.

The thing is, it’s not Kingsman that’s the enemy. They have no idea Harry is alive, even had a toast to his memory and all. But someone at Kingsman........Chester.....is working against the organization for his own gain and has teamed up with a group of mercenaries led by Valentine, naturally.

So Kingsman has no idea that Harry is alive, being hunted down, and has no memory of who he is, but Chester knows he’s alive and think he’s trying to undermine him now so he’s trying to finish the job and kill Harry. Maybe Harry found out about Chester’s deception and that’s why all this happened?

So Harry and Eggsy search and search and search and hunt for clues and grow ever closer, obviously. Let’s just say Eggsy’s cleaning some wounds on Harry after a particularly nasty fight with more bad guys and leans in and kisses him and it gets all passionate...that is, until Harry spots Eggsy’s Kingsman medal around his neck and a flash of memory lances through him. He recoils and clutches at his head as a few more memories surface, but it’s nothing super useful. A few names and faces, nothing they can really use.

But now he thinks Eggsy is connected to Kingsman and freaks the fuck out thinking he’s been played so they have it out right there in their hideout, verbally and physically. It’s one hell of a fight, with neither holding back.

But then they’re interrupted by more baddies breaking in and work to fight them together instead. After all that they call a temporary truce and flee the hideout to find somewhere else to stay.

So they find somewhere to hole up and Eggsy is cleaning his own wounds now as Harry sits and stares, his back to the wall because he doesn’t trust Eggsy, and Eggsy says, “My dad died in top secret circumstances and my mum was given this medal. If it’s familiar to you then maybe there’s a connection. My mum always told me if I needed help to call the number on the back...” He trails off into silence for a little while before talking again, “Maybe it’s an opportunity. Our first real shot at figuring out who the fuck you are and what the fuck happened to you. We could prepare before we do it. Set up a meeting point to our advantage, find some weapons...”

And they do just that. Eggsy calls the number on the back and says to the person on the line, “My name's Eggsy Unwin...sorry, Gary Unwin. I’m here with a man, Henry DeVere...maybe a codename?” and he gets cut off with the “Sorry wrong number” line and he says, “Wait, wait.....oxfords not brogues?”

At that Harry’s head snaps up in familiarity and the woman on the phone says, “You have a message?” And they set up a meet point somewhere outside the city and Harry and Eggsy start preparations, knowing that it won’t only be friendlies that show up, if any do at all.

So they prepare their meet point as best they can and when the time comes it’s initially just Percival, Lancelot, and another agent or two that arrive. Some more information is given to Harry, but the talking is interrupted when a whole fleet of humvees shows up and there’s a huuuuge battle. Chester, Valentine and Gazelle are there as well because apparently Chester and Valentine are overly confident of winning lmao. Lancelot gets cut in half by Gazelle’s blades, Valentine shoots Harry in the head and Eggsy screams, “Nooooooo!” and attacks but Gazelle steps in and they fight it out. Eggsy wins. He takes down Valentine next as Percival kills Chester in a fit of his own rage as Lancelot was his lovaaaa.

So then they load one of the humvees up with Harry and Percival gives the directions to the mansion and Eggsy drives off at breakneck speed. Percival stays behind to take care of and mourn Lancelot.

Eggsy gets to the mansion and is immediately stopped by Merlin and some guards but he’s just like, “I don’t give a fuck about any of this. Lock me up somewhere but get Henry and try and save him!”

So they do all that.

And when they deem Eggsy a non-threat they send him back to his home in London with barely an explanation, which he obviously just loves. And his life mostly goes back to normal for a while, his family having thankfully never been harmed or even threatened.

But then Harry shows up outside Holborn station. Obviously Kingsman has been keeping tabs on Eggsy even if he didn’t know it, so they secured his release after he was arrested for stealing Rottie’s car. So Eggsy is walking out and stops when he hears, “Eggsy, would you like a lift home?” and he turns and there’s Harry right there leaned against the wall all fucking dapper and shit, right?

And Eggsy just stares, ‘cause it’s been a while, and Harry has his one lens black glasses on and he looks fit af all cleaned up. Finally he says, “Who are you?”

“The man who got you released.”

“That ain’t an answer.”

“A little gratitude would be nice. My name is Harry Hart,” Harry says as he starts to smile and Eggsy smiles back. “I gave you that medal.”

And they go to the Black Prince and Harry explains everything he can to the best of his ability, including what happened with Eggsy’s father.

Then Dean’s goons show up and call Eggsy a rentboy and all that and Harry defends his honor because obviously he loooooves him.

Then Harry says, “Come to the Kingsman shop tonight, bring a going away bag.” And he leaves the pub.

So Eggsy goes home, packs his shit, and has it out with Dean. He gets to the Kingsman shop and he and Harry have their little sexual tension-off before Harry says, “Come with me.”

They get into the fitting room and Harry shuts the door. But instead of the mirror speech, he crowds Eggsy back up against it and leans in close, his hands bracketing Eggsy’s head along the mirror, their lips neaaaarly touching. He stops and says, “If I’m misinterpreting or you’ve changed your mind from before, tell me now...” But Eggsy just leans in and kisses him and they have reunion/relief/happiness sex right there in fitting room one.

Afterwards, Harry places his hand on the mirror to activate the lift and Eggsy joins the Lancelot recruit training except this time he passes because it’s Merlin or Harry that does the final test and not untrustworthy fuckin’ Chester and Harry is there as mentor the entire time since Valentine is already dead. And the tension between them.....ohhhhh, boy. They can’t do anything since Eggsy is a recruit, so it’s just pent up energy anytime they’re in each other’s presence.

And then because there’s two winners (Eggsy and Roxy) after the final test, they either open up another knight position or Harry becomes Arthur since Chester is dead and Eggsy becomes Galahad instead.

And they live happily ever after fighting bad guys worldwide.

In all seriousness, if I could actually write more than half-joking unedited short, fluffy nothingness...this is what I would focus on. I think it would be so cool! I wouldn’t even know where to begin though, so I’ll just leave it as an extra long prompt/idea and move on.

But it sounds good, no?!

#fanfic #kingsman #hartwin #eggsy unwin #harry hart #sorry i keep posting such long stuff in the tags tho lmao

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browniefox · 7 years

Text

Pro No Evens 5 - YOLMT 2

Pro No Evens - You Only Live Multiple Times 2

After the first one, I couldn’t get the concept out of my head, so here we go again.

Part 1 Part 3

Against All Odds is from @royalflushstories and Royal Expectations is from @trulymightypotato

Felix starts to watch Cry more.

Cry had been every-present for so long, but the strange feelings increased. Whenever he saw a gun or a shady person, he’d move between them and Cry. If they started to move towards Cry, Felix would get louder, more distracting, keeping their attention. They were subconscious acts. And it was all really stupid. Cry could take care of himself, probably more than Felix could defend him. Most of the people Felix deemed as ‘threats’ weren’t even aware Cry existed, much less that the random waiter was him or that he was hidden on the other side of that door.

Which was another weird thing.

Felix always knew where Cry was.

It was always in the back of his head and had only gotten worse after his internal pushing of energy was met with a pressing from a different kind. The more stressful the situation, the more pushing he did and the more pressing he got in return. Whatever it was, it was strange and weird and oddly comforting.

oOo

Gar had hoped it would go away.

It got worse.

The first snow of winter caught him off guard. He was patrolling around town with Mat when the first flake hits him, gently landing on his cheek, and it’s like he had been smacked. He fell to the ground, mind suddenly and scarily empty of thoughts from the shock of it.

Snow.

Mat was at his side in a moment, but Gar wasn’t paying attention to him - couldn’t pay attention to him.

Snow.

There are tears running down his face and he doesn’t know why. But he is sad, he’d almost say he was mourning, but how could one mourn nothing? The snow that had been only a few flakes moments ago had started to fall rather suddenly in sheets. When Gar looked up he could almost make out a figure in the white mess of nothing.

Snow.

Somebody is talking to him. Mat is, he knows this if he could focus enough, but there’s also another voice one he doesn’t know - no, one that he knows instinctually, that he wants to respond to but... but he doesn’t know what the other is asking, much less what to say in response. Mat ends up hauling him back to the station, and over a cup of coffee he starts to come back to himself. But he can’t stop looking out the window.

Snow.

oOo

Something is wrong with Gar.

There are small signs all over - like Gar constantly glancing over his shoulder or shivering even if the room is perfectly warm - and bigger ones - the episode in the snow, showing up at Mat’s doorstep in the middle of the night just to touch his face and ‘make sure you’re real and alive’. Mat hopes it’s just Gar going through a rough patch.

But then there’s the blowup.

It’s late at night and Mat is talking about the speakeasy-that-must-be, and he’s tired, and he says something about Lady Foxglove that he can’t even remember, and Gar snaps at him. He almost growls out to leave her be, saying that if Mat had a problem with Molly, he could settle it with Gar himself right here, right now. They’d stared at each other for a few moments, and Gar blinked as if waking up. He apologized (though Mat had the distinct impression that Gar was unsure what he had even said) and gone home to rest.

But that left Mat to himself. He couldn’t help but to think, think of those things that had been bugging at the edge of his mind. How every word against Lady Foxglove left a strange, foul taste in his mouth.

He kept going back to Jason’s grave, and sometimes he was mourning Jason and other days he was once again trying to dig up the ground, not mourning because Jason Was Not Dead Yet.

One night, Mat confesses his strange feelings and memories to Stephanie in their bed. She looks at him, sleep weighing heavily on her eyelids and mind she pats his shoulder and tells him to go sleep, to get his rest. Tomorrow is a busy day.

She says tomorrow they go to war.

oOo

PJ can’t stop staring at the Boston Bumblers.

He’d known they exist, had gone to that poker night with them and read their column in the news paper rather often. So why were they suddenly so interesting, so important?

He stares at them and his arm burns again. But this time, he isn’t just waking up. He is wide awake and staring at them and he is getting a headache.

PJ has work to do, a mob to help run and one day take over. He has people he needs to worry about and care for and there are things that are actually important. Things that will effect his life.

But he can’t stop staring at them from across the street.

He wants to run over and grab Phil and pull him close. He wants to make sure that Phil is alive, to hear his beating heart with his own two ears. God, how is it that he misses him? Why did he miss him?

After a while, Phil sees him and waves jovially.

Dan stares at him with eyes wide, like a deer caught in the headlights.

Pj’s hand flies to his chest, scraping once again for the thing that should be there.

oOo

Dan started humming.

He hummed in the shower and when he woke up and whenever a situation was uncomfortable. So he was basically humming all the time.

Phil, of course, noticed.

He commented on it. He said that Dan should sing sometime, that he thought Dan would have a good singing voice if he gave it a try. Dan would flash to the not-memories of singing and politely decline to do so.

Dan hums, and he thinks about the rolling water beneath a boat, carrying him away from home. He thinks about returning to a familiar place, looking at people he must know. He can almost feel the impact of his hands on the table, shouting something at the people.

He hums as he walks down the street, he and Phil always on the look out for the next story. Phil waves at somebody across the street, and he curiously looks over.

PJ stands there and he can’t stop looking at them. He’s frozen mid-stride. Dan can’t stop staring at the man. He steps closer to Phil, and eventually all parties involved in the staring continued on their way.

All he can think is that both PJ and himself failed.

oOo

JP can feel her.

She’s right there, right at the edge of him.

She’s nudging him internally, a force there that connects him and her.

When he turned his head, he can see her in alleys and shadows (her shadows) and watching from the edge of the top of buildings.

He wishes he knew her.

oOo

Wade starts getting over protective.

It’s insane, irrational, but he feels like he has a duty to protect people. And he takes it out on Orchids, beating up those who threatened those who were his people. Every Orchid deserved to be protected, he had always thought this, but recently... he’d stared at the battered young girl and he’d put a hand on her wounds.

He should be able to do more for them.

oOo

Felix walks around the spacious room that is filled with people that think they’re standing on the top of the world, too good for anybody they deem too poor or not worth their time. Every word from their mouths leaves Felix more and more uncomfortable. He doesn’t want to be here, he wants to walk out of the room and go to Freddy’s where the drinks was worse but the company made up for it tenfold.

Cry is somewhere nearby, and a glance from the corner of his eyes revealed the faceless to be not ten feet away with a tray of drinks.

It wasn’t long before Arthur Carpett caught Felix in a conversation. Felix grits his teeth at the sneers and rude comments hidden beneath a thin veil of flattery. He rubs his chest a bit, where something was supposed to be. He pushes his energy and The Other presses back. He pushes harder, The Other presses harder. They were also upset, Felix can feel that. Their combined stress and displeasure seem to feed off each other and Felix grows more anxious, shuffling his feet, wanting more and more desperately to not be here. The people in this room, the pretentious noises that come from them, seemed to grow louder and more annoying with every second.

He Pushes Something Else.

Carpett’s mouth keeps moving. The woman a ways away looks like she’s laughing. Lips of all of those in the room continue to open and close as if nothing has changed.

But Felix hears nothing.

(The lights flicker)

#royal flush stories #pro no evens #royal expectations #peasant impossibility #browniefox writes #fanfiction #here i go again #winks at potato #hope you enjoy #there's snow this time #i dont know where this is going #so if anybody has ideas #hit me up #because #i am curious what people think

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alltheworldsrpg-blog · 7 years

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BOBBY LINK | THE COG | ANDROID 1.0 | 65

You’re a remnant of the old world, a relic of Luytan origins which has been condemned and demonized by humans and aliens alike. Robots shouldn’t feel, shouldn’t have their own evolving moral compass. They think you’ll decide one day that living things aren’t worth surviving, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Killing someone would make you hurt inside, make tears prick at your eyes. You hide in plain sight, pretending to be the human they say you could never be.

BIOGRAPHY

“They won’t listen. Do you know why? Because they have certain fixed notions about the past. Any change would be blasphemy in their eyes, even if it were the truth. They don’t want the truth; they want their traditions.“ — Isaac Asimov (Pebble in the Sky)

You were not made to be perfect, you were made to be. Those were words Abe heard from the moment he opened his eyes. Though he did register every single moment from every single second of his life (Life? Was it really life? He questioned it because of the Earthlings but he had always been told he was alive.), though he had registered every moment of the lives around him, everything was always a surprise – the soft and nuanced difference between formal records and memories.

By the hands of Eridanus, ABL 1X-2 was woven. His creator was an old scientist, a respected inventor with an eye to detail that had brought into life, even if many disputed the fact androids were never truly alive. Abe was Eridanus’ and Saiph’s masterpiece, the inventor and her wife, living alone after raising three children, had dedicated their days to create something more than a “mere” robot. They didn’t want a house servant, they didn’t want a pet. They wanted to relive the years of raising children, of watching someone be amazed by life and the world, by all the new possibilities.

From the mechanic work of Eridanus and from the brains of Saiph, Abe’s series was brought unto life. Like a child, they did not give him more than basic pre-programing, language and motor skills, basic understanding of their world’s functions. They wanted him to learn and experience for himself – he was an experiment of sorts, like his whole series. If he learned things by himself, would it make a difference? What was the difference between programming knowledge into a positronic brain and letting said brain record information by itself? Would it make the ABL series more alive? They had a million experiments with artificial intelligence but they wanted further, they wanted sentience.

The answer, came in time – it did. Abe wasn’t the only one of his kind but the people who “raised” him, were one of a kind. Eridanus, Saiph and their three adopted children – Rasalas, Wasat and Polaris, they were his family and for a long time, he never questioned his existence as a being. But his “parents” wouldn’t let him off the hook that easily, they wanted him to be self-aware and beyond that. The ABL series was supposed to be sentient, to be alive. They couldn’t mimic all of the biological components to suddenly make a living character but they could try.

Abe read their stories and listened to their songs, he learned to have emotions, feelings and he had pain receptors. You’re like us but nothing like us, that doesn’t make you any less of who you are. Saiph told him, as they walked alongside the glass beach one day, her arm tightly linked to his. But he did not age and his family did. After him, many other generations came, many other androids – but none like the ABL ones. The work of a lifetime for a team of scientists, others like Eridanus and Saiph that had dreams of creating something beyond them.

But what taught him most was living around the three children of “his own parents”. ABL was brought into consciousness when Wasat and Polaris, twins, were mere ten years old and Rasalas twelve. In a way, he raised them as one would his own children or younger siblings – an odd relationship to say the least, all things considered. But the three younglings accepted him after some time, though of all three, Wasat was the one who took more to Abe. Most of days he spent learning, helping Eridanus and Saiph in their respective fields of study but also helping with the children and Wasat took to his side like a duckling.

From the boy, Abe learned how to question the world with the eyes of a child and while Wasat would grow into an adult, Abe’s worldview would forever be initially shaped like that. The world was a wondrous place and nothing was impossible if only you could believe. Abe and his “siblings” were best friends and often the android would try to take the blame for something it wasn’t his fault, or hurt himself in order to protect them. Not because he had to, since it was not in his core programming but because he wanted to. As soon as his makers realized that behaviour, they realized their creation was more alive and conscious than they could have expected.

ABL 1X-2 might’ve not been aware of that but he loved his family and they loved him back.

He was eighteen years old when his homeplanet found Terra, Earth as they called themselves. While Abe had spent his days by his parents’ side, he was their assistant in a way – the same artificial intelligence that navigated the ship that found Terra was his friend. In a way. Soon enough he and his family moved to the new planet, to explore, to learn. They were a family of scientists, after all.

Being physically a machine, Abe adapted fast to the planet – he could, at last, change his mechanical parts, update himself so he would be useful to his family, to his kind.

“Whether we are based on carbon or on silicon makes no fundamental difference; we should each be treated with appropriate respect.” ― Arthur C. Clarke, 2010: Odyssey Two

What did not happen was the planet adapting to him. Well, not quite the planet but its population. In his own opinion, Terrans were primitive, though not quite as primitive as other species in their own planet and they were like ignorant children, unaware of the wonder of their own world and the possibilities it represented. Most times Abe lied to those Terrans and they accepted he was a regular Luytan, always walking by Eridanus’ side and being called child or some other endearment form. Abe was often the one sent to recognition tasks around the new world – after all, his memory was vastly superior to that of any biological Luytan.

Time passed by like that. He had a family to go back to, he had a developing positronic brain and a life purpose. He was there to help his family and to make them happy, he was there to study Terrans in the same way they had studied everything else. Abe was always self-aware of who exactly he was. Non biological, slightly different in conception from his makers but he had feelings, hadn’t he? Emotions? He felt pain and cold and hunger – he didn’t need to feel those things, but he did. At night, he read stories to Wasat’s children.

His family lived in a big place as it slowly grew, as Wasat, Polaris and Rasalas had families of their own but did not trust Terrans fully, so they all lived around each other. Abe never aged. In no moment his family, his handlers, the friends and people around him had ever lied about his nature but Terrans had never fully asked either, at least not at first. Some knew, some didn’t – most Terrans deemed he was a particularly emotive Luytan that had better eyesight than others. Odd. Well, odd for an alien, maybe.

His years on Earth and his adaptational built made Abe assimilate Human and Centaurian traits along his Luytan programming and nature, though his core code would always be Luytan, he was an evolving piece of technology that could often rewrite his own protocols. Among his family and community members he was always the same, mirroring their behaviour nicely but regarding other species, Abe understood they needed more empathy, that “acting Luytan” would put them off. He understood concepts of emotions, lies, secrets and love – he understood feelings, he wanted to understand life like all of them. And life was an amazing thing.

That started putting people off. Maybe it wasn’t only him, maybe it was all of his kind – once he heard wolf in sheepskin. These creatures, stronger, smarter even than the smartest species, immortal and with no ruling codes over them, free to come and go as they pleased, connected to the very technology that was the basis of their governments. Terrans and Centaurians alike started to feel threatened by the Androids’ existence even if they could accept their need. Abe had never quite experienced that much hostility, sure some Terrans were uncomfortable when it came to androids but for a long time he had never been considered a threat. Why would he? He had the same moral compass as his family, weren’t they threats too? They were just as free to make decisions as he was, why then, he was deemed a threat?

As Eridanus and Saiph tried to work with the Terran agency and make a new line of androids, closer to what Humans wanted or at least felt more comfortable with, discord grew and the more shunned Abe and his kin were. The problem started when the second line of Terra-made androids was released.

As sensitive and sensible as the first ones but with the same penchant Terrans had to violence, malice and disregard for morality, fear struck all of the communities that then lived within Terra – Luytan engineers told them it was a sole case but said terror traced back right into the olden ones, like Abe. Though his family held tightly to him and forbid him from leaving anywhere that wasn’t solely Luytan, and though they considered shipping him back off to their homeland and avoid losing their very own family member, came the time the Luytan science council decided to appease the Terrans and dismantle all first-generation androids.

"Life, although it may only be an accumulation of anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it.” — Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley (Frankenstein)

Wasat took his hand and put him in a car one day at three in the morning then made Abe drive them away. Don’t come back, he said, and Abe had never seen a Luytan cry before. Not like that at least and he wanted to reach out and wipe the tears with his fingertips but the expression also told him no to. His face was most unmoving, if not by the twitching corner of his lips, pressed into a thin line, the way his eyes gleamed, the knuckles gripped tightly around the hem of his shirt. It was 2021, Wasat, Rasalas and Polaris stayed all of the one day car journey with him. He didn’t need to ask why. The entire drive was his funeral and they were saying their goodbyes.

Abe said goodbye to Eridanus, Saiph, Wasat, Rasalas, Polaris, Titain, Suhail, Talitha, Scheath, Zaniah, Nunki, Ruchbach and Ogma. His family. His friends. The last member of his family he ever saw were the three children that no longer were children, he helped raise and loved, as they sat in an empty parking lot in Seattle, three thousand kilometers away from Albuquerque and millions of lightyears away from Luytan. The three of them sat, watching the sun rise together just once more. How many times had Eridanus and Saiph not come home and they all stayed ways past curfew, only so they could watch the planetary dance? ABL 1X-2 cried, Wasat, Rasalas and Polaris cried. You know what they want to do to you, we couldn’t let them. His children – his, his entire family, his community, they were good. They had kind hearts and they loved him as much as he loved them.

We don’t want you to die. Go, Abe, and don’t come back. Don’t ever come back.

His heart was broken and life as he knew, was gone.

“In three words I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life: it goes on.” ― Robert Frost

He didn’t have time to make a escape plan, well he never thought he would need one. But alone in Seattle, looked after for dismantling like all of his kind, Abe was given a backpack and a name to look after. A man in Vancouver, just a little ways beyond the border, who would give him a new name and a new identity. From a scientist to being an outlaw just for existing.

ABL 1X-2 was declared officially dismantled – by Eridanus and Saiph, whom had destroyed an old prototypical carcass, Abe was officially dead to the world and the first one he became was a man named John Smith. No one said he needed to get creative with a Terran name and starting from a clean slate mean there was much more work to get done, ABL never had to be entirely on his own before. Severed from his community and his people, he was akin of a orphaned young adult. No safety net, no nothing but himself to move forward.

We move forward, always.

The man in question that had decided to help him was a criminal terran man who had married a luytan citizen and took him into hiding, crafting him a new identity and pitying ABL’s situation, decided to teach how to get around in the outskirts of the law. He had to become more human than Luytan, he had to leave everything he knew behind or else his heart would give him away, and he’d never see his family again.

“John Smith” was what probably the alien impression of an average human man would be, he liked… stuff. And food! And he had gone to kindergarten, middle school, high school, college and grad school, and he was a lawyer. Looking retroactively, ABL had no idea how no real humans ever noticed who he was. But then again, no one was looking for him, no one would even consider his makers wouldn’t give him away.

“John Smith” lived incredible fifteen years with Sam Copper and his partner Castor. They weren’t quite as frowned upon all the way up in Canada as they would be down where the alien communities were bigger. ABL worked in the bar Castor had purchased and learned how to be a human, while pretending to be solely a Luytan. Sam Copper taught ABL the intricacies of human behavior and of… certain illicit activities. Forging papers, forging a new identity. With ABL’s knowledge of technology, they could make it seem like he had always been there, made up school histories, made up certificates, even photos. Sam made money from that scheming and ABL didn’t like it one bit but could not complain. He was being sheltered and protected by those same things, part of the money went to his own account.

Through the years he stayed with Sam and Castor, ABL changed his external appearance – there weren’t that many androids that he couldn’t be recognized sometime and he couldn’t risk being dismantled and having his family punished by lying. He stayed with the couple for twelve years and ten months before he perfected the updates on himself and on his looks, or as much as he could without his makers. Then he left.

Set to learn about Terrans, with his new con-artist (in a way) skills, “John Smith” travelled the world for sixteen years. Maybe if he learned enough, he’d be able to one day pitch his case, he’d be able to one day prove he wasn’t any kind of monster, but the more he travelled, the more he realized Terrans and Centaurians (and Tau Cetians eventually), wouldn’t recognize his “Life” any time soon. They needed to evolve and realize on their own, so he better not hold his metaphorical breath.

In 2050, “John Smith” died. And ABL set on his new identity, Adam Robert Link, a better and more appropriate name, with an actual decent track record so anyone who’d look into it had nothing to question about. As John Smith he couldn’t return to the United States without having every part of his life checked, paranoid as only those people knew how to be, but Adam Robert Link was unquestionable. An American citizen, Texan nonetheless. Forging social medias was easy, the documents were easy – the hardest part was going back to Albuquerque and not going after his family. Thirthy years down the road, he knew they were better off if things remained like this. He was happy to just be alive in the same place as they were.

“Why do you go away? So that you can come back. So that you can see the place you came from with new eyes and extra colors. And the people there see you differently, too. Coming back to where you started is not the same as never leaving.” ― Terry Pratchett, A Hat Full of Sky

CONNECTIONS

THE CIRCUIT: You’ve fooled them, but not for long. They’re suspicious of you, it’s obvious from the way they look at you. If they found out your secret, it’d be off to a government lab to be poked and prodded at, ending in dismantlement. You’ll play human for as long as you can, blend in more seamlessly than anyone else. It’s all you can do to survive.

THE HAWKING: The only human to figure out your secret, they seem to be the other side of the same coin. Their heart is numb to emotions you so deeply feel, creating a kind of sadness that runs deeper than your programming. You’ll give them the best experience possible, try and give them at least a second-hand experience with feelings. They’re your best friend, they deserve the world.

THE MATRIX: They see you nothing more as a way to accomplish their goals, creating a new generation of thinking, feeling, self-sufficient androids. You let them open you up, look through all your hardware and programming. It’s not just for charity, you think if they succeed in their crazy idea, you might be free. You won’t have to hide anymore.

THE COG IS PORTRAYED BY COLIN O’DONOGHUE AND IS CLOSED

#the cog.#all.#allc.#andc.

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bananafishmetas · 4 years

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Ash and the unwanted gain of power:

I wrote this post as a response to the awesome meta by @vashak, regarding her post on gang leader Ash, which you can read here: https://vashak.tumblr.com/post/189907130780/gang-leader-ash

But since it turned out so long, I thought I’d post it as a separate meta of my own as well.

Particularly, I think it’s important to take note of the fact that Ash never wanted to be a boss. Neither does Sing. Both of them are chosen to take on that role by the other street punks, because it’s decided among those groups that people like Ash and Sing are most capable of offering them protection.

Focusing on Ash specifically, it speaks volumes about his character that he accepts this responsibility, even as it isn’t something he ever chose for himself, or at all desired.

We see in Angel Eyes, after Ash’s fight with Frankie and his men in the library, that the other inmates start treating him like a Capo, basically attaching themselves to him and showing deference to him, because they’ve realized Ash is strong, and can protect them. Again, this is really important to point out, because Ash didn’t want this, or have designs to this affect. Shorter even points out that Ash is made uncomfortable by the sudden deference, by the other inmates treating him like the leader, and Ash also shows confusion later on, when Shorter is talking about how Arthur tried to take a hit out on Ash because he could see Ash would eventually inspire that same kind of deference and following on the outside, making him a direct threat to Arthur’s rule. Ash doesn’t understand what Shorter means, and expresses his confusion over it. We also hear Dino talking about Ash to Arthur, explaining that Ash never had any ambition, directly in contrast to Arthur, who’s ambition knows no bounds, and how regrettable Dino finds this, because he knows if Ash did have ambition to be a boss like Arthur, there would be no stopping him from taking over every single turf in New York. Dino initially sends Ash out onto the streets with the hope this will happen, setting Ash up to run jobs for him, whether that’s selling drugs or taking out hits on whoever Dino decides needs to be eliminated. He forcibly injects Ash into gang life and culture, doubtless under various and horrible threats from Dino himself. We know from Dino’s own words to Ash, and the way he mocks him by reminding him about how he used to cry with every job Dino made him do, that he was likely either threatening Ash’s life if he didn’t do as he was told, or threatening to put him back to work at Club Cod as a child prostitute. And we know how horrifying that was and continued to be for Ash. Ash didn’t want to be in a gang, or engage in criminal activities, but he didn’t ever have a choice. He was completely under Dino’s thumb.

Eventually, Ash does gain a loyal following. It really becomes a substantial thing in reform school, and once he gets out, he doubtless has an entire crew that have attached themselves to him. Again, because of his superior abilities, charisma and intellect, the other kids are just naturally drawn to him. Ash doesn’t even have to try. They just go to him because they can see he’s strong and capable of giving them protection. But Ash never moves beyond this specific territory or specific group. Eventually, he does come into conflict with Arthur, because that’s the territory Ash operates in, and of course he beats Arthur in one on one combat. Further, the fact that Ash doesn’t kill Arthur, but spares his life, is more proof still not only of Ash’s ambivalent feelings towards killing, but of how he never particularly sought after the role of boss in the first place. If he’d really wanted to solidify his position of power, he would have killed Arthur. Again, this just all serves as proof of Ash’s reluctance to be in this role and position.

Ash never planned on becoming a boss. The role was thrust onto him because of his superior abilities and intelligence. The other street kids align themselves to him because they know he can protect them. And even though Ash doesn’t want this role, he accepts it, because, and again, this speaks to Ash’s moral character, despite what he thinks of himself, and what others perceive him as, he feels a moral obligation and responsibility at this point to take care of these other kids who have selected him for exactly that. He could easily refuse the obligation, and abandon them to be run by Arthur, who treats all of them as disposable. Ash more than once proves his capability in handling himself. He doesn’t need a crew to survive out there on the streets. In fact, Ash is most effective and capable when he’s operating on his own, and doesn’t have to worry about anyone else. His chances of survival are highest when it’s just him on his own. And he’s not doing it because of any kind of loyalty to Dino, or because he thinks Dino will come after him if he doesn’t have a crew. At the beginning of Banana Fish, Ash is already operating separately from Dino, and is only willing to work with Dino on equal terms, meaning they both benefit from whatever jobs they run. He doesn’t operate out there anymore FOR Dino. Which is also why he kicks those two members out of the gang at the beginning, for betraying him and going behind his back to run a job for Dino. Again, Ash could have and probably should have killed them, but he showed them mercy instead, once more, because Ash doesn’t want to ever kill anyone if he doesn’t absolutely have to, and he has no actual desire for power. He kicks them out because they’ve proven they can’t be trusted, which would endanger not only himself, but the other members of his gang and which, subsequently, they prove by immediately running to Dino and ratting Ash out, for which trouble they get themselves killed.

Ash accepts his role as boss because he cares about other people. He understands that they’ve chosen him as their leader because he can protect them, and he takes that responsibility seriously and takes it onto himself willingly, even as he doesn’t want it and would in truth be better off on his own. We see this proven also in the way Ash purposefully leaves his gang out of any truly dangerous business which is likely to get him or them killed. He even is willing to sacrifice himself to spare the lives of Arthur’s gang, when he accepts Arthur’s invitation of a one on one battle, knowing it’s a trap and that Arthur is going to do something that will likely get Ash killed. He’s willing to die to spare the lives of people who have already tried to kill him, not only his own gang members. Those are the actions of someone distinctly NOT interested in gaining power, or assuring his hold on power. He isn’t a good leader to his guys because he’s trying to assure his own safety or position. If that was the case, he wouldn’t go into situations on his own where he believed he was going to die, or where there was a high probability that he would, just to protect them. He would be willing to risk their lives for his own if the only reason he cared about them was to protect his own position. His willingness to sacrifice his life, and thus his position as leader, while at the same time protecting their own lives, actively keeping them OUT of danger, purposefully excluding them from being involved in risky situations so he can take the burden of them on to his own shoulders entirely, is proof that his motivation to be a good leader isn’t selfish. He’s a good leader because he’s a good person. Because he takes his role as their protector seriously. He’s willing to die to prevent more bloodshed between the two groups. He deems his own life to be of less value than the lives of all these other people. Of course, Arthur is a piece of trash, and he drags his own guys into it, sending them all after Ash at once, and Ash has no choice at that point but to fight back, not only for his life, but for the lives of his own crew.

He initially didn’t involve any of them in what was going on with Dino and Banana Fish, and didn’t want to involve Shorter either. Circumstances led to all of them eventually getting roped into it, but Ash fought hard to keep everyone out, and was 100% ready and willing to take Dino on completely by himself. He protects them constantly at risk to himself. And it’s not only his gang that he tries to protect. He tries to protect Sing’s gang, and Cain’s as well, by keeping them out of his war with Dino and Arthur. Again, circumstances eventually lead to them getting involved, but Ash tried very hard to not involve them.

It’s once more just an example of how Ash’s own choices and own wants and needs are never really something he’s allowed. His entire life, he’s been under the control of one person or another, whether that be Dino, or Marvin, or any of the other men who have abused him, or even, unintentional though it may be, his own gang. Ash’s life is more or less defined by his own free will and agency being robbed from him, and his endless, heartbreaking struggle to gain some small amount of it back.

When Ash says to Eiji “I wish I could have been like you, Eiji. I always wanted to live a better life than this. A more normal life.” He means that exactly. He never wanted the life he has, he never asked for it, or tried for it. It was thrust on him by other people, by other people’s decisions and other people’s needs and wants. Ash was never asked what he wanted or needed. Those things were never even considered. It was just decided and chosen for him. Like Ash says multiple times, he was treated by everyone around him like he wasn’t even a real person, like he didn’t have any real thoughts or feelings of his own. Like he was just a doll, there for the benefit and pleasure of others, to do with as they pleased. One of the most tragic results of that, is that the life he has, has done nothing but bring him misery and despair and a crushing sense of guilt and self-hatred.

It’s why Eiji treating Ash like a person means so much to him, and is so significant. Because Eiji is the first and only person to ever actually do that. To ever actually realize or care that Ash was a human being with his own thoughts, his own needs, his own feelings. He was the first and only person to ever treat Ash’s pain like it mattered.

#Banana Fish #Ash Lynx #Meta

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firexdance · 5 years

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Stowaway

🐉🐉🐉

She had made a huge show of checking over the Agency’s most wanted list, despite how much she disliked going there. She would never warm up to warlocks, regardless of her brother’s affiliation with one. His new status was just another reason she needed to get away from here- Jinx and Azazel seem to accept it without a single problem, but Ash didn’t like change. It had been about time for them to be moving on, and Ash had been looking forward to travelling with her family again, but now they appeared to be staying.

Of course, being them they just had to delay her departure. Lucifer pestered her about where she was going and pressed her for details and wouldn’t leave her alone until she promised to contact them at least every other day. Jinx fussed over her as usual and quizzed her to make sure she was taking the less-travelled paths where prey was more abundant, and even shoved a heavier cloak into her arms, staring her down until she reluctantly put it on. Azazel had stolen her belt- the nice one with all the useful pouches attached- and she had to threaten to dismember him before he would give it back. Finally, though, she was able to set off, feeling exhausted already despite it still being morning.

She remained on foot for much of the day, until she deemed it far enough away to shift and take to the air, her pack dangling in one of her back claws. They may claim the town was a more tolerant one, but she saw how people still shied away when one of them shifted. Night fell, and she shifted back- setting up camp and building a fire required a form with opposable thumbs since there inconveniently wasn’t a fire dragon to make that so much easier.

She reached for her pack to grab one of the pouches filled with nuts and berries while staring longingly into the forest. It was a repulsive meal to digest as she preferred fresh meat, but it was warmer by the fire, and she was too tired to hunt tonight.

🐾🐾🐾

Arthur hated disappearing on Hour like this, he really did, but he hadn’t felt as attached to someone in so long… He wasn’t just going to let Ash take off without him, even if it meant worrying Hour sick. She had made the amulet with one of the fire opals for him, though, and it seemed a shame not to use it, even if it hadn’t been tried out before and the spell didn’t necessarily work. Hopefully if he was trapped in cat form, though, Ash would decide eating him was not the best idea. Hopefully.

Arthur has grabbed the amulet in his teeth before he had stowed away in Ash’s pack, trying not to make too much noise or move around too much. The amulet itself worked immediately when on him, and was more like a collar than a dangling amulet, and even as a human it sat snug on his neck. Even so, the discomfort was worth the extra time, and meant more freedom from Hour. He loved her, don’t get him wrong, but being so dependent on a person other than his partner felt wrong, and Jonnah had been dead for years.

Arthur hadn’t been expecting for her to start flying so close to town, but it didn’t take him long to fall asleep. When she landed Arthur jerked awake and grabbed the amulet in his teeth. Peeking out he waited until her back was turned to wiggle out and run into the wood. If the amulet worked, he would come back as a human, if not then he would drop the amulet at Ash’s feet and hope she wouldn’t eat him alive. Slipping the amulet over his head proved more difficult than he had anticipated, but once on, Arthur waited for the change, braced against a tree. After about twenty seconds of nothing, he sighed and barely took a step forward when he felt the first wash of power, followed by the first twinges of pain. Normally the transformation was painless, but by the end Arthur lay on the ground gasping and pulling at the clothing that he had had for years. Thankfully that part of the transformation hadn’t changed.

He managed to get to the clearing with Ash a few minutes later, a small smile on his face as he tried, and failed, to mask the phantom pain pushing its way through his body.

🐉🐉🐉

Ash shivered and scooted as close to the fire as she dared. It was nights like this when she missed the natural heat Lucifer emitted in his true form. She was a bit more impervious to the cold in her other form, but ever since the dragon trials, the forest around Veilmont was riddled with hunters hoping to make their mark, and she wasn’t willing to risk being slaughtered in her sleep.

She stiffened when she heard a soft rustle, drawing her daggers and jumping to her feet in one swift movement. She narrowed her eyes at the intruder.

“State your business before I gut you.”

🐾🐾🐾

Arthur felt the smile fade at the sight of the daggers. Maybe she wouldn’t eat him, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t gut him. The feline held his hands up in surrender and stayed just inside where the circle of light illuminated his face. The fire from this far seemed very nice, his human form didn’t preserve heat as well as the fur in his cat form did.

“I’m not a threat, Ash. It’s me, Arthur.” He held a hand to his chest as he introduced himself and realized she hadn’t gotten the chance to really see him in his human form much, she knew his cat form much better. “The cat.”

“Can I come closer without getting stabbed, please?”

🐉🐉🐉

Her brow furrowed in confusion. Arthur? She didn’t recall meeting anyone by that name, and yet this man claimed to know her. Not only that, he addressed her by the name only those closest to her called her by.

The cat. Now she remembered. “The witch’s pet. Did she send you to spy on me?” Her opinion of the warlock wasn’t exactly flattering, but even she couldn’t imagine why she would send her cat after her. In fact, she couldn’t remember ever seeing the cat outside Hour’s presence apart from the first time she had come across him.

🐾🐾🐾

A sour look crossed Arthur’s face at the pet comment. He was a familiar and he depended on Hour because she could give him human form, nothing else. “Let me set this straight, okay, I’m not her pet. And I’m not her servant to do her dirty work. If she wanted a spy she could do it her damn self. The only reason I live with her is because she’s powerful enough to give me human form and she was the apprentice to my partner.” He was bristling as he spoke, anger flaring in his eyes at the accusations.

“Thanks to this-” Arthur pulled at his shirt to better expose the collar on his neck, “-I’m not so dependent on her. So I figured you would be far more interesting then staying cooped up in that boring town.”

🐉🐉🐉

She rolled her eyes at his tirade, tuning most of it out. He didn’t like being called pet; she got it, there was no need to blather on about it. Her eyes narrowed in distasted at the trinket he showed her. It was still a collar, and in her mind the only people who wore those were prisoners or pets, but she refrained from voicing that out loud. “Fine, whatever makes you feel better.”

She waved away whatever else he had been about to say as she stared at him in some consternation. Why had he come here? The last thing she needed was some helpless creature that needed constant supervision.

“Did you even think before you left your cozy little bed? Surely you know the world outside isn’t all yarn and catnip.”

🐾🐾🐾

Arthur bristled at her callous attitude. She knew nothing about him, that much was obvious. He shook his head and approached closer to the fire, sitting down next to it. He used a stick to shift the logs closest to him around so that oxygen could get underneath to the heart of the fire.

“History lesson time- back when my partner was alive, we were part of a task force that hunted down magical creature hunters and poachers. One of said poaches drove a dragon scale arrow through his neck right in front of me. So yes, I am more than aware the world isn’t cuddly and cozy. But, please, let’s keep making assumptions about me because I was trapped in my cat form for over five years.”

Arthur took a deep breath. “Look, let’s cut the condescending crap, I am perfectly capable of looking after myself. I can hunt, fish, and set camp just fine, and I can help out far more than you probably think. Plus, I’m pretty pleasant company as a cat, as I am sure you are more than aware.”

#stowaway #arthur x ash #fire dance threads

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