#an already raging fire and it explodes in her face. but CRUCIALLY that fire is not started nor even exacerbated by her. she merely inherits

[atopvisenyashill]

annoying to already see people discoursing about this “meleys the traitor” scene.

greens will say, pretending to care about the smallfolk, that they have a right to be mad about the attack on Aegon’s coronation because of the collateral damage to the smallfolk, which, fair enough, however stupid I may feel that scene was, it did do some unnecessary damage to the smallfolk of king’s landing.

HOWEVER.

if the scene is uncritically people buying into otto’s propoganda, it’s not only stupid it’s also an annoying departure from the books and a continuation of got writers (first d&d now condal and hess) treating the smallfolk as if they’re stupid which they are not. Look at the actual text of F&B:

Eight hundred knights and squires and common men lost their lives that day as well. Another hundred perished not long after, when Prince Aemond and Ser Criston Cole took Rook’s Rest and put its garrison to death. Lord Staunton’s head was carried back to King’s Landing and mounted above the Old Gate…but it was the head of the dragon Meleys, drawn through the city on a cart, that awed the crowds of smallfolk into silence. Septon Eustace tells us that thousands left King’s Landing afterward, until the Dowager Queen Alicent ordered the city gates closed and barred.

Yes, in both the books and the show, the Greens managing to kill Meleys the Red Queen and Rhaenys the Queen That Never Was is a big victory for them and of course Otto is going to turn it into a propaganda moment. It's even understandable that some of the smallfolk would turn on Rhaenys (in the show only) after her (stupidly written) stunt at the coronation. But those last two lines are crucial because it shows us what the smallfolk are really thinking as the Dance kicks off - "If the Greens are willing to disrespect even the nobility after their death, if they are willing to parade around the head of one of their great, terrifying, beloved, and respected dragons, treat Meleys the Red Queen like she's nothing but game hunted for sport...seven hells what are these people going to do to the rest of us nobodies?"

And that is why, if the show takes the route of erasing how terrified the smallfolk are after the Battle of the Rook's Rest, it's a complete disservice to the smallfolk just to have them buy Otto's propaganda hook line and sinker. They are not stupid, and when they realize very early on in the Dance just how awful and violet this conflict is going to get, they attempt to leave for safety and it's only Alicent locking them into King's Landing like lambs to the slaughter that stops the exodus from King's Landing.

Cutting that scene takes away not just the perceptiveness of the smallfolk of King's Landing to make the Greens look better, it also takes away one of the crucial moments that leads to the Storming of the Dragon Pit; after realizing that dragons can be killed by regular humans and not just dragonriders because they are forced to look at Meleys' severed head, then locked into a city that gets progressively more dangerous, with dragons that are getting increasingly more aggravated because of the continued violence of the Dance, the smallfolk take the only course of action they feel they have left to them and that's to rise up and massacre the dragons in the pit in a vain and violent attempt to protect themselves from the endless slaughter that the Greens forced them to live through.

[dweetwise]

A cute Ace x fem reader where they play hide and seek during a trial

i don’t think i’ve ever written a request this fast but hey, strike while the iron is hot and all that! it’s a little dumb and a whole lot of fluff but i hope you enjoy <3 (disclaimer: i don’t actually play immersed in dbd pls don’t mori me)

word count: 2543

Ace X f!reader: Hide and Seek

“You want to do it now?”

You glance up from rummaging through your offerings to look at Ace. He's smiling wide and there's a mischievous glint in his eyes, kind of like whenever he tries to get one of the others to play poker with him—oh, right. You’d made a bet a few days ago. 

“The killers are so blind!” Ace had laughed when you both managed to escape another trial, you without even taking a hit. The others sometimes made jokes about your sneakiness, claiming your ‘blending’ abilities were rivaled only by Claudette. This particular trial, the Pig had been visibly annoyed, completely ignoring Ace after the last gen got done and only focused on finding you, muttering something about ‘losing her fourth stack’. “I run into you several times each trial. You’re not that hard to find,” Ace continued, taking a good-natured jab at your skill to stay out of sight. “Because I don't actually try to hide from you?” you argued, raising an eyebrow. “Wouldn't find me if I did,” you added, challenging. And you should have known Ace never backed down from a challenge. “Wanna bet?” the man grinned. “You manage to avoid me an entire trial, you win." “Oh, you're on.”

It took a while for the opportunity to present itself, as you'd been thrown into trials either separately or with some of your more serious teammates. You're pretty sure Laurie would have kicked your asses for slacking off, and you didn't want to set a bad example for the new girl, Cheryl.

But now, you're waiting by the pre-trial campfire for the Entity to pick which killer it wants to torture you with, taking in the sight of a yawning Quentin and a grinning Nea loading her flashlight with batteries like it was a lethal weapon. You figure this opportunity is as good as any.

“Hey, guys,” you start, getting the duo’s attention. “You mind if we fuck—" ‘Around this trial’ would have been the rest of your sentence, but Nea interrupts you by bursting into laughter and Quentin makes a disgusted face. "Oh my fucking god,” Quentin visibly cringes, glaring at Ace. “Keep it in your pants, dude.” “If you would let the lovely lady finish,” Ace starts with a smirk. “She was about to ask if we can use the trial to settle a bet.” “With hide and seek,” you add before they get any more lewd ideas. “Go nuts,” Nea quips and Quentin just shrugs with a “Whatever”.

You return your attention to the task of choosing an offering, settling for a reagent to increase the mist. When you go to throw it into the fire, you see Ace fiddling around with something, his back turned to you.

“Are you bringing bond!?” you squawk, grabbing his hand and yanking his sleeve up to display the familiar aura-reading twine wrapped around his wrist. "No, no! These are… bracelets! All the rage, back in my day—” Ace hurries to explain, gesturing animatedly with his other hand. The movement causes some cards to fall out of his sleeve. “And open-handed!?” you demand, hands on your hips. “Oh my, how did those get there?” Ace feigns ignorance, kicking the cards under a log. You bite back a laugh at his cheating antics, at this point knowing better than to expect him to play fair. “Guess that means you're scared of losing,” you say, a smirk pulling at your lips as an idea forms in your head. Predictably, Ace immediately perks up, taking the bait. “In your dreams, princess,” he says, puffing up his chest. “How about we raise the stakes? No perks.” You hesitate for a moment. Spine chill and urban evasion have saved your ass on countless occasions, but since you were only going to be hiding from Ace and not the killer… how hard could it be? “Deal.” When you fade back to consciousness, you’re standing by the Thompson house. You’ve spawned right by a generator, but instead of getting to work, you make your way towards one of the outside walls of the trial, crouching down to hide with a good view of two of the closest generators.

Soon enough, you see Ace make his way over to the machine you were just by, pushing through the corn and glancing around. Not seeing anything, he seems to frown before kneeling down to start his repairs. You snicker to yourself and start sneaking to the other generator, keeping an eye on Ace the entire time.

Halfway through your repairs, you hear Nea’s pained scream of taking a hit somewhere within the trial. It seems like she’s keeping the killer busy.

As soon as you hear Ace’s generator pop, you duck down and start making your way along the trial wall. You flatten yourself against a tree when you see Ace approaching, before he disappears into the pallet gym your nearly finished generator is at. With the wall blocking the crucial line of sight, you seize the opportunity to bolt away, the sound of your footsteps drowned out by the machine. You hear him opening a locker and scoff at the action; like you’d make such an amateur mistake.

Another gen pops, apparently Quentin’s handiwork, while you cut through the cornfield. You run into Nea, being chased through the corn, and quickly dive out of the way and crouch in a row of stalks as the killer—the Wraith, good to know—follows, not far behind her. Predictably, he doesn’t see you.

By the time you get to your destination, the second story of the house, Ace has gotten your generator done and Nea has been hooked and unhooked. The killer is once again chasing her, and from your vantage point you can even see her repeatedly clicking the flashlight in the Wraith’s face while looping the cow tree.

The generator on the balcony hasn’t even been started, but you’re waiting for Ace and Quentin to finish theirs first, working on a machine together in the corn right below the balcony.

Ace’s back is turned to you and he keeps glancing around, trying in vain to spot you in the field. Damn, if you'd only brought diversion into the trial, you would have thrown a pebble at him to confuse him further. Feeling cocky, you lean over the railing and wave down at the two instead. You see Quentin glancing your way with a smirk, before looking back at the generator.

“You need some glasses, old man,” you hear Quentin snark. “Huh?” Ace says, getting his wires crossed and making the machine explode as he whips his head around to look at the house, but you’ve already ducked down safely behind your generator. You wait for the duo to finish their repairs and disappear in the direction of the shack before starting the generator in the house.

When your generator pops and the exits gates get powered, Nea is just about to be death hooked, and hearing her final scream, you feel a little bad when you make your way to a corner of the map instead of pressuring an exit gate. But soon enough, you spot Ace running to the house to try to catch you leaving after your repairs, proving your hunch was correct—he’s so predictable, bless his heart. A little while later, you see him come out of the house and look around in confusion, but then you hear Quentin’s pained scream and Ace seems to sigh and utter a curse before running in the direction of a gate.

You try to find the hatch but have no luck, and then you hear a screech as one of the massive gates slides open, followed by Quentin’s wail as he finally goes down. You spot his prone aura by the shack, before it disappears into thin air; huh, guess he managed to crawl out.

Now knowing which gate is open, you start walking to the other, a little on edge not knowing where the killer is after losing his last prey.

To your surprise, Ace is pulling on the other exit gate’s lever, effectively ruining your plans. You start making your way back towards the shack, taking a detour to avoid the killer's patrol route between the gates.

You're a little nervous Ace is going to get found, taking an unnecessary risk in getting both gates open. If he gets caught, you're throwing your little game and saving him, the bet be damned. Though it's not going to be easy, with Nea dead and Quentin out and neither of you having any perks. Even though you’ve known the entire time you were both likely to die from this dumb game, thinking about Ace getting hurt still makes you uneasy.

Exit gate now in sight, you carefully look around for any signs of the killer. The Wraith could just be standing still in the exit, completely invisible to the naked eye. Even if he was there, you could just run out and take a hit in the back before escaping, as you know from Quentin’s chase he doesn't have NOED. Still, you'd rather not get injured at all.

There's no telling shimmer in the gate, so you decide to just go for it. You walk into the structure, and nothing happens. You're nearly out when you hesitate, turning to look back into the trial; what if the Wraith has found Ace? What if he comes out of nowhere, grabbing Ace off of the exit gate lever since neither of you has spine chill and—

There's footsteps right next to you and you try to whip around, but then someone is grabbing you from behind and your heart leaps into your throat as you let out a startled yelp—

“Gotcha,” Ace's voice whispers in your ear. The relief floods over your body even as you shove at him playfully, making him let go of you with a chuckle. “Fuck you! You scared the shit out of me!” you argue even while your face is splitting into a grin. “You're not the only one who can be sneaky, doll,” Ace quips, returning your grin with a self-satisfied smirk. “What are you even doing here? I saw you at the other gate!" “Ah, the old bait and switch," Ace chuckles. “I wanted to get both gates for you, so you didn’t have to risk the killer finding you. And then it was only a matter of luck! A classic 50/50,” he grins.

Damnit, what a stupid and dangerous and— …Kind of romantic… —and unnecessary and idiotic stunt!

“Get over here,” you say, yanking him closer by his shirt. “I missed you,” you mumble softly, hands wrapping around his neck as the surprise makes way for familiar affection. “I missed you too, sweetheart,” he says, eyes softening and a hand wrapping around your waist, the other coming up to cup your cheek. “I missed seeing this cute little face,” he says, pecking your nose sweetly. “You avoiding me wasn't nearly as fun as I'd imagined,” he jokes, but there's a tinge of uncertainty in his voice. “If it makes you feel better, I basically stalked you the entire time,” you murmur, leaning your forehead against his and a hand scratching at the baby hairs on his neck. “Though I almost threw a rock at you at one point.” He chuckles at the confession, a warm puff of air in the space between you. “Can't take your eyes off of me, eh?" he grins. “Not when you're being so oblivious and adorable,” you murmur. “Well, I clearly underestimated you," he admits, and is that a little blush you can see on his cheeks? “Likewise,” you smile. “So, what do you want for your prize?” “Oh I'll think of something, don't you worry,” he wags his eyebrows suggestively and you roll your eyes from the corny gesture. “But here's your consolation prize,” he says, finally leaning down to capture your waiting lips.

You eagerly respond to the kiss, moving your lips against his while your heart flutters from the affection, even moaning a little when Ace pulls you even closer against him. It’s all so familiar; the scratching of his goatee, the way he playfully nips at your lip, the scent of his cheap cologne lingering even after all these years stuck in the realm. You don't even mind losing the bet, not when you get to be in his arms and kiss him silly.

But then Ace is suddenly pulling away, lifting his head up to look back into the trial over the top of your head.

“I think we have an audience,” Ace says and you glance over your shoulder, his arms still around you.

There's a slight shimmer just beside the exit gate where the Wraith seems to jolt from surprise. A small pause later the familiar bell rings, and then you have an embarrassed killer in front of you, looking at the ground and sheepishly scratching the back of his neck. You just stare at him stupidly, a little ashamed over being caught making out in the exit. How long has he been standing there?

“Hey bud, thanks for letting us goof off this match,” Ace is thankfully speaking so you don't have to, but the words manage to confuse you. Was the Wraith in on it? You genuinely thought you'd been able to hide from the killer the entire time, especially since he was so focused on Nea.

The Wraith looks up bashfully, nodding his head and shuffling his feet. Then he pauses, points at you and then Ace, and makes a heart shape with his hands. Ace huffs out a surprised laugh while you blink owlishly, and the killer hurries to leave, ringing his bell and the sound of his footsteps scurrying away from the exit.

“Looks like we have a fan,” Ace muses, turning to look at you again. You smile up at him and you’re just about to lean back in for another kiss, when a realization hits you.

How did Ace know the killer was there? You saw him take off spine chill before the trial, and he hadn't even flinched like the perk usually makes you do when the killer is looking at you. Unless…

“Did you bring premonition!?” you realize, and now Ace does flinch a little from being caught off guard. “So, err, remember when you said some perks are so bad they shouldn't even be considered perks—” Ace hurries to make excuses. “You little shit!” you exclaim in mock offense. “You cheated! No prize for you!” “Aww,” Ace whines and honest to god pouts. “Fair enough. Damn, and I only did it to keep you safe… oh well, still worth it,” he mumbles defeatedly, mostly to himself. “Ugh, fine, get back here,” you grumble, pulling him into another kiss to stop him from moping because it's breaking your heart. 

When Ace just chuckles against your lips, you realize you've been played. Instead of snarking at him some more, you take advantage of his open mouth to shove your tongue down his throat and relish in the way his laugh turns into a needy groan.

And next time you're bringing the pebble, rules be damned.

[essays-for-breakfast]

Battle of Stars

Melizabeth Week Day 7: AU

Author’s note: This is a Star Wars AU - for self-indulgent reasons - with almost no semblance of the original plot, and the author flexed all her nerd muscles while writing this. Forgive me!

The Manta class troop transporter tilted sideways as the pilot battled against the harsh winds of Ruusan’s upper hemispheres, and Elizabeth swallowed a wave of nausea from the sudden jolt. Her hands found their way to the lightsaber at her side all on their own, and the cool metal calmed her stained nerves. Fear was an unnecessary emotion for a Jedi to harbor, especially for a newly appointed Jedi Knight. Elizabeth had earned this title through hard years of training and field missions on the most outlandish terrains the galaxy had to offer, always under the guiding hand of her master, Hendrickson.

If her master could see her frightened face, he would surely remind her of the pure light of the Force that protected every Jedi and led them through even the most difficult times.

The Force is with you, Padawan, even when your fear prevents you from seeing it, was his favorite mantra, and he had made sure Elizabeth could recite his teachings in every situation, no matter how precarious. Including the smoldering battlefields of Ruusan.

But despite the calm stream of the Force inside of her, Elizabeth tensed when a projectile exploded a mere armlength away from the outer shell of the transporter as the shields absorbed the bulk of the damage. The ship tumbled sideways like a confused Aiwa, and Elizabeth dug her fingers into the leather handle above her head. In the cockpit, separated from the troop compartment by an open bulkhead, an alarm howled, a warning that the shields had dropped under twenty percent. Another hit and they were done for.

And despite the cacophony of nearby explosions and the constant up and down of the troop compartment, Jedi Master Diane stood unmoving between the Republic soldiers, as firm as a rock in the raging seas of Glee Anselm.

The older Jedi offered Elizabeth a reassuring smile. “There is little to worry about,” she said, “the Sith don’t have the resources to hold a crossfire like this up for long. Their troops will need to spare their blaster fire if they want to stand any chance during the ground assault.”

As if on command, the sound of laser artillery penetrating the sky and the handful of republican transporters faded to be replaced by the buzzing of engines as their unit continued their descent without further troubles.

“I wish I had your confidence, Master,” Elizabeth said.

“It is all a matter of experience,” Diane said. “The more battles you fight, the better you will learn to understand the nuances of warfare and what aspects you should focus on to gain the upper hand. Didn’t Master Hendrickson teach you these things?”

“He did, and we assisted our troops in a few skirmishes along the Tingel Arm. But Master Hendrickson values the role as peacekeeper more than that of a general. Whenever possible, he dragged me to some distant planet to study the local fauna and help those in need.”

At the time, Elizabeth had found these trips into the Outer Rim boring and unfitting for a Jedi, after all, the war with the Sith threatened to destroy stability all throughout the galaxy. And as soon as Elizabeth had traded the Padawan plait for the title of Jedi Knight, she had volunteered to join the constant stream of supply units headed for Ruusan, one of the most heated and most crucial battlefields, to support her fellow Jedi in the fight against the Dark Side. But the grueling minutes before the fight, during which she could do nothing other than trust in the pilot’s ability to land his vessel safely, almost made her miss the peaceful fields of Dantooine.

Diane nodded thoughtfully. “Your master is a wise man. With priorities that are sadly becoming more and more rare among the ranks of the Jedi. Even the council grants Master Ludociel more freedom to carry out his feud with the Sith than necessary.”

“But aren’t the Sith and especially the Emperor an evil that must be destroyed to bring peace to the galaxy?” Elizabeth asked. The Jedi temple was filled with nightmarish stories about the Sith and their dark arts, and she had been warned of the tempting yet destructive nature of the Dark Side since her days as a Youngling.

“Some Jedi would say that, yes. But fighting for the sake of fighting is meaningless – I would rather avoid the path that leads to more conflict.”

A jolt went through the transporter that made Elizabeth’s teeth smack against one another, and a second later, the bulkheads opened to allow Rusaan’s sandstorms to enter.

Elizabeth squinted but jumped into the open as the first hail shower of blaster bolts rained onto the transporter to leave smoldering marks on its shell. I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me, Elizabeth recited the ancient saying of the Guardians of the Whills, and activated her lightsaber. The blue bolt of pure light sent the blaster fire back to its marksmen; one Sith trooper went limp behind the makeshift trench he had used as cover.

Diane was leading her troops forward, green lightsaber in hand, and soon their unit advanced through the enemy lines and towards the goal of their mission: the ancient temple embedded into the mountain range ahead. Before the war had come to Rusaan, the stone structures had represented a shrine to the local population sited amidst a prospering forest, but the Sith had since burned down the trees and had turned the temple into one of their strongholds – where the forces of the Republic planned to secure crucial data about the enemy’s plans and tactics. Elizabeth had garnered this information from the official report handed out during the mission briefing, but the burned earth in the mountains’ shadow still turned her stomach upside-down. Master Hendrickson would have shed a silent tear had he been tortured with this view.

Elizabeth silenced the cries of injustice in her heart and filled her mind with a feeling of peace the way she had been taught. Guided by the Force, she pathed her way through the enemy defenses and the dunes of sulfur-heavy sand, swung her lightsaber in a perfect display of Soresu, the third form of lightsaber combat, and never halted until she reached the entrance of the temple, a gaping chasm filled with the stench of the Dark Side.

When she failed to detect enemy presences in the immediate area, Elizabeth turned to meet Diane’s eyes across the battle field. The Jedi Master briefly paused her chain of heavy-hitting attacks, and called out to Elizabeth over the buzz of laser artillery that announced the arrival of enemy reinforcement.

“Take a few of my men and advance into the temple. We will join you shortly.”

Elizabeth waited for three heavily armed republican soldiers to catch up and offered them a nod, before they climbed the final steps and entered the shadows. Inside, the howling of the storm faded to distant background stereo, like interference on a flawed comm channel.

A chill befell Elizabeth in her light Jedi tunic, but she fought the unease with a few calming breaths. Water dripped from the detailed reliefs on the wall, hinting at an underground spring located deep within the mountain that collected Russan’s sparse rainwater. The tiny streams reflected the glow from Elizabeth’s lightsaber and the small search lights attached to the soldiers’ helmets, but apart from that, the hallway with its high ceiling was cast in shadows. Somewhere in the dark, a stream of water gurgled along. Always in expectation of an ambush, their squad crept forward.

“No heat signals up ahead,” one of the soldiers informed after performing a scan via his HUD. With the anonymous helmet, Elizabeth had difficulties identifying the soldier, but she believed the voice to belong to a man named Howzer, one of Master Diane’s top commandos. “Thanks to the storm, the comm’s already dead. The sand could’ve messed with the scanners too.”  

“Stay on guard,” Elizabeth said and followed her own advice by dropping into a defensive pose as she placed step by step forward.

The Sith were well known for their traps designed to take out unexperienced Jedi. One of her training partners during her temple days, a kid named Mael, had run into such a trap on one of his first field missions, and he was declared missing by his master ever since. In all likelihood, the Sith had long disposed of his corpse. Or they had taken him to their outpost on Korriban to use him in their experiments. Separate mind and body, mutate the flesh of their victims, or turn them into weak-willed puppets to add to their army; Elizabeth had read reports on these and crueler methods of torture when her master hadn’t been around to see.

She shook the thought off and concentrated on her environment. The Force might offer you glimpses into the future, but you can only use this advantage if you remain in the present, as Master Hendrickson liked to say.

Her crono confirmed only a few minutes had passed, but the walk through the dark felt like hours before Elizabeth and her squad came across a durasteel gate too technological advanced to fit into the old hallways and high-rising pillars around.

Howzer ordered his men to take cover with clipped gestures before he tapped the control panel embedded into the stone next to the gate. The bulkhead protested with a shrill squeal as the opening mechanism pulled the durasteel aside to reveal the chamber beyond. A multitude of screens enlightened the room to give the impression of a control center, but before Elizabeth fully realized the situation, a shadow rushed past her, followed by one and then a second outcry.

Elizabeth spun and skidded on the polished floor tiles as she caught a glimpse at their attacker. Two of her men had slumped lifeless to the ground, and above them towered a male human with a cold grin on his face. The red of his lightsaber painted bloody hues onto the walls. He was no doubt a Sith, his poisoned aura like a nexus of evil appalled Elizabeth to the core.

She had never faced a Sith before, and all her passionate preaches about fighting and destroying the scoundrels of the galaxy vanished, washed away by the cold imprint this man left in the current of the Force around her.

The blaster bolts hurrying past her head tore Elizabeth out of her paralysis as Howzer targeted the Sith with mechanical precision. The Sith’s face remained unflinching, and he deflected the shots with arrogant ease until the play bored him and he reached out with his unarmed right hand. Elizabeth could almost see the Force as it twisted between his clawed fingers. Howzer gargled but still managed to pull the trigger while the air was ripped out of his lungs by the hands of the Dark Side. His efforts amused the Sith more than anything, and he sidestepped the laser bolt without a change in expression.

Elizabeth finally regained her sense of self and jumped into the fray with a parade of swings aimed at the Sith’s head. His green eyes widened for less then a second before he raised his weapon to deflect. A mix of red and blue danced across his boyish features.

“Send for reinforcements, I’ll hold him off,” Elizabeth yelled, and Howzer, who had dropped to his knees as soon as the Sith’s attention no longer rested on him, obeyed and staggered towards the exit.

Elizabeth and the Sith parted, and his lips twister into a malicious grin. “How bold of you, Jedi, to think you can hold out until your unit arrives.” In his mouth, the word Jedi sounded like an insult rather than a title to command respect.

Instead of an answer, Elizabeth dove into the stream of the Force and allowed its wise hands to guide her next moves. She charged and turned her forward momentum into a chain of short swings with varied angles but minimal countermovement. Despite his smaller statute, he parried her attacks with enough physical strength to sent a quiver down her arm muscles every time their blades clashed. He retreated with quick steps that always allowed him to meet her with the advantage of a strong stance. Elizabeth’s best chance of victory was to pin him down and prevent him from dealing out hits himself. A small hope at best.

While she had trained all variants of combat her teachers at the temple and later Hendrickson had to offer, Elizabeth had never battled an opponent as versed with their lightsaber as this Sith. Each movement was a perfectly calculated effort, each shift in stance a display of uncounted practice sessions. More than one with the Force, he became one with his lightsaber the longer the duel proceeded. Elizabeth had seen Jedi Masters enter a fighting trance that reduced their reaction time to a fraction of a heartbeat, and the speed of this Sith rivalled the best of them.

If he had intended to end the fight, he could have done so numerous times over. But for some reason, Elizabeth’s efforts seemed to entertain him.

He allowed her to push him back with an endless loop of the same hits in slight variation, amused by her inability to alter from the patterns she had learned at the beginning of her training; his dark aura had disabled Elizabeth’s ability to strategize, and those fight patterns ingrained into her muscles were the only tactic she could rely on.

But apart from a physical and speed benefit, her opponent had another advantage to use in his favor: knowledge about the terrain. And as Elizabeth dared to hope she might corner him between the wall and her blade, he dropped low, struck for her legs, and stood behind her in one single motion. Elizabeth evaded the hit but tripped on the slippery tiles. She expected to stumble into the wall, but the ground beneath her suddenly vanished and she fell into the canal hugging the wall that had been obscured by shadows. The water didn’t run deep, and Elizabeth’s joints protested as she absorbed the impact with a roll.

Soaked and on wobbly legs, Elizabeth met the eyes of her opponent standing several meters above with a relaxed posture that screamed victory.

“Don’t try it if you want to make it out alive,” the Sith said, and Elizabeth gritted her teeth. With the aid of the Force, she could have catapulted herself back to ground level, but he had a point, he would cut her down if she tried.

“You fought valiantly, Jedi,” he continued, “but I’m afraid your efforts were in vain. Thanks to our little dance, my troops have gained enough time to destroy any information you and your pathetic ensemble of light bringers could have used against us.”

“You never intended to uphold this base.”

The Sith grinned. “No, my master generously surrenders these empty halls to the Republic. There are far more interesting targets worth pursuing. I look forward to face you on another day on a different battlefield, Jedi. For the time being, I must take my leave. My master is not a man of patience.”

Disheartened, Elizabeth lowered her lightsaber. The entire operation had been a failure from the start; the Sith had anticipated the advancements of the Republican army. But if Elizabeth stroked her opponent’s ego, perhaps she could gain at least some information of value.

“Your master must be a great figure in the war if he polished your skills with a lightsaber to these impressive degrees.”

The twitch of amusement in the corners of his eyes showed he had seen through her charade. But he stooped to an answer regardless. “You might have heard of him as the one who stands above the Ten Commandments, the elite of the Sith Empire. I merely carry out his plans. So long, Jedi.”

He saluted mockingly and disappeared out of view. Elizabeth remained in the canal while the water brushed past her boots, too shocked to speak or move. The man she had fought was no ordinary Sith, no distant servant of the Dark Side without prowess or knowledge of the enemy’s plans. The man with the blond hair and the excellent footwork was Meliodas, apprentice of the Emperor himself.

By the time Master Diane and her men arrived, Elizabeth had regained her composure and confirmed the failure of the mission and the destruction of valuable data. But her thoughts kept circling around Meliodas and the ease with which he had defeated her; he thought so little of her he had revealed his identity for the sole purpose of his amusement.

And while the soldiers searched the control center for minute clues the Sith might have overlooked in the haste of their departure, Elizabeth swore to herself to train harder and learn the fighting trance technique.

The next time she would face Meliodas, she would best him. To bring the galaxy one step closer to peace. So that the light of the Jedi might withstand and cast away the darkness of the Sith Empire.

[imperiusv]

I - Oh, I just died in your arms tonight

I think it was during that damned pub crawl , that i first thought of you in that way, we were kinda organizing it, if i remember correctly, i was with all my gang and Dilara too and at the time i was into her, we were flirting back and forth , but i didn’t want to make a move on her, because i was insecure , that she won’t like the real me, being so fragile at the moment, I thought to myself i wouldn’t want anything like that to fuck me up even more, I needed more time to heal and develop, so yeah for the first time in my life, I ignored and rejected  someone who had more sexual  market value than me, it was really fun, as she wanted , but yeah that’s whole different story, so back to the pub crawl, I was with Dilara the whole evening, we even got tied up in that game, but the conversation was kinda boring and stale , so I quickly proceeded to get wasted, to make her more interesting, all my squad was there too, except for the germans and i think Key didn’t come,as they had gone to the one before. It was a really good night, before i got drunk as fuck, but that evening i noticed you and was the first time  me thinking that you are actually kinda cool and cute. Funny enough you introduced me to Baptiste that evening,strangely for a person that remembers everything, this is something i can not recall even to this day. Halloween was  quite a special day for me  on that day I finally came to accepted that  i had a crush on you . That’s why my ringtone for you was that ariana grande song you hated, focus, because I finally focused on you, that you are something special, a fucked up girl I thought I could fix and in fixing her, perhaps mend my own wounds and fix myself, never have I been so wrong. I did save you from the Pit, pulled you out at the cost or my very soul, you of course repaid me in kind , I traded my freedom and who I was for you. A mistake I will never forget or forgive myself for.  It was a really posh evening , you making my make up and stuff, me making dumb jokes, cuz i didn’t know how to act around you, it was all really cute, i didn’t even realize it at the time,when we went to Indie, we all had a good time, that turkish/french girl wanted to fuck both me and Timur, but he pussied out in the last second and we didn’t have a threesome that time , which sucked, cuz she was really hot that evening and probably things between us would have been different, imagine how something so small can change a lot of stuff down the line, everything has consequences that ripple in time and change your world. We went to shots after the party, I didn’t want to spend money in the centre, as i was already spending most of my cash on booze and other dumb shit, that winter semester i spend more than five thousand bucks on booze,parties and having fun, all the hard earned cash i got in Germany, also i prefer your company rather than being with the others, which worked out great , as we clicked and had always a good time when it was just us. We tried that stupid weird game as i wanted to challenge you to do something with me, but we were too wasted and the music was too loud to hear one another, funny thing that the entire evening the slovaks were stalking us and later she was complaining.  The next big episode was the famous couples party that we hosted together for sure, we arrived for our own party fucking wasted, as you even recorded in your diary, by that time i was already really hooked into you, after the traffic lights and Halloween party,  I remember at that bloody party , that i was looking so desperately for your match , the whole kissing thing - to find your famous partner ( Shrek and Fiona,Cleopatra and Mark Anthony) i invented for you, but unlike the next such party, i didn’t have full access nor control over the drawing of the numbers, the next one was rigged af, never told you that , but i hooked up more people than Cupidonis himself. Imagine my surprise when you kissed some stranger, it was disgusting, but my fault entirely. After that i saw you kissing Alfredo in the bathroom,my heart sunk and i went outside to drown my sorrows in the vodka bottle we had hidden in the bushes, thank God for Timur. The next couple of parties you didn’t come of course - the mustache and nerds/hipsters bullshit, there was this thing with Antonio and you blowing me off , cuz i was a dick, but who cares, btw i really wrote him last year out of desperation to reach out to you in some manner to see if you still care,the fact that he didn’t even bother to reply, proves what kinda of scumbag shitty slug he is - a disgusting spineless person and a liar, he never fucking came close to kissing Justyna , let alone banging her,what a sad joke that fat wanker was and still is! So yeah through malus I managed to get you to come to the preparty at Etienne’s place for the i think it was a bad taste party or some other shit. It was such a great evening, that you ruined or I ruined , idk who is to blame, me having feelings for you or you being a slut. The whole squad was present, even fucking Pierre came , it was glorious , a night full of booze, laughs and good times, until you decided to make out with Alfredo again in front of everybody and more especially me , even after i tried to stop it from happening, I remember you said that he kissed you and you didn’t want to. but i was too wasted to remember, so yeah i was rage incarnate, damn I had so much fucking anger in my during those months and the ones after, it was like I can’t even comprehend now how can someone be some enraged all the time,i was never calm , just a whirlwind of emotions , a tornado and a volcano in one, losing complete control over the slightest of mishaps happening , i really had no control over myself back then, but yeah  , praise the Emperor, that Timur saw what I was about to do and stopped me on time, or i was gonna make an even bigger fool out of my self , punching that smug Italian faggot in the face for something that was not his fault. I ended up with Dilara in Blackroom ,but she didn’t want to play second guitar and i wasn’t in the mood to even talk to her, so she went home with some guy and as I was drinking outside, minding my own business, trying to make sense of it all, guess who came crying. You were really upset and embraced me and cried,never felt so low as you told me why you were crying, i couldn’t hold it any on and added gasoline to the fire, by confessing my feelings for you, such a beta move that was, what was I thinking or drinking. Couple of days of drama and then came my birthday, to which you actually came and brought me a cake, it was one of the sweetest things someone has ever done for me,at that time we were already good friend and texting back and forth all the time , even before we were together we had around 500 000 messages between us, which i do not know how it’s even possible. But yeah the first birthday party, it was all good, until you pulled out a Victoria and vanished on me, again i was left with a thumb in my mouth, looking like a fool. The second Birthday party  was actually Timur, Ouriel and mine’s , we did it cuz we wanted to get wasted and i didn’t want to celebrate together with them, as my redneck friends didn’t like Erasmus people and Timur needed a reason to get wasted then and on the first of December which is his actually birthday, so  technically only Pussiel’s , but yeah whatever. It was  in Yavuz’s place you didn’t want to come , but we managed to get you there , you and your green umbrella - weeks of flirtations and tension building up to the event, finally shit was going down. The party was wild, around 40 people in a top floor flat , we had hit up a casino with Timur on the days prior and had won some good money , we bought so much booze and even a disco ball , also got some amateur DJ to play EDM. I was trying to avoid you, but then you  came to me and we started talking. Soon i went from golden to drunk, and being wasted, i let go of all the dumb things that held me back , like what would people say and how will everyone react i was finally brave enough . As i looked deep into your eyes , i remember how you  bit your lips and said this will ruin everything. And it did. I took your face into my hands and                                                    Ausculor we made out probably for a good two- three minutes. But at the same time it felt like eternity and few seconds, i couldn’t really tell, my dopamine and Oxytocin receptors were exploding Inside my brain, i felt like i was high, better than cocaine, booze or whatever, we connected, body mind and soul. Release. My knees were soft , i was euphoric , literally felt like the best thing ever. You just had kissed me. As i want to end up every story with something positive i will end  it here. The next one will continue right off the bat from this one and will cover up the next couple of months as they were crucial  for the whole story. It must’ve been something you said I just died in your arms tonight It must’ve been some kind of kiss I should’ve walked away, I should’ve walked away

[back-and-totheleft]

An epic memoir for an epic life

In a 1992 interview with Arthur Miller, Charlie Rose asked him what quality the great playwrights have shared in common, distinguishing them from the not so great ones in any given age?

After a pause to gather his thoughts, Miller replied that the “big ones share a fierce moral sensibility” and that “they are all burning with some anger at the way the world is.” “The littler ones,” Miller continues, “have made their peace with it. The bigger ones can’t make any peace.”

Oliver Stone is an artist whose work (his early work especially) is, as with Miller’s and all the “bigger ones”, suffused with the passion and fire of a man who refused to make peace with the world he both experienced and observed around him after serving two tours in Vietnam as an infantryman, prior to emerging determined to live life on his own terms or not at all.

The period covered in Chasing the Light runs from Stone’s his childhood and formative years all the way to the mountaintop that is Oscar night in 1987, when he picks up the Oscar for best director for Platoon, which also wins the award for best picture, editing, and score. In between we are taken on a journey of Sisyphean magnitude as he battles to overcome personal demons as a result of fraught-ridden teenage years in the midst of his parents’ divorce, which shatters any semblance of security and certainty he’d enjoyed as a child of relative privilege and affluence. Those demons were key in his decision to volunteer for Vietnam, which he does bent on either death or spiritual rebirth in this hell of his own choosing.

Greek mythology is a key theme in the book and in his life during this seminal period — in particular the epic character Odysseus (Ulysses in Latin), hero of Homer’s epic poem, the Odyssey, and also a key character in its prequel, the Iliad. Stone uses Odysseus as his inspiration in choosing to forego the safe and steady path of convention and instead embrace the wisdom enshrined in Nietzsche: “The secret of realizing the greatest fruitfulness and the greatest enjoyment of existence is: to live dangerously!”

Stone’s struggle to mount the ramparts of the fortress that is Hollywood would have broken the spirit of all but those in possession of the kind of adamantine tenacity and perseverance that takes you to the edge of madness. Reading of his struggles, his years of rejection, of climbing the ladder of hope only to be kicked off it again, you are reminded of the agony of Vincent Van Gogh, expressed in his letters to his brother Theo, or of Knut Hamsun in his classic semi-autobiographical novel Hunger, chronicling his early failed attempts to establish himself as a writer.

To wit: Hamsun: “I was conscious all the time that I was following mad whims without being able to do anything about it … . Despite my alienation from myself at that moment, and even though I was nothing but a battleground for invisible forces, I was aware of every detail of what was going on around me.”

Stone: “I drew hurt and perverse pride in being able to take rejection. Yet my wounded ego interfered with my ability to understand the reasons for these rejections….Beyond the paper world of rejection, there was also the in-person wound of being told no in face-to-face meetings — when they could be had — the hard-to-come-by lunches, the unreturned phone calls.”

In one the most powerful passages in the book, Stone garners renewed strength from visiting his beloved grandmother in Paris on her deathbed. Amid the flux and tumult of his parents’ split during his adolescent years, she had been both sanctuary and emotional anchor.

But then: Meme [grandmother] wanted me to go — quickly, before it was too late. I couldn’t hear but it was clear what the shades were saying: We, the dead, are telling you — your lifespan is short. Make of it everything you can. Before you’re one of us.

After many fits and starts, Stone’s breakthrough comes through his writing — first with Midnight Express, for which he wins the Oscar for best adapted screenplay in 1979, and then Scarface in 1983, a cult classic to this day. The writing in both movies crackles with a rare kinetic energy, jolting you out of your comfort zone with the unvarnished truth of the human condition in situations of extremis. If the famed and controversial Method system of acting has its parallel in screenwriting, Oliver Stone was perhaps its first and still most notable exemplar.

But despite his success as a writer, Stone’s calling is as a writer/director, with his fierce sense of how his words and vision should be captured on screen driving him on through setback after setback, until in 1985 with Salvador (released in 1986) his moment of truth arrives. The drama involved in getting it over the line more than parallels the drama captured onscreen.

At the time, Salvador’s impact on the conscience and consciousness of America when it came to the disjuncture that exists between the mythical depiction its role in the world as a force for good, and the grim truth of its litany of crimes in places that most Americans, trapped in a bubble of celebrity culture and a news information ghetto, don’t even know exist, can’t be underestimated. Salvador was crucial moment in my own political awareness, as someone who grew up in Scotland on a diet of American pop culture and Hollywood movies, becoming imbued in the process with the idea of America as the place to be, the place where you had to be if you wanted a shot at an exciting, meaningful and fulfilling existence.

When it comes to Platoon, there really is nothing more to say or write that hasn't already. It remains the Paths of Glory of our time, a withering riposte to the flag-waving, chest-beating, unthinking patriotism on the part of those whose belief in the myths of Americana personified by John Wayne and the heroes of Iwo Jima has trapped them in a prison of false consciousness. Platoon — not only a masterful movie in its own right in terms of its writing, acting, cinematography and brute authenticity — exploded in the midst of Reagan’s America as a subversive and delicious j’accuse, levelled at a status quo which two decades on from the social upheaval of the sixties, had sought to repackage and resell Vietnam to the American people as a noble if failed attempt to thwart a Communist drive for world domination in service to the God of democracy.

The movie’s depiction of the internecine struggle that rages within a combat platoon polarised along racial, class and cultural lines mirrored and still mirror the faultlines which continue to polarise American society today. In this respect, Platoon is as much social commentary as it is a dramatic piece, retaining its force and relevance thereby.

Throughout the book Stone writes with commendable candour about his fears and insecurities, his relationships, and also his lapse into Hollywood hedonism and drug use, which all serves to make him three dimensional and relatable in equal part.

Ultimately, in reading Chasing the Light, you are reminded of Theodor Adorno’s admonition that “Behind every work of art lies an uncommitted crime.” If Stone had not succeeded as an artist and his creative powers applied constructively, you come away from his story convinced that those powers would have found destructive expression, given what he experienced in Vietnam and his struggle to readjust thereafter. Given his remarkable body of work, we can only be thankful that the former rather than the latter prevailed.

-Jon Wight’s review of Chasing the Light, Medium, Aug 31 2020 [x]