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prof-peach · 3 years

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if fans wanted to include peach in stuff they write, would that be okay? and how would they write peach's personality? aside from "FIGHT ME" anyway, i think that much is a given lol. i only really write the anime characters 'cause that's what i know, but it sounds like it'd be kinda fun to try making a version of ash that fits into this blog's universe! nerf'd Obviously, but i think she'd probably appreciate how hands-on he gets when training his pokemon!

Ok, I get a lot of these messages, and I often hear folks wanting to throw peach into their stories and comics and writings, and I will always simply ask that if it’s published online publicly, to be linked to it so I can snoop and enjoy the content too. If someone asks about her in your work, let them know about the blog I guess? But literally I love that people take this stuff, these characters and stories, and make new stuff with it. No ones making money off my work here? So where’s the issue? Go for it buddy, knock yourself out, I’m all for it.

For you, and all the others out there who want to add peach, and other characters to your world building, I will give you a detailed rundown of the main lot, and how they behave, what they do, how they function. You can use that, use bits, or use none of it, I do not mind at all. If you’re creating something, you’re in control, not me.

So, peach doesn’t actually fight people as much as you’d think. She’s very aware most cannot and do not want to do that, and so she likes to keep to herself with regards to that aspect of her life, she doesn’t ask to spar with people, or even bring it up at all, but people ask her all the time, even if they clearly would lose or become hurt should she miscalculate during the fight. She looks at people like they usually create problems, and often has a somewhat reserved nature to other humans. You have to work quite hard to get anything more than formalities out of her. She will dead-pan handle people with blunt and very to-the-point statements, aid whenever possible, but very quickly get back to handling the Pokemon she so carefully tends. Her focus is clear, she’s all about hard work, her very small select family, and the Pokemon.

Her brutal, loud and brash personality only comes out with friends, family, difficult humans, OR any Pokemon. She will joke and laugh and play with Pokemon, but clam up around humans, maintaining tight body language and generally will be a little cold by regular standards. She does however have some weaknesses in this emotionless shield she puts up. When peach was young she was always angry, which swung so fast to sadness, back and forth. Her teenage years it just got worse and worse, it was crippling at points. She is to this day, full of fire and rage, even sadness, but now she has learnt to control it, to use it. When she sees that in others, it’s familiar, and she is pushed to drop the front, and be very real with the person. Underdogs I suppose, people who get bad reps, but deserve the same as everyone else. She can’t ignore it.

Once you start to pry open her personality, you’ll find she’s a lot more laid back and fun than originally appeared, you just have to work hard to find that side of her. She will meme reference, can’t dance to save her life, loves her coffee, and can be caught in quiet contemplation while gardening. This hobby is her calmest, and often is why she can stay so level headed when her quiet rage boils up again. Without time outside she will become grouchy, a little snippy, and lethargic. Will not go in the ocean for any reason other than life or death, is fine with ponds and rivers, or water at wading height. Likes the rain.

With regards to her training others, they usually have to tolerate her somewhat strict nature. She is a little....unforgiving, holds a grudge if you make a lot of mistakes, and has no tolerance for ignorance in the age of information that we all live in. In previous posts I’ve mentioned she’s only recently selected two students, after many years of testing kids who want to learn from her. Hundred tried out, only two have ever been approved. How she teaches is very fast paced, be prepared to get some scrapes and bruises, she will test your physical and emotional tolerances with intense tasks, carefully watching students like a hawk. Bad posture in your stance? She’ll be the first to tell you to sort it out. Not hearing your Pokemon partner? Right, now you spend the day without using words trying to communicate, let’s see how you like not being listened to.

This is a woman who has spent her life saying very little, and watching everything, she watches Pokemon and can see an issue from a mile off, and in battles, her observations are why she can react fast, and chose effective strategy to avoid damage and achieve results. Don’t let her body fool you, her strongest asset is analysing, watching, planning. Those skills have over the years transferred to people too. As a student, mistakes don’t go unnoticed with this professor.

Her methods are harsh but fair, and should you prove yourself, she will protect you with her life.

Because of her disinterest in kids and lots of noise, she does pass the training of students on to the other staff members whenever possible. Grey takes on the lions share of battle lessons, he is far calmer, more open and friendly, with patience for people, and an empathy that peach sometimes struggles to have. When you go through a lot of harsh training, and difficult events, it’s hard to change how you feel or think, with peach, well, she’s been through it. Most do not come out the other end in one piece, but she did, and it made her strong. You may think I mean strong like buff and big, and yeah sure she is, but I mean it mentally more than anything. Peach will not quit. She has learnt to destroy the boundaries that stop people getting hurt, gone is the fear that freezes you in your tracks, that feeling that you’ll pass out if you go one more step. She’s learnt to ignore it.

This means she’s a little forgetful at how it is to be normal, to be vulnerable and soft and squishy like students so usually are.

She has her issues, but for the most part, visitors get a laugh, a smile, a calm assertive confidence, and facts. She will indulge those who have genuine interest, or show a connection with nature, an understanding of the balance that needs to be struck for everyone to live well together.

Despite her many flaws, she’s fiercely protective, and will go above and beyond to defend the island, it’s staff, the Pokemon and the visitors. Injustice is her biggest gripe, along with littering, and she doesn’t stand by quietly if something happens that seems unfair.

You will not see her without Valka, her vulpix, close by. That Pokemon doesn’t like to be touched by strangers, at all, and will run the second someone comes at her with that intent. Peach will scold you for pushing yourself onto her, should you persistently try to get close to pet Val. They are in sync, if peach is sad, Val is sad, if Val is stressed, peach is stressed, and so on. They are inherently connected, it’s just been that long, the psychic bridge between them has been built, and reinforced over the years.

The only other Pokemon who follows her so endlessly is Booker, a teddiursa who’s pretty rough looking. He quietly trots behind, grouchy and stoic, they fight closely together a lot. He lost his mom a long time ago to poachers, and peach took him in, and changed her whole life for him. Not many people know, but Booker was the reason she left the rangers, changed career, and got so strong. Will tolerate people petting him but isn’t keen at all, grumbles a lot and tries to move away.

You may also need to know about the others, for the sake of writing, she here a few more bits that may be important to you, or others wanting to do this.

Grey is very tall, very burly, composed, tells bad dad jokes, is a bit of a goof if allowed to be. If he sees a pun, he’ll say it. Can’t help himself. Very nice guy to work with, good at keeping people calm and grounded. Pokemon are drawn to him like a moth to a flame, he gives off warm energy, and has inhuman amounts of patience. If you wrong his family however, he will snap back.

He grew up in the city, loves to swim and hike and cycle, can snowboard, is really sporty. A total brain box with held items, and boosting stats. He will explore many paths, to make sure visitors and students get the information they need, in a way that can be remembered and retained for later. Is a huge guy, but will get on the floor to play with a tiny Pokemon. Treats big “meaner” looking species like babies, very good with all pokemon.

His free time is spent either tinkering, swimming, or trimming his bonsai trees. This guy stares at screens a lot, so appreciates time away from them. Peach built him his own little greenhouse for his trees and tools, which he keeps clean and loves dearly.

His methods as a teacher are built around fun and games, he makes hard work easier to do by distracting trainers from the difficult bits, and focusing in on something more interesting or compelling.

His most commonly seen Pokemon would be a houndoom, Saxon, old battle veteran, retired now to herding and being a good boy. Very gentle, loves a pet.

Pari, now a fully fledged nurse, often oversees the labs front desk and pokecentre features, such as healing pokemon, and informing trainers who come to visit. Her skills with eggs and hatchlings is high, she’s great with younger Pokemon, and hands out good advice to trainers a lot. She’s not a fighter, never was, but can find any file, any study, any book, and any refrence you may need. A true bookworm, loves her romance novels, chat shows and upbeat celebrity gossip mags. Will cry at a lot of stuff, be it sad or happy.

She’s got a seriously upbeat personality, but if caught off guard or shocked, she gets a little flustered. Too much chaos will overwhelm her, but usually she’s on top of things. The years spent on the island have made her better at maintaining composure in emergencies. With lots of siblings, she’s very competent with others, and has a good ability to disarm cagey people with her jolly nature. Because of this, she can sometimes gain information from trainers that some of the more harsh professors may not have access to. Charming is a word for it.

Her partners are an eevee, and a happiny. They are quite sweet and well adjusted, the eevee gets a bit bouncy if you get it too excited.

#if you dont want to use the refs #im really cool with it #just enjoy yourself buddy #pokemon #prof.peach #peach talks #prof.grey #pari #dotaku island #dotaku staff #PLEASE #just ask me if you dont know something #or feel i missed something in what i wrote

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ravnicaforgoblins · 4 years

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Ravnica for Goblins

More Awesome NPCs of Ravnica

NPCs are one of the most important tools in a DM’s campaign. Your assorted guards, informants, bartenders, hench-persons, random civilians, and, of course, your quest-givers. Optimistically, you hope to have certain NPCs stick around for a while to have the party build a relationship with them, as opposed to getting murder-hobo-ed because your party doesn’t like their attitude. Which is why it’s so great that Ravnica is filled with cool NPCs who are definitely stronger than your party (for a while)!

A couple notes; I already did a list of Awesome NPCs, focusing on the Ladies of Ravnica, so this time I thought I’d try and give the boys (and Melek) some spotlight. Secondly, as I’ve by now made annoyingly apparent, I’m focusing on characters in the modern era of Ravnica, i.e. after the Decamillennial, because everything before the Decamillennial is a nightmare to figure out and you don’t need that headache.

Tajic, Blade of the Legion

You can’t have the Boros without Tajic. Well, you can, but you don’t want to. Tajic is the Legion’s Champion as well as their Mazerunner, and embodies all the ideals the Legion stands for. Unity, strength, passion; an unbreakable shield against all who would threaten Ravnica’s citizens. He is technically considered a Firefist, but special considerations should be made to give him the flavor he really deserves. Both of Tajic’s MTG cards have had some manner of protection against damage when involving other creatures. In addition, Firefists are actually primarily spellcasters, whereas Tajic is never seen without a blade in his hand or his name. So, to sum up, take a Firefist, add in some manner of damage resistance or even immunity contingent upon having allies present, throw in a weapon trick or two for his big wavy sword, and ta-da! You’ve got Tajic!

Momir Vig, Simic Visionary

I know I said no pre-Decamillennial, but Momir Vig is a special case. Technically, the former Guildmaster is dead, but the shadow of his reign still lingers over the Simic Combine. Momir Vig symbolizes everything Ravnica fears about the Combine; progress without restraint. Vig’s cytoplasts were oozes designed for personalized evolution in subjects to correct flaws and deficiencies (regrowing lost limbs, bolstering weakened immune systems, extra brain cells, etc). The only problem is that the project worked so well that Vig stopped seeing the need for consent, creating a new form of cytoplast that only needs to touch a host to bond with it. This raised some understandable concerns among Ravnican citizens, as well as the other Guilds. These concerns went to 11 when Vig’s Project Kraj, a gargantuan organism composed of thousands of cytoplasts, was activated to purge Ravnica and start over with a fresh slate. They went to a further 12 when Vig was killed, Project Kraj summoned every cytoplasm back to it (maiming, crippling, or killing a large number of hosts), and proceeded to go on a rampage that only ended after it ate Rakdos and went into a coma.

Momir Vig is exactly the kind of mad scientist to escape the grave, go underground, and continue his research unimpeded until it’s ready. A Rogue Guildmaster with no boundaries, or as we like to call it, a ready-made Big Bad.

Melek, Izzet Paragon

As with Vig, Melek is canonically dead, but that sort of “dead” that could conceivably be temporary if the story requires it. Melek is a Weird designed by Niv-Mizzet himself to be the Izzet Mazerunner. A certain sparkmage had other ideas however, so he absorbed the sentient being of pure elemental energy into himself at the start of the Maze and took its place, then tried to shock the other runners to death because, you know, winning. But following the physics principle that energy cannot be created or destroyed, only changed into a different form, it’s believable that Melek could return someday. Probably with a grudge against said sparkmage. Melek is a fascinating build, combining high-level spellcasting with complete elemental resistance or possibly even immunity. Basically, a wizard who can tank. Even more intriguing, any lab run by a being composed of pure energy would be calibrated to channel said energy, possibly allowing short-range teleportation within said lab. This is a brilliant exercise in lair mechanics, so don’t hold back. Lest we forget Melek is a personal project of the Firemind, aka, the single most brilliant, powerful, and egocentric fire-breathing ancient dragon wizard in Ravnican history.

Tomik Vrona, Distinguished Advokist

Given the Orzhov Syndicate’s seeming fascination with being a faceless hierarchy of priests, lawmages, ghosts, tax collectors, etc; it’s nice to have another face with a name. Tomik Vrona is a lawmage who apprenticed under Teysa Karlov herself, making him a master of Ravnican law. It also makes him uncharacteristically open to relationships with other Guilds, as he is effectively Teysa’s link to the outside world during her imprisonment. Tomik carries a strong respect for the law, but is a passionate lover of interesting & creative loopholes. In short, he’s not inherently evil/greedy like most of the Syndicate, but still has ambition in spades. He prefers to use gargoyles for transportation, treasures every book he owns, and is canonically dating/living with that hot-tempered sparkmage mentioned previously. Whether the relationship is public or not is up to you. I personally see it as a measure of trust between the NPCs and the party; it’s a pretty controversial pairing of Guilds. It could even be a Romeo & Juliet (Julio?) kind of affair, just putting that out there.

Vorel of Hull Clade

If Momir Vig represents the dark side of the Simic Combine’s experiments, Vorel represents the infinite possibility they can offer. A former Gruul shaman, he made the decision to give up a piece of his clan’s territory to a Boros Legion garrison to better fortify their home turf, and was nearly killed when they turned on him for perceived cowardice. Vorel escaped and joined the Combine, where he was given Merfolk traits and an environment that embraced his ideas & strategic thinking. Vorel is extremely grateful to his new Guild, and believes himself to be an example of how anything is possible through the Simic, no matter one’s origins. His strong passion & drive have led to great breakthroughs, but he’s definitely more emotionally-driven than most Simic researchers. Here is a Biomancer that isn’t afraid to get dirty or bloody in combat. This could be a fun experiment in crafting a Simic Melee Weapon.

Tolsimir Wolfblood, Ledev Guardian

You know that one leader elf in fantasy stories who everyone else takes orders from but never fights themselves? Yeah, this isn’t that elf. This is what you wish that elf was, a warrior archer who leads his soldiers into battle atop a giant dire wolf and kicks some serious ass. The Ledev are Selesnya’s elite mounted force, skilled fighters, archers, swordsmen, and even spellcasters. They are the cavalry, the breaking dawn on Hornburg, the “oh shit” in an enemy’s mouth. Please don’t make the mistakes of countless fantasy novels by being on bad terms with such badass warriors. Having any member of the Ledev behind you should be a boost to the party’s courage & resolve. Having Tolsimir fight alongside you should be one of the greatest honors of your life. The chance to finally recreate that “besties” relationship between Legolas & Gimli as you see who can kill the most enemies in battle.

Domri Rade, City Smasher

I hesitate to include Domri, I genuinely do. He’s a scraggly little punk who nearly brought about the destruction of the Gruul (and all of Ravnica) ultimately because he was too weak and too stupid. I include him here out of respect for the lore, but you can honestly do better. Domri Rade was considered too small & weak for any Gruul clan, so he instead bonded with the savage animals of the Rubblebelt, eventually discovering he could incite them into stampedes at will. This new power finally granted him admission into Borborygmos’ own Burning Tree Clan, but he panicked during the burial rite of passage and planeswalked away for the first time. Eventually he learned to control his powers, returned to the Rubblebelt, challenged Borborygmos for leadership of the Burning Tree clan, and won by sending wave after wave of stampeding boars to trample the cyclops Guildmaster. He was enlisted by Nicol Bolas to help destroy Ravnica, and failed to realize that meant him too as an eternal ripped out his Planeswalker Spark, killing him. Domri Rade is basically a cheap knockoff of Garruk Wildspeaker, only smaller and weaker and dumber and infinitely less dangerous. He is, however, considered by many to be an omen of the End-Raze, heralding the return of the Boar God Ilharg and the burning down of Ravnica by the Gruul who follow the Old Ways. So maybe play up that angle if you include him in your campaign.

Ral Zarek, Izzet Viceroy

If you only include one NPC from any of my lists in your Ravnica campaign, you must include Ral Zarek. Failing to do so is denying your players the opportunity to interact with the single coolest character in Ravnica. He beats out Vraska for the sole reason that he’s a much more public & accessible figure than the Gorgon Assassin, and an unexpected encounter with him is significantly less likely to end in your death/petrification. Between his good looks, cocky grin, brilliant mind, and lightning powers that put Thor to shame; Ral is certain to make any situation more interesting. He’s a great contact to have within the Izzet, a brilliant researcher, extremely talented with designing gadgets or magic items, an astonishingly powerful magic user, and a fun guy to hang around with. He can definitely have a temper on him, so understand when to back away. Hint: His hair turns from black to white when his electromancy powers are activating. You’ll also probably notice the sounds of static discharge building up around him, perhaps a faint smell of ozone, crackling energy coming from his gauntlet, and, oh yeah, his eyes glow and his smile turns into a growling grimace of death as he fills you with lightning. Whether by design or accident, Ral is basically the mascot for Ravnica, and it’s almost unthinkable for him to be absent from a campaign set there.

#ravnica for goblins #ravnica #goblins #D&D #D&D 5e #dungeons and dragons #mtg #ral zarek #domri rade #tajic #momir vig #tolsimir wolfblood #tomik vrona #vorel #melek #roleplaying #npcs

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blue-lions-baby · 4 years

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Operation Confession (Dimitri x Reader) [Ch. 1]

hi!! so sorry for the inactivity! i’ve been super busy preparing for college n stuff, so i didn’t really have time to write anything... but like i also didn’t want to go *another* week of not posting anything so lol

i’ve been working on this fic for almost a month now and as i was approaching the 5000 words mark, i figured it would probably be best to chop it up into more.... manageable sections ^^’ please enjoy~

spoiler-free and pre-timeskip fluff!

~*~

Oh, this was perfect.

Sylvain watched in pure amusement at the scene playing out before his very eyes. Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, future king of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, reduced to nothing more than a blushing schoolboy antsy with the love bugs and raging hormones. He weakly disguised his chuckle with a cough when he saw yet another quill snap in the blonde’s hand, most likely in reaction to that adorable pouting face you had put up. You had absolutely no idea what type of effect and the severity of said effect you had on the prince.

Which made it all the more entertaining.

You didn’t mean to-- in fact, you weren’t even aware of the raging feelings Dimitri held towards you.

But Sylvain knew.

And you could bet your ass he was gonna do everything in his power to help his longtime friend man up and confess to the girl of his dreams.

Dimitri’s cheeks, once dusted with only a faint pink, suddenly became a hodgepodge of every shade of red when he realized that was the third quill he broke in this hour alone. His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, helplessly looking to his teacher for help.

“Your Highness... Have you broken another quill?” Dedue murmured beside him, concern eminent in his voice. Dimitri looked down at the large splinter running down its side and mentally banged his head against the desk.

“It appears so... I will request a replacement from the Professor.” He muttered back, silently rising to his feet and making his way to the desk up front. He was suddenly stopped on his 4-step journey when Byleth (with a crinkle in their nose and a sigh) redirected their frazzled student to a whole box of spare quills behind the blackboard. Dimitri-- very much aware that this box filled with ludicrous amounts of quills were entirely for him-- bowed deeply to the professor, picked up the feathery thing, and hurried back to his desk.

You looked up from your work to give your eyes a break from their swimming lessons and accidentally made eye contact with the returning prince. You both paused for a split second before you flashed him a heartfelt smile; a gentle warmth kissed the surface of your cheeks and you averted your eyes back to your studies.

A resounding snap reverberated throughout the quiet classroom.

“Dimitri?”

“Y-Yes, Professor?”

“See me after class.”

“Yes, Professor...”

♠ ♥ ♣ ----------------------------------------------------------- ♣ ♥ ♠

While the rest of the class huddled outside the door and watched their house leader write “I will not break another quill” line after line on the blackboard, Sylvain looped an arm around your waist and winked.

“Hey, (F/N). Mind if I steal you for a bit?”

“Um... Sure.” Wary of his skirt-chasing tendencies, you were reluctantly led away from your classmates and into a more secluded part of the monastery.

“This better not be one of your tricks again, Sylvain... I already told you, I don’t like you in that way.”

“Ouch. That hurt.” Sylvain’s lips formed into an exaggerated pout and you couldn’t help but laugh a little.

“Nah, this ain’t about me for once. It’s about a certain... someone.” He continued rather vaguely.

“A certain someone? Sylvain, are you sure this isn’t about you?”

“It’s really not, I swear.” He put his hands up in surrender and seeing him genuine for once, you decided to believe him.

“Well, before I continue, I just wanna know if you... y’know.” Sylvain’s eyebrows wriggled very suggestively and a teasing smirk splayed his features. Your heart thundered in your ear, already knowing where this was going.

“If I...?” You whispered, taut fingers knotting the fabric of your uniform.

“Like, like-like anyone?”

Sylvain wished with all his heart that he had some way to capture the look and flood of colors that quickly took hold of your face. He watched in silent amazement as your face shifted from a barely-there pink to strawberry red in a matter of seconds. Gotcha.

“W-Well, I mean--” You took a shaky step backwards and your jaw clenched so tightly you were certain you were gonna chip a tooth. “There is this guy... Wait, why am I telling you this?! It’s none of your business!”

You rammed past the tall male with enough force to almost knock him over as you promptly made your way back to where the rest of your classmates were.

Satisfied with the laughable drop in quality in Dimitri’s penmanship, Byleth finally let the poor male join his classmates outside. His fingers twitched in an unsightly fashion and his wrist throbbed and cricked with every motion he made. He let out a guttural groan, making small, crackling adjustments to his neck and shoulder. The only thing he had left to do today was train, but he’d probably just go ahead and retire to his bed, at least for a little while...

Past the sea of heads crowding around him, he saw a flash of (H/C) streak across his vision, followed shortly afterwards by a head of shaggy red. (F/N)...? What were you doing with Sylvain?

Crippling exhaustion transfigured into searing jealousy and his eyes narrowed at his childhood friend with cold suspicion. Sylvain could easily feel the scorned prince’s hard stare like a knife in the back.

Was he at all fazed? Not in the slightest.

In fact, thought Sylvain as he sidled right up next to you, he wanted to toy with Dimitri’s heart just a little bit more...

“Excuse me everyone, but I must speak to Sylvain immediately.” He emphasized the last word sharply, gently pushing his way through the crowd. While he brushed shoulders with Ashe and waltzed around Ingrid, he spun around and ended up face-to-face with... Oh Goddess, his legs were turning into jelly.

“Dimitri...? Is something wrong?” You breathed, fumbling with your clammy digits.

“O-Oh!” Said male rubbed the back of his neck and looked away. “Nothing, Belov-- (F/N). Please excuse me, but it is imperative that I have a little... talk, with Sylvain.”

He left you no room for response as he quickly latched onto the toothy-grinned noble and practically dragged him away on his heels.

“What seems to be the problem, Your Highness?”

“Let us discuss the issue in my quarters.”

“Your quarters? Oh ho ho.~”

“Stop it, Sylvain. ... We’re here now.”

Dimitri watched Sylvain plop on the edge of his bed, his lips upturned in a carefree fashion. Dimitri lowered himself on his uncomfortable desk chair, his hands anxiously squeezing his kneecaps.

“So what would you like to talk about, Your Highness?”

“It’s about (F/N).” Dimitri spoke resolutely. “Sylvain... I know this will sound nothing short of mad, but--”

“Let me guess. You like (F/N).”

Dimitri’s bodily organs ceased to function; every ounce of blood in his body mutated into sharp, prickling icicles that seized his heart in a snare of terror and dread.

“I-- Wait, how--?”

“Your Highness. No offense, but pretty much everyone knows how you feel about her. You’re not exactly... subtle.”

Dimitri? Not subtle? Even after the extraordinary lengths he went through to make sure you remained ignorant of his true feelings for you? His brain filed through each and every interaction he’s had with you, combing through each word and shaky glance and awkward blush exchanged between either of you. Well, sure, he’s no master of disguise, but he wasn’t that bad... right?

While Dimitri’s thoughts remained in utter chaos, Sylvain coolly continued.

“Hey, about that lil’ act earlier... I was just messin’ with you, Your Highness. (F/N)’s a serious cutie, but I’m really not after her. I swear.” Sylvain winked. “Plus, she doesn’t even like me. She actually told me she likes--”

“WHO?!” Before Sylvain even had time to process-- well, anything-- Dimitri was on his feet rattling the poor noble to and fro, completely forgetting the crippling strength his Crest bestowed him.

“Gah! Stop it! That hurts!” Sylvain cried, trying with all his might to pry Dimitri’s iron grip from his shoulders.

Coherency finally returning, Dimitri immediately unclasped his digits from Sylvain. An expression of apologetic horror shot through his eyes as he stumbled back, back, back against his desk. The chest of both men heaved violently; raspy and hasty apologies slipped out of Dimitri’s lips while pain-stricken groans and a few obscenities raced out of Sylvain’s.

“I’m so-... I’m so sorry, Sylvain, I-- I’m so, so sorry--”

“Augh, Goddess... You’ve got quite a grip there, Your Highness...” Sylvain chuckled weakly, feeling his skin swell and bruise.

“Allow me to fetch a healer for you!”

“N-No worries... Ugh... Just, I need to talk to you.”

“Sylvain--”

“Please. Seeing you skirt about this issue is far more painful than any bruise you could give me... But I’m not gonna lie, this one comes pretty close.”

Dimitri drew in a deep breath and settled in his desk chair, its wooden legs creaking slightly from his weight. He planted his elbows firmly by his kneecaps and rested his chin on folded hands.

“Lemme ask you a question, Your Highness. Do you truly love (F/N)?”

“Yes.” Dimitri answered unfazed, but suddenly realized the gravity of his response and drooped his eyes towards the floor.

“Then tell her!”

“I... I can’t. I’m afraid I lack the confidence to waltz up to a girl and profess my feelings to her. Especially with what happened to...” Dimitri shivered at the awkwardly painful memory and continued. “Sylvain, what if she doesn’t like me in that way? Then I’d have made a fool of myself in front of everybody. But most importantly, her...”

“Well, since she didn’t tell me exactly who she liked, there’s no surefire way to know...” Sylvain acquiesced. “But I’ve got a real good feeling about this. Trust me! If there’s one thing in the world that I can help you with, it would be something like this.”

“Well, I suppose you’re right...” Dimitri pondered, sighing in defeat. “But regardless of whether she likes me or not, I am unable to simply walk up to her and tell her my feelings. That’s...”

Dimitri trailed off, dejection glossing his pastel blues.

“I don’t deserve someone like her.” He breathed out just above a whisper. Poignancy took hold of Sylvain’s heart after hearing the sincerity in Dimitri’s voice. One look at the despondent royal was enough to tell him how much he believed those words-- how much Dimitri believed that he, a beast stained by blood and vengeance, could never have a beauty as tender and loving as you.

“Hey, come on Your Highness... It’s not fair on your part to be giving yourself so little credit.”

“Sylvain, look at me.” Dimitri cupped his throbbing head in his hands and he growled. “I am a monster. I can not drag someone as pure, lovely, and beautiful as (F/N) into...”

He paused, choosing his next words carefully.

“She deserves someone else-- someone who can bring her true happiness. Someone who’s... not me.”

Sylvain gritted his teeth from the dark and pulverizing atmosphere. Dimitri was spiraling. Further, faster into the void.

“Cheer up, Your Highness!” Sylvain bubbled half-heartedly, desperately trying to reel his friend from the abyss. “You’re a great guy! Hey. Remember when we went out to cull some bandits outta that one village? And some bad guy almost got (F/N)? You managed to swoop in just before that happened! You saved her, Deems. The look of pure adoration and gratitude in her eyes after the battle... It felt good, right?”

“I... suppose.”

“Oh! And remember when (F/N) was having a hard time grasping the concept of that battle formation the other day? Who came in, and spent the rest of their afternoon tutoring her until she could explain why you needed to send the flyers in first?”

“... I did.”

“Yup! And who’s the chivalrous, hard-working leader of the Blue Lions that everyone looks up to?”

“I am.”

“Atta boy, Your Highness! See? You’re a great guy! And the fact that you’re a prince doesn’t hurt your chances either.” Sylvain’s eyebrows danced smugly.

Dimitri’s chest rose and fell in laughter; Sylvain’s eyes lit up like a star. He managed to save him-- at least for now.

“Thank you, Sylvain. I really needed that encouragement. I... I apologize for--”

“No worries, Your Highness. ... I’m just glad I was able to help.” Sylvain clasped a hand on his friend’s shoulder and squeezed reassuringly.

“Um, Sylvain...”

“Hm?”

“How do I confess to her? Properly?”

Sylvain clapped his hands together and rubbed them gleefully.

“Don’t worry, Your Highness. I’ve got a plan.”

#fire emblem #dimitri fire emblem #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #fe3h dimitri #dimitri x reader #x reader #x reader insert #x reader fanfiction #fire emblem three houses #fire emblem three houses fanfiction #part 2 coming soon!!#sylvain would make the best wingman ngl

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mandarinastronaut · 6 years

Text

Homoromantic subtext in ‘The Goldfinch’

The Goldfinch is a novel written by Donna Tartt, published in 2013. It follows the characters Theodore Decker and Boris Pavlikovsky. The relationship between the two is a bit controversial. Literary critics have completely ignored the implications of a romance.

Let’s start with Theo’s toxic masculinity and internalized homophobia. Since the Tumblr user @borispav has already made an excellent analysis regarding the subject, I’m going to quote them.

”…Internalized homophobia is a fear and aversion toward homosexuality that is felt by a member of said sexuality. It’s an inclination toward projection, a way of securing confidence and self-image (two things which are threatened both systematically and socially) by registering one’s own sexual identity as a flaw in other people.

Toxic masculinity (or hegemonic masculinity) is a series of behaviors and traits found in men who have been molded by the ideologies of patriarchy. This mode of thinking presents a set of standards and conventions which men are expected to both adhere to and promote interpersonally.

When it comes to men, the ultimate goal—in both these cases— is to embody the widely advertised image of what is considered to be a ‘normal’ or ‘average’ man. This man is able-bodied and strong (both physically and mentally). This man fulfills the roles expected of his gender. He is ‘masculine’ in that he does not cry nor outwardly express any emotions outside of anger and lust. As a child he is sociable and sporty. He has many friends and does not struggle with fitting in. As a teen he is rowdy and full of life, armed to the teeth with a ‘healthy’ sex drive; the ultimate manifestation of the phrase “boys will be boys”. As an adult he is married and financially stable. He is on his way to achieving the American Dream: a white picket fence, 2.5 kids, and a wife that he feels responsible for protecting. He is straight and always has been.”

”Naturally interwoven amongst the pillars of toxic masculinity sits homophobia and its internalized counterpart. Heterosexuality, after all, is a core part of being a ‘normal’ male. Any other errant attraction is therefore meant to be deftly identified and expunged.

Given the sexual nature several of Theo’s fears toward masculinity take on, I believe it is more than safe to assume that he struggles with accepting and acknowledging his own sexuality (whether it be bisexuality or homosexuality, I don’t have a definite stance) as it is at odds with what has been presented as ‘normal’ male behavior.

Sexuality very nearly serves as an antagonist in this novel. It’s depicted as an emotionally draining entity, a wildness, a physical allure, tangible threat, and elusive dream. Theo is almost always at war with it—a sort of subplot to the story that mainly reveals itself in behavior and attitude, rather than direct dialogue or thought.

Sometimes the terror Theo harbors toward homosexuality (and, at its core, his own sexuality) is visceral enough to manifest itself as a palpable real-life danger. For example, aside from being verbally and emotionally abused by kids at school, Theo is also able to recall an instance where several boys held him down and attempted to sodomize him with a stick of deodorant (615). This memory, like the other, is mentioned in a passing, blasé, way. However, the fact that Theo remembers it at all as an adult—and in enough detail to recall the exact names of his aggressors— speaks to the experience’s traumatic weight.

In a similar vein, we have Theo’s negative re-entry into New York: the two different adult men who were implied child molesters (who cornered Theo and physically chased him down the street) serving as more literal manifestations of his own homophobia (404-409). This is the fear, and false pretense, that gay men are ‘perverts’ or ‘child molesters’ brought to life. It’s Theo’s repressed sexuality taunting and confronting him in a brutal, nightmarish, form; an expected effect of having been taught that a part of his identity is inherently ‘bad’ and unremovable.

This, and the bullying incident, are two prime examples of a fairly common literary technique used in which a character’s strongest fears or desires are made physical, rather than just emotional. Such a device works to symbolize/convey their fervency, demonstrate just how pressing and real they are to the afflicted character.”

A few examples of Theo’s internalized homophobia:

He can’t tell his doormen he’s going to miss them, because he thinks it would sound ”gay”. (238)

He feels uncomfortable in the cab because the driver saw Boris kissing him. (396)

He’s embarrassed to be seen with Popper because the breed is seen as ”feminine ” or “gay”. (402)

He’s distraught when Boris asks if he’s Hobie’s partner. (615)

“As for the internalized homophobia, it’s as ever-present as ever in his adulthood. In fact, I think it actually might even be morepronounced and focused than it was in his youth, when his fears primarily manifested themselves in vague and ambiguous ways. As an adult, his aversion is blunt and easy to identify. He graduates from steering clear of things that might insinuate homosexuality, to steering clear of gay men almost altogether. He’s able to acknowledge that they tend to make him uncomfortable, but in terms of trying to understand or mediate on why this is so, little is done. Instead he deems it suffice to drop in a few cursory sentences here and there whilst on the subject of something else, leaving it at that. No bigger picture is addressed, and no critical issue is implied.

For example, what we get are brief and loaded anecdotes like the following:

“I’d inherited my mother’s light-colored eyes, which short of sunglasses at gallery openings made it pretty much impossible to hide pinned pupils—not that anybody in Hobie’s crowd seemed to notice, except (sometimes) a few of the younger, more with-it gay guys— ‘You’re a bad boy,’ the bodybuilder boyfriend of a client had whispered into my ear at a formal dinner, freaking me out thoroughly. And I dreaded going up to the Accounts department at one of the auction houses because one of the guys there—older, British, an addict himself—was always hitting on me.” (472)

The sheer weariness and disdain with which he views threats to his heterosexuality is palpable here. There’s something almost sinister and deceptive about the way he chooses to portray these scenarios, something nightmarish in the way both men seem to be implicitly taunting him, confronting or incriminating him with the knowledge of a secret he pretends not to know. Both cases are clearly sources of great distress to him, as he feels the need to bring them up in context of something that didn’t exactly need the reference. It’s all fine and good that he mentions the "younger gay guys” noticing his pinned pupils, since the topic of thought was drugs, but then to go off and suddenly engage in the quotation of very specific dialogue (“you’re a bad boy”), and the discussion of very specific fears (being hit on by a guy), suggests that there is some deeper trauma demanding acknowledgment at the root. Theo is bothered by this. He is tormented by this. He uses the word dread (dread!!) to try and convey just how much he does not want to be in the same vicinity as someone who may act upon the assumption that he’s gay. (He wants us to assume that’s only because he’s confidently straight and doesn’t want the attention, but we know, in truth, that it’s because he’s both afraid and enraged at someone knowing and confronting him with such an unbidden part of himself).

Either way, it’s clear that he’s aware of the irrational severity of these fears, otherwise he wouldn’t have brought them up of his own volition or chosen to detail the day-to-day effects of their disproportionally crippling nature (i.e. him now despairing a certain department of his work environment). So yes, at some subconscious level, he knows that this isn’t normal, that he is stunted, emotionally, in some way. However, as I said before, he doesn’t ever think about why this is. He doesn’t try to find the problem, or even allude to there possibly being some small discrepancy in the way he’s always perceived his sexual identity. His aversion toward gay men simply remains a ‘mystery issue’, something of obvious weight that Theo wants us to feel, but not know. (Though, we know what it is anyway.)

And as if all this wasn’t obvious enough, we also get the very particular way in which Boris is framed in reference to Kitsey. He reenters Theo’s life right as Theo’s in a crisis over her, the engagement, and the fact that he’s not in love. And I mean this literally; Theo runs into Boris at St. Marks because he’d been on a walk in efforts to find ease of mind, a refuge from the daunting prospect of upcoming marriage (525). What he does find is Boris. Boris, who then, briefly, assumes the role of a hero— the knight in shining armor who’s come to sweep Theo up and away from the worldly snares of expectation and social-rule. This image is only further enforced when Boris comes billowing into his life again at the engagement party, graciously saving him from what (to Theo) was a downright nightmarish scenario. “Let’s get out of here,” is what Boris implores of him, leading them both to the door excitedly (635). Theo’s immediate response is to recognize that this is what he’s been unknowingly hoping this entire time, that Boris’ plea to run away from the engagement party with him is the “only thing that has made sense” to him all night (635). This is the ever-warring sides of illusion and reality at direct confrontation with each other. Choosing to stay at the party would imply that he has an unwavering loyalty to Kitsey (as in to heterosexuality/convention), while choosing to leave would imply that there are other, more genuine, desires drawing him away to something else at heart (his love for Boris, his lust for that wild edge; life without restraint and rule).

Theo chooses to leave. Or, I should probably say, he has no choice but to leave. When given such an enchanting window of escape, at such a precise moment of emotional distress and internal turmoil, it is impossible to resist. Of course his instinct would be to leave with Boris, even without knowing the details of their destination or circumstance. There’s an innate trust and draw that has been built up inside him from their Vegas years; Boris knows the deepest parts of Theo inside and out, and there are little to no other people in his life that he is tied to like that, little to no people that would provide the same type of relief from social-performance and self-deception as Boris would. On instinct (on instinct) Theo is true to himself for once. He physically runs after the thing he prefers, the thing it is that he actually wants. However, I do emphasize ‘on instinct’ because this is certainly more of a one-time, impulsive, occurrence than it is anything else. In the end it’s still Kitsey who Theo deems worthy of a suicide-note, not Boris. It’s still Kitsey who, despite everything, he continues to remain on the fence about all the way through the end of the novel. So, yes, it’s evident that the instinct (to be honest with himself, to go after what he wants etc.) is there, that—even after all these years—it still remains strong enough to be acknowledged and acted upon. However, the pressures of compulsive heterosexuality and toxic masculinity have not lessened their grip either, and, in the end, they are the ones that win.”

(all of this was from the amazing @borispav ‘s blog, thank you for letting me quote you!)

The story is told in retrospect and therefore is completely dependent on memory. Well memory, as we all know, isn’t very reliable. You forget, remember something incorrectly, manipulate and so forth. It is also sort of implied that Theo’s been using all sorts of substances, from hard drugs to alcohol. On the pages 622-623 we find out that Theo’s a ‘black-out’ drunk (he passes out and forgets things). Boris brings up the painting which baffles Theo since he himself has shown it to Boris but completely forgotten about it. Just the fact that he’s forgotten something so insanely important and significant, makes it more than possible that there are other important things he’s forgotten about. Theo tells us that he’s written the book for his mother, and in the hopes that Pippa would read it one day. This makes him quite biased and sets up an agenda for him, therefore implying that he’s willing to manipulate the story to fit his purposes. And because he’s trying to convince everyone (mostly himself, but also the reader) that he’s in love with Pippa, it wouldn’t make much sense for him to write about the true feelings he has for Boris. Though it’s very clear that he doesn’t actually love her. He even says this on page 570;

”Worse: my love for Pippa was muddied-up below the waterline with my mother, with my mother’s death, with losing my mother and not being able to get her back. All that blind, infantile hunger to save and be saved, to repeat the past and make it different, had somehow attached itself, ravenously, to her. There was an instability in it, a sickness. I was seeing things that weren’t there. I was only one step away from some trailer park loner stalking a girl he’d spotted in the mall. For the truth of it was: Pippa and I saw each other maybe twice a year; we e-mailed and texted, though with no great regularity; when she was in town we loaned each other books and went to the movies; we were friends; nothing more. My hopes for a relationship with her where wholly unreal, whereas my ongoing misery, and frustration, were an all-too-horrible reality. Was groundless, hopeless, unrequited obsession any way to waste the rest of my life?”

Even if you were to interpret it differently (Theo actually being in love with her, or at least being sexually attracted to her) it still doesn’t overrule Theo’s love for Boris (Theo could be bi-, pan-, or polysexual etc.).

Now when talking about Boris’ internalized homophobia, it’s not as severe as Theo’s. He’s a lot more accepting and openminded. On page 314. Boris brings up homosexuality;

”…Old poofter?” he asked. I was taken aback. ”No,” I said swiftly, and then; ”I don’t know.” ”Doesn’t matter,” said Boris, offering me the jar. ”I’ve known some sweet olf poofters.” ”I don’t think he is,” I said uncertainly. Boris shrugged. ”Who cares? if he is good to you? None of us ever find enough kindness in the world, do we?“

It’s very clear that by bringing up homosexuality casually like this, he wants to hear how Theo feels about it. This dialogue also tells us that Boris is a lot more accepting than Theo, who’s shocked and troubled by the idea of Hobie being gay.

Boris doesn’t have trouble expressing his feelings, he often even exaggerates them.

Boris says he’s in love with Kotku even though he doesn’t know her (326)

Boris says that he ”loves” Kotku and that she’s ”the truestthing that has ever happened” to him (328).

Boris says that the 'fight’ he and Kotku had, was ”only out of love”, and that they realized ”how much they loved each other” (360).

Boris tells Theo how he and KT became ”so close” in one night, and how they ”opened up their hearts” for each other (602).

Boris says that Bobo was like a father to him (613).

Boris is telling Theo about his tattoo, and says this; ”…This is for Katya, love of my life. I loved her more than any woman I ever knew.” To which Theo responds with; ”You say that about everybody.” Theo’s comment proves that this is something Boris does all the time.

But with Theo, he can express himself only through action, rather than words. It’s important to bear this in mind whenever interpreting his actions.

Quoting the Tumblr user @queer-deckovskij ;

”…Part II of The Goldfinch Book contains the chapters Badr al-Dine and Wind, Sand and Stars, in which Boris and Theo meet, go on adventures, live a pair of year together, fight, love each other, then say goodbye. These 200 pages are introduced by a quote Donna put right before chapter 5, that comes from the poet Arthur Rimbaud and says,

When we are very strong, - who draws back? very gay*, - who cares for ridicule? When we are very bad, - what would they do with us?

So where do I start? This quote accurately depicts Boris’ and Theo’s friendship in a way that takes my breath away. It contains all the force and stubbornness and courage of the angry youth they represent. She couldn’t have picked a better quote to represent them. But that’s not all. The small poem doesn’t end here - Donna cut the second part of it, which says,

Deck yourself, dance, laugh. I could never throw Love out of the window.

Yes, the poem used to represent Theo and Boris’ relationship is a love poem. I think it’s really important the notion of who Arthur Rimbaud was. He lived in France during the 19th century and while still very young he had a homosexual affair with another poet, named Paul Verlaine; they ran off together and for quite some time they shared a really unhealthy and irregular life, mostly based on drugs and alcohol and dangerous experiences. Les Poètes maudits, yes? They lived in the same house for a few years and ended up splitting up in quite a violent way (Verlaine shot Rimbaud twice). Does this experience remind you of someone? A couple of guys who drank beer and did drugs like it was a packet of chips and a bottle of pepsi? Inserting that quote, Donna Tartt literally compared Theo and Boris to Rimbaud and Verlaine. Which means that, officially, Theo and Boris’s love was not a platonic one.

*I do not know if Donna inserted this translation or a more neutral one, like cheerful or jolly; the original French poem uses the word gai, which literal translates as gay.”

When Boris starts dating Kotku, Theo is forced to think about what his and Boris’ relationship was for the first time. Though, it’s already been implied earlier that Theo might have a crush on Boris.

Subtext of Theo’s attraction toward Boris;

He’s staring at Boris’ stomach (272).

He’s staring at Boris’ neck (284).

He’s staring at Boris who’s wearing nothing but Theo’s underwear (307).

He’s staring at Boris’ shirtless chest (308).

He’s staring at Boris’ lower abdomen (383).

Theo is jealous of Kotku, he’s even depicted as a pissed ‘house-wife’.

Page 327; ”…But what did bother me -a lot- was how Kotku (I’ll continue to call her by the name Boris gave her, since I can’t now remember her real name) had stepped in overnight and virtually assumed ownership of Boris. First he was busy on Friday night. Then it was the whole weekend–not just the night, but the day too. Pretty soon, it was Kotku this and Kotku that, and the next thing I knew, Popper and I were eating dinner and watching movies by ourselves.”

(Theo’s been depicted as a ‘house-wife’ before on page 277.)

Even though he’s feeling jealous and left behind, he still tries to convince himself and the reader that their relationship was nothing but platonic, that he doesn’t really care whether Boris has a girlfriend or not. Still, it isn’t so simple. He can’t find a right word to describe their relationship.

”…But who cared what crappy girl Boris liked? Weren’t we still friends? Best friends? Brothers practically? Then again: there was not exactly a word for Boris and me. Until Kotku came along, I had never thought too much about it.” (333)

If their relationship was really platonic, Boris having a girlfriend wouldn’t affect their “friendship” or “brotherhood” in the slightest.

Theo’s projecting into Boris because of his internalized homophobia. We find out that Theo doesn’t mind Boris showing physical affection, and that he even enjoys it (it’s the only thing that calms him down from his nightly terrors). This is something that he doesn’t want to admit. He’s constantly trying to convince the reader that there aren’t any stronger, possibly romantic, feelings attached. It’s actually quite comedic.

”The funny thing: I’d worried, if anything, that Boris was the one who was a little too affectionate, if affectionate is the right word. The first time he’d turned in bed and draped an arm over my waist, I lay there half-asleep for a moment, not knowing what to do: staring at my old socks on the floor, empty beer bottles, my paperbacked copy of The Red Badge of Courage. At last–embarrassed–I faked a yawn and tried to roll away, but instead he sighed and pulled me closer, with a sleepy, snuggling motion. Shh, Potter, he whispered, into the back of my neck. Is only me. It was weird. Was it weird? It was; and it wasn’t. I’d fallen back to sleep shortly after, lulled by his bitter, beery unwashed smell and his breath easy in my ear. I was aware I couldn’t explain it without making it sound like more than it was. On nights when I woke strangled with fear there he was, catching me when I started up terrified from the bed, pulling me back in the covers beside him, muttering in nonsense Polish, his voice throaty and strange with sleep. We’d drowse off in each other’s arms, listening to music from my iPod (Thelonious Monk, The Velvet Underground, music my mother had liked) and sometimes wake clutching each other like castaways or much younger children.” (335)

In the end, we finally find out that they’ve even been sexually intimate. Since this is something they’ve done regularly, it’s more than safe to say that they’re at least sexually attracted to each other. Still, Theo keeps projecting into Boris, saying that he’s the one ”who might have the wrong idea”.

“…And yet (this was the murky part, this was what bothered me) there had also been other, way more confusing and fucked-up nights, grappling around half-dressed, weak light from the bathroom and everything haloed and unstable without my glasses: hands on each other, rough and fast, kicked-over beers foaming on the carpet–fun and not that big of a deal when it as actually happening, more than worth it for the sharp gasp when my eyes rolled back and I forgot about everything; but when we woke the next morning stomach-down and groaning on opposite sides of the bed it receded into an incoherence of backlit flickers, choppy and poorly lit like some experimental film, theunfamiliar twist of Boris’s features fading from memory already and none of it with any more bearing on our actual lives than a dream. We never spoke of it; it wasn’t quite real; getting ready for school we threw shoes, splashed water at each other, chewed aspirin for our hangovers, laughed and joked around all the way to the bus stop. I knew people would think the wrong thing if they knew, I didn’t want anyone to find out and I knew Boris didn’t either, but all the same he seemed so completely untroubled by it that I was sure it was just a laugh, nothing to take too seriously or get worked up about. And yet, more than once, I had wondered if I should step up my nerve and say something: draw some kind of line, make things clear, just to make absolutely sure he didn’t have the wrong idea. But the moment had never come. Now there was no point in speaking up and being awkward about the whole thing, though I scarcely took comfort in the fact.” (335-336)

Boris feels troubled because his and Theo’s relationship has become so intimate. He’s not sure if Theo feels the same way about him, and that creates a lot of stress and confusion for him. He makes a subconscious decision to resolve the situation by jumping into an impulsive relationship with Kotku (there aren’t any strong feelings attached). The relationship is completely physical, (they’re sexually attracted to each other, that’s it) even though Boris tries to convince Theo it isn’t so. Soon after they start dating, they begin to argue like an old married couple. It even goes so far that Boris punches Kotku (in the face).

Then Theo’s dad dies, and Theo has to leave Vegas in order to avoid his worst nightmare; social workers. Tartt depicts the 'goodbye’ scene quite dramatically, starting it with Boris humming a song by The Velvet Underground called After Hours. The song is about, you guessed it, unwilling goodbyes, love etc. By inserting this song to the very start, Tartt creates the perfect atmosphere for the whole scene, implying that there are strong romantic feelings between the two. They’ve listened to the song together, and so, Boris tries to manipulate Theo into staying by humming it.

”…Boris, I realized, was looking up at the sky and humming to himself, a line from one of my mother’s Velvet Underground songs: but if you close the door… the night could last forever…” (392)

The certainty of the situation starts to sink in on Theo, and he starts expressing his true feelings for the first and last time in the novel, in fact, he’s lost all control over himself. Boris realizes that Theo’s expressing his real feelings (probably predicting a confession) and since Boris has stolen the painting (something Theo’s completely unaware of) he’s accepted that he’s completely ruined any chances of continuing the relationship, (knowing that Theo would hate him after finding out) and just can’t bear to hear any more of what Theo’s saying. So, he interrupts Theo by kissing him on the lips. Now, besides the suggestive placement of the kiss, (not only is it in the goodbye scene but its right before Theo’s confession as well) the way Theo reacts to it makes it very clear that this is unusual behavior, and not something Boris has done before, (Theo wouldn’t have missed a chance to make the whole situation seem as platonic as possible, he would have tried to pull some bullshit like ”oh yeah this is something Boris does all the time lmao doesn’t mean anything”. And they know each other so well that they can communicate without words, so I think it’s safe to say that Theo would’ve known about it if it was usual behavior for Boris.) the kiss is clearly more than platonic, to say the least.

”…Really, you have to come. We can go to Brighton Beach—that’s where all the Russians hang out. Well, I’ve never been there. But the train goes there—it’s the last stop on the line. There’s a big Russian community, restaurants with smoked fish and sturgeon roe. My mother and I always talked about going out there to eat one day, this jeweler she worked with told her all the good places to go, but we never did. It’s supposed to be great. Also, I mean—I have money for school—you can go to my school. No—you totally can. I have a scholarship. Well, I did. But the guy said as long as the money in my fund was used for education—it could be anybody’s education. Not just mine. There’s more than enough for the both of us. Though, I mean, public school, the public schools are good in New York, I know people there, public school’s fine with me.” I was still babbling when Boris said: “Potter.” Before I could answer him he put both hands on my face and kissed me on the mouth. And while I stood blinking—it was over almost before I knew what had happened—he picked up Popper under the forelegs and kissed him too, in midair, smack on the tip of his nose. Then he handed him to me. ”Your car’s over there,” he said, giving him one last ruffle on the head. And—sure enough—when I turned, a town car was creeping up the other side of the street, surveying the addresses. We stood looking at each other—me breathing hard, completely stunned. ”Good luck,” said Boris. ”I won’t forget you.” then he patted Popper on the head. ”Bye, Popchyk. Look after him, will you?” he said to me.” (394-395)

When Theo gets in the cab, he acknowledges his feelings for Boris and confesses his love for him. This is the first and last time he does this (at least according to Theo’s narrative, which as we know, isn’t very reliable).

”Later—in the cab, and afterward—I would replay that moment, and marvel that I’d waved and walked away quite so casually. Why hadn’t I grabbed his arm and begged him one last time to get in the car, come on, fuck it Boris, just like skipping school, we’ll be eating breakfast over cornfields when the sun comes up? I knew him well enough to know that if you asked him the right way, at the right moment, he would do almost anything; and in the very act of turning away I knew he would have run after me and hopped in the car laughing if I’d asked one last time. But I didn’t. And, in truth, it was maybe better that I didn’t—I say that now, though it was something I regretted bitterly for a while. More than anything I was relieved that in my unfamiliar babbling-and-wanting-to-talk state I’d stopped myself from blurting the thing on the edge of my tongue, the thing I’d never said, even though it was something we both knew well enough without me saying it out loud to him in the street—which was, of course, I love you.” (395)

When they run into each other as adults, Theo starts commenting on Boris’ appearance almost immediately. This isn’t something Theo’s done before, his internalized homophobia won’t allow him to. Boris is the only male he depicts this way.

”…There he was, sliding in across from me, slingin the hair from his face in a gesture that brought the past ringing back. “I was just about to leave.” “Sorry.” Same dirty, charming smile. “Had something to do. Didn’t Myriam explain?” “No she didn’t.” “Well. Is not like I work in accounting office. Look,” He said leaning forward, palms on the table, “don’t be mad! Was not expecting to run into you! I came as quick as I could! Ran, practically!” He reached across with cupped hands and slapped me gently on the cheek. “My God! Such a long time it is! Glad to see you! You’re not glad to see me too?” He’d grown up to be good-looking. Even at his gawkiest and most pinched he’d always had a likable shrewdness about him, lively eyes and quick intelligence, but he’d lost that half-starved rawness and everything else had come together the right way.” (596)

Then we find out that Boris has been embittered this whole time because he ruined his and Theo’s relationship (Thinking that Theo holds a grudge for him because of the painting). So, Boris projects onto Theo. He brings up their sexual intimacy, and offends him;

”…why do I feel like you’re trying to change the subject?” ”Not trying to judge! It’s just—we did crazy things back then. Things I think maybe you don’t remember. No, no!” he said quickly, shaking his head, when he saw the look on my face. ”Not that. Although I will say, you are the only boy I have ever been in bed with!” My laugh spluttered out angrily, as if I’d coughed or choked on something. ”With that—” Boris leaned back disdainfully in his chair, pinched his nostrils shut—”pfah. I think it happens at that age sometimes. We were young, and needed girls. I think maybe you thought it was something else. But, no, wait” he said quickly, his expression changing—I’d scraped back my chair to go— ”wait,” he said again, catching my sleeve, “don’t, please, listen to what I’m trying to tell you, you don’t at all remember the night when we were watching Dr. No?” I was getting my coat from the back of my chair…” (622)

Theo is clearly hurt by Boris’ words, even though he doesn’t admit it.

As if all of this wasn’t already obvious enough, Tartt’s sprinkled all sorts of subtext all over the novel;

Theo takes extraordinary notice of the sex books his therapist has. Tartt is already, this early into the book, implying that sexuality might be a theme for Theo. (162)

During Theo’s and Boris’ first conversation, Theo asks Boris to say something in one of the multiple languages Boris speaks and he decides to say something quite suggestive, which is; ”fuck you up the ass”. (265)

Theo’s internalized homophobia is taunting him, he says he feels ”shameful”, ”worthless”, ”tainted” and ”wrong”, and that he doesn’t know the origin for these emotions. (440-441)

Theo thinks about Boris every day and everything reminds him of Boris. (465)

Theo still remembers Boris’ home phone number in Vegas and even uses the last digits of it for the combination padlock that’s securing the painting. (532)

Theo confesses that he has googled Boris in the past. (595)

”You know what I did in college?” I was telling him. ”I took Conversational Russian for a year. Totally because of you. I did really shitty in it, actually. Never got good enough to read it, you know, sit down with Eugene Onegin—you have to read it in Russian, they say, it doesn’t come through in translation. But—I thought of you so much! I used to remember little things you’d say—all sorts of things came back to me—oh, wow, listen, they’re playing 'Comfy in Nautica,’ do you remember that? Panda Bear! I totally forgot that album. Anyway. I wrote a term paper on The Idiot for my Russian Literature class—Russian Literature in translation—I mean, the whole time I was reading it I thought about you, up in my bedroom smoking my dad’s cigarettes. It was so much easier to keep track of the names if I imagined you saying them in my head … actually, it was like I heard the whole book in your voice! Back in Vegas you were reading The Idiot for like six months, remember? In Russian. For a long time it was all you did. Remember how for a long time you couldn’t go downstairs because of Xandra, I had to bring you food, it was like Anne Frank? Anyway, I read it in English, The Idiot, but I wanted to get there too, to that point, you know, where my Russian was good enough. But I never did.” (614-615)

Theo depicts Pippa by referring to Boris. (678)

Tartt has placed a character from one of her earlier novels The secret history, Francis Abernathy, a homosexual man who was forced by circumstance to marry a woman, in Theo’s engagement party as a parallel for him. (710)

”Only what is that thing? Why am I the way I am? Why do I care about all the wrong things, and nothing at all for the right ones? Or, to tip it another way: how can I see so clearly that everything I love or care about is illusion, and yet—for me, anyway—all that’s worth living for lies in that charm? A great sorrow, and one I am only beginning to understand: we don’t get to choose our own hearts. We can’t make ourselves want what’s good for us or what’s good for other people. We don’t get to choose the people we are. Because—isn’t it drilled into us constantly, from childhood on, an unquestioned platitude in the culture—? From Willian Blake to Lady Gaga, from Rousseau to Rumi to Tosca to Mister Rogers, it’s a curiously uniform message, accepted from high to low: when in doubt, what to do? How do we know what’s right for us? Every shrink every career counselor, every Disney princess knows the answer: ”Be yourself.” ”Follow your heart.” Only here’s what I really, really want someone to explain to me. What if one happens to be possessed of a heart that can’t be trusted—? What if the heart, for its own unfathomable reasons, leads one willfully and in a cloud of unspeakable radiance away from health, domesticity, civic responsibility and strong social connections and all the blandly-held common virtues and instead straight toward the bonfire, is it better to turn away? Stop your ears with wax? Ignore all the perverse glory your heart is screaming at you? Set yourself on the course that will lead you dutifully towards the norm, reasonable hours and regular medical check-ups, stable relationships and steady career advancement, the New York Times and brunch on Sunday, all with the promise of being somehow a better person? Or—like Boris—is it better to throw yourself head first and laughing into the holy rage calling your name? It’s not about outward appearances but inward significance. A grandeur in the world, but not of the world, a grandeur that the world doesn’t understand. That first glimpse of pure otherness, in whose presence you bloom out and out and out. A self one does not want. A heart one cannot help.” (852-853). Since the main themes of the novel are authenticity and unauthenticity (good and bad, right and wrong) it makes perfect sense to have sexuality be a subtheme.

Love restricts one’s personal life. Committing to something so uncertain and scary, as serious romantic relationships are, is impossible for Boris due to his traumatic childhood. This (aside from thinking he’s ruined their relatonship) is the reason why he’s stayed out of Theo’s life for all these years.

”…Boris laughed. “And you love her, yes. But not too much.” “Why do you say that?” “Because you are not mad, or wild, or grieving! You are not roaring out to choke her with your own bare hands! Which means your soul is not too mixed up with hers. And that is good. Here is my experience. Stay away from the ones you love too much. Those are the ones who will kill you. What you want to live and be happy in the world is a woman who has her own life and lets you have yours.” (667)

Later, in Amsterdam, during the shootout, Boris physically follows this ideology and his true feelings- he’s ready to die for Theo. Theo confessed his love verbally, this is Boris confessing his love in the way most natural to him, through action;

”…Again Boris moaned, as the guy yanked his hair once more, and from across the car threw me an unmistakable look—which I understood just as plainly as if he’d spoken the words aloud, an urgent and very specific cut of the eyes straight from our shoplifting days: run for it, Potter, go.” (760)

Can a Pulitzer prize-winning author write this blatant subtext accidentally? Is this just another case of cheap queerbaiting? It’s up to you to decide.

———————————————————————————————————–

A look at internalized homophobia and toxic masculinity as presented in the character of Theodore Decker; https://borispav.tumblr.com/post/179768610308/a-look-at-internalized-homophobia-and-toxic

by https://borispav.tumblr.com/

Post on Arthur Rimbaud’s poem; http://queer-deckovskij.tumblr.com/post/171833208225/so-very-important-detail-i-dont-know-if-any-of

by http://queer-deckovskij.tumblr.com/

All page numbers are from my copy of the book, meaning that I’ve changed the ones in the quotations from the original ones to my own.

I received technical writing help from a friend of mine, as I am dyslexic and have trouble expressing myself sometimes, who wants to stay anonymous, thank you anonymous!

#the goldfinch #boreo #theo decker #boris pavlikovsky #donna tartt #theodore decker #tgf #rin's analysis

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scripttorture · 5 years

Text

The Effect of Torture on Investigations

While I’ve talked about this before it’s usually been either in response to asks like this one or as a smaller part of masterpost focused on something else. I thought it might be useful to bring together some examples showing why torture cripples investigation.

I’ve talked about what a good investigation looks like here. I’ve talked about why torture doesn’t work as an interrogation technique here. And I’ve talked about writing a failed interrogation scene using torture here.

But an organisation’s choice to use torture as part of an interrogation effects far more then just that interrogation and that individual victim. It has wider effects on the organisation and any investigations taking place.

Factors effecting Investigations directly

Members of the general public are much less likely to come forward with information if an organisation uses torture. This destroys the main source of new information in any investigation.

Torture generates a lot of lies and torturers (like every body else) can’t really tell when someone is lying.

Torture generates a lot of lies and it also destroys an organisation’s ability to fact check the information it receives. Torturers can (and do) go back and try to make victims change statements in order to fit with any new evidence or theories that arrive. Which further obscures the truth.

Torturers generally don’t take part in genuine investigative work. They spend the majority of their time at work torturing or otherwise engaged in unproductive activity. Which means there are effectively less investigators. Any genuine investigators are trying to do the work of several people.

Factors effecting Investigators

Genuine investigators are forced to waste time a lot of time chasing up false information generated by torture.

Genuine investigators are undermined and presented as lazy or ineffective by torturers, because the investigators are spending most of their time trying to confirm (or disprove) ‘information’ from torture rather than bringing in new information or leads.

Torturers tend to form cliques, looking down on non-torturers and they tend to be highly competitive. This often creates a toxic work environment for non-torturers within an organisation, making work more stressful and more difficult then it needs to be.

Torturers often disobey orders, taking or disrupting physical evidence and seizing or targetting prisoners even when they’re told not to. This disrupts the work of genuine investigators and blocks their access to materials and people they need in order to do their job.

Non-torturers are put under pressure to condone, cover up or take part in torture. There’s often a rise in bullying and harassment which makes it harder for genuine investigators to work.

Torturers undermine teamwork generally. They tend to be highly competitive and as a result they’re reluctant to share information. Now the information torturers have is probably wrong, but that doesn’t stop them from creating a working environment where investigators don’t share information unless they have to.

Factors effecting the Organisation as a whole

Because torturers regularly disobey or ignore orders they contribute to an erosion of authority and discipline. They make disobedience normal.

The polarising effect they have eventually leads to organisations fracturing into factions. Sometimes this is as simple as factions that support or oppose torture but because torturers are competitive it can also mean opposing factions of torturers vying against each other. This leads to members of the organisation spending more time working against each other then together. In extreme cases it can lead to violence between different sub-groups and the destruction of the organisation as a whole.

Work generally becomes a lot more pressurised and stressful. This can lead to a high staff turnover rate, with a lot of new recruits leaving early and a lot of older experienced staff leaving because they feel unsupported.

Torturers tend to suffer from ‘deskilling’; the more time they spend the torturing the less they’re practicing skills necessary for their actual job. They become less competent and this has the knock on effect of depriving any new recruits of competent, experienced colleagues who can train and advise them.

The end result is that all of these factors combine to make an organisation that routinely tortures less able to gather accurate information and less able to use that information effectively.

As an example of how these factors combine I’m going to create a couple of rough, illustrative scenarios:

Imagine a group of 50 people tasked with investigating a particular incident. Five of them are torturers, so they’re not actually investigating anything. This takes our number down to 45.

Then we remember that the torturers are generating information, even if it’s false. Which the other members are investigating.

Let’s go with low estimates. Let’s suggest each torturer has one victim a day (this is unlikely, real numbers are probably much higher) and out of those they get an average of two ‘possible leads’ each day (this would vary a lot, some victims would say nothing, some might throw out as many as twenty names in a day). Let’s also pretend that a potential lead can be investigated by one person (this is inaccurate, I’d generally expect at least 2-3 people for each new ‘lead’.).

We’ve just got rid of ten more people on the first day.

Let’s pretend that it takes three days to investigate a lead. This is also a very low estimate, properly following up a lead can take weeks.

With our low-estimate fictional organisation we’ve reduced the amount of people doing useful work to 15 in the first three days.

Fifteen people trying to do the work of 50, while the torturers keep generating lies that are wasting the time of everyone else.

My final example is to show how the lies that come from torture spiral, creating so much misinformation that it can be difficult to prove it’s false.

Say a torturer takes in a random person. This first victim knows nothing about the terrorist group but if they don’t give a name then they’re going to keep being tortured.

So they tell the torturer Wednesday Adams is definitely the leader of the terrorists in this area.

Now a genuine investigator is wasting time looking for Wednesday Adams. May be they come back in a week and say that no such person exists.

By that point the torturer has been asking a lot of people about Wednesday Adams. And some of them will have sworn they saw Wednesday Adams, that Wednesday Adams was behind that attack and that she has links to this other organisation and also that thing I saw on the news once and- So on.

It spirals.

May be it gets to the point where the torturer finally accepts there’s no ‘Wednesday Adams’ on the census. But by that point they’ve stacked a lot of their personal reputation on the existence of this shadowy leader.

So rather than admit they’re just wrong, they assume ‘Wednesday Adams’ is a pseudonym and now they’re asking everyone what her real name is. Now they have six different possible ‘real identities’ for Wednesday Adams.

And this is how organisations can fail to notice that torture doesn’t work.

Torture cripples investigations. It fractures organisations.

And it leaves behind people with complex health problems that are rarely treated properly. On all sides.

Available on Wordpress.

Disclaimer

#tw torture #interrogation #investigation #effects of torture on organisations #effects of torture on policing #torture as interrogation #effective interrogation #effective investigation #masterpost

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mermaids-gypsies · 5 years

Text

IBS the first

And here.. we.. go.. she says in the joker’s voice.

Sooo, I’ve decided to use this platform as a diary/blog about my truly miserable life as an IBS sufferer. Now before you get too far in and read more than you may want to. Let me tell you for anyone out there, that doesn’t know what IBS is. IBS stands for irritable bowel syndrome, and let me tell you, I have one VERY irritable bowel, which in turn makes for a VERY irritable lady.

It’s basically what it sounds like. You’ve got a bowel that goes crazy over random shit, no pun intended (but also a little bit intended because it’s for real a laugh or cry illness). Now, let’s be clear right from the get go, THERE IS NO CURE TO IBS! To explain it simply the doctors and scientists don’t know what the fuck is wrong with you. Which adds to the fun because they gonna put cameras up your butt, down your throat, get poop samples for what feels like the hundredth time and after each test you’re gonna get a little glimmer of hope going “oh my god, this might be it, maybe we’ve figured it out and they can fix me” only to go back into that doctor’s office, sit down and them tell you “all the tests came back normal”. Like okay, thanks doc, but I know this ain’t normal. It’s not normal to shit my pants after having dairy or to bloat to what looks like six months pregnant when I eat broccoli. DO NOT even get me started on stone fruits or garlic and onion.

Now, let me be real honest, my doctor is AMAZING. Every single time I walk into that office, she is there with me 100%, she’s listening to everything I say, and she is actually listening. But has she run many tests, found no answers and is she getting as frustrated as me, yes. She’s fucking right there with me. Only someone with a chronic illness is gonna sit here and be like “my doctor, she’s my ride or die”, but that’s me baby. I fucking love her. On another level, I also feel soo fucking bad for her, imagine being a doctor because you want to make people feel better, and you get this young girl coming in like “wah, I pass gas way too much and it smells, and I feel nauseous if I don’t eat but I can’t eat anything because it gives me pain, and I get diarrhea every day and then I don’t poop for like a week, and I’m tired all the time, oh and I get these intense pains in my side and I can’t get them to go away unless I take strong pain killers”, and it’s now been 8 fucking years of this! and sure we have a diagnosis “irritable bowel syndrome” but that literally is the name they give any digestive issues when they don’t know what’s wrong. So, really it’s little to no help in making my life any better in terms of treatment.

Hold on, “but there’s so many people out there with it so much worse”. Like, don’t get me wrong, I fucking know this and I feel for these people, I honestly do. If this is “just digestive issues”, I can only imagine how those people feel. But this brings us to a whole new problem with this illness, I’m going to have these issues for the rest of my life, this is a CHRONIC ILLNESS. So when people sit there and go “but it’s just digestive issues”, “you don’t look sick”. I wanna kick them, real hard, in a painful place. It’s not like I don’t get it. I don’t look sick, and a lot of the time, I hide my symptoms, I hide the fact I’m in pain and it’s not like I’m going to tell every tom dick and harry that I almost poop my pants on the daily. That’s not exactly an acceptable conversation topic, is it?But if someone tells you they have an illness, you do not downgrade it to make yourself feel better. Stop comparing people, EVERYONE IS DIFFERENT and so are their illnesses.

So really don’t get me wrong, I know there is people out there that simply don’t know that I’m sick or that won’t be able to understand what goes on with IBS and how it effects your life every single day. Do I want them to understand my point of view? absolutely! Do I want to go around constantly explaining it? Strong no. The most basic answer I can come up with for people who don’t have IBS to understand what it feels like is, imagine having a constant stomach bug or constant food poisoning. Obviously, these things vary greatly depending on the individual. So does IBS and the symptoms that come with it, but, this is really the easiest way for me to give people an insight into how I feel in a way that most people can actually comprehend.

We haven’t even got to the ANXIETY that comes with this illness. This is the fun bit guys. Some people won’t be able to fathom this, and some people will. Anxiety is completely different to anyone that has it, each person will have different triggers, they will have different feelings, they will have different methods of coping. Anyone who is living with anxiety knows, it’s not fun and it’s especially not fun to have to explain why your anxious about something. “I just don’t want to okay, leave me alone”. I’m that person that lashes out when I’m in an uncomfortable situation (I also getting gassy when I’m uncomfortable, and then I get uncomfortable because I’m gassy, and then I get more gassy because I’m more uncomfortable, and around and around we gooo). So yes, I push nice people away because I feel like fucking shit and someone asking me questions, even when I know they genuinely care and want to help, just annoys me when I’m in that head space. I just sit there like “can you shut the fuck up and let me fucking deal with this and like, I’ll get back to you in a minute or two. JUST GIVE ME A MINUTE.” Like, I just wanna go outside, fart like a hundred times, gather my thoughts, let the logical me take over my body again and then we can continue on.

The really fun thing about IBS is they know some things for sure, but it’s not anything overly useful. It’s all bullshit like “stress has a direct effect on the bowel and can make IBS symptoms worse”, well thank you science, I’ll try and keep nice and calm and not stress about the fact that there is no toilet near me and I’m probably about to shit my pants in the next two - three seconds.Or the fact I’m in a crowd and been holding in multiple farts for so long I now have a crippling stomach ache. Seriously, think for a minute about anything that you get excited or nervous about. Now, imagine pooping yourself nearly every time you got nervous or excited....... That’s alotta poop.

I could literally carry on about this all night. There is soooo many things I want to get out of my fucking head that I seriously cannot express because I absolutely suck at talking about my feelings *que nervous farts and poops at the thought of intimate conversation*

I said previously that this was a laugh or cry illness. I try my absolute best to choose to laugh. But, honestly, sometimes you need a good cry. Shout out again to my doctor that has to try and understand what I’m trying to tell her while I’m sitting in the appointment blubbering and sniffling like the complete emotional wreck that this illness has made me.

For now, goodbye. I hope everyone has an amazing day and feels so happy and healthy.

Also, if you have IBS or anxiety or even just wanna get something off your chest, feel free to message me! :)

Much love, x

#irritable bowel syndrome #ibs problems #ibs #chronicillness #spoonie #spoonielife #fatigue #blog #health

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chestnutroan · 5 years

Note

Who is Ben? Have you talked about this character before?

Ben is my sole survivor, and my longest standing oc. I’ve posted a LOT of art of him but I’ve always put off talking about him at length but now I’m out of the rough when it comes to having the will to do anything, ill talk about him!

Frank (Benjamin) Romara was born in 2044 in Arkansas to African/Italian parents. When he was 13, he, his parents and his younger brother Gene were uprooted to Boston under absolutely no single good reason given at the time from his father. His dad died probably not a year later, and combined with the massive change of life Ben’s education went down the shitter, and he had to repeat freshman year. At the end of what should have been his sophomore year he got put in a program for “at risk youth”.

[Detail about him, about Nick Valentine and Fallout Lore etc under the cut!]

The program was basically about increasing the amount of people entering government related jobs, because due to rising contempt less and less people were going down that path, and that’s bad for a whole lot of reasons, for the government at least. When it was first conceived of, it was more of a support scheme for kids not going onto greater things, but it expanded to where it was mandatory for any teen that met the requirements to be put through the system and spat out with more allegiance to their country. Ben checked off a lot of boxes, being poor, having bad grades etc. And at first Ben didn’t really mind all that much, given his lack of direction it was comforting to know that he’d be able to find a stable job to support his family, and that was exactly what seemed to be promised to him. He hadn’t yet gained a fervent desire to see the government crumble, the only part of it he hated being cops, who brushed his dads murder off like it didn’t matter. plus, the program offered extensive healthcare (a leftover enticement from when the program was optional), and it looked like the only way he’d be able to transition.

It wasn’t long, however, before it became increasingly apparent how insidious the program really was. For one thing, he was to be put into work (or training for whatever he will be assigned) at 18, meaning he’d have to leave high school with a sophomore level education. This was, of course, by design to keep the kids entering the workforce in that same workforce. When he was 17, he took a GOAT and got given two options: enter the police force or the US army. He didn't want to do absolutely either, but he picked the former, just because it seemed like his only shot to stay with his family. By the time he was 21, he’d become a detective, and before he could ever start to work on his own soil he was transferred to Chicago due to lack of workforce there.

And all over again, he’d been plucked out of what he knew and dunked somewhere else, and worse yet, he doesn’t even have anyone he knows to help him go through it. Most of the people at his station don’t really want anything to do with him, but he gets on with his job (his efficacy depending on whether or not he thinks hes doing the right thing), and quickly becomes the new hotshot ass hole there for his attention to detail, if not his actual ability to decipher motivations and piece things together. And this caught the attention of Nick Valentine.

Nick was the original hotshot ass hole ofc, and it was owed to this that Ben, despite being to be shown the ropes, that he didn’t partner with the new guy despite being the only person there who could have helped him out. Nick was very, very good at his job, and due to his insecurities he wasn’t about to stop being the best and give people the chance to realise he doesn't get better than how effective he is at his work. I won’t get into the root of his insecurities, but he genuinely believes that he would lose all respect and that if he ever stopped being a try hard people would lose all reason to bother with him at all, and all he wants is for others reach out and be a friend to him. hes dealing with a lot of the same loneliness Ben is, but so long as he doesn't lose the facade of being a fully functional adult with a good job and a ‘loving’ wife he wont have to introspect and face who he thinks he is deep down (i.e. a man incapable of loving his wife romantically because of some personality fault he cant comprehend of how to fix as opposed to him just being gay and having a lot of internalised homophobia).

It takes Ben and Nick both reaching the point where they snap under the weight of the world they live in and the people who occupy it for them to come together. Nick ended up actually asking to take Ben on as a partner, and it took a lot of the load off of emotionally crippling work (serving a government neither of them believed in but being wholly incapable of escaping it, status quo being almost the only thing keeping them in place as opposed to trying to physically escape what they're doing together) but better yet, for nick, Ben helped bring out a side of him that wasn’t so afraid to be known by others, and he started opening up to other people at the same time as growing closer to him. (I think its important to like.not that nick doesn't wholly rely on Ben for all of his self esteem etc Ben is just a positive impact who gives him a space where nick can learn for himself that his worth doesn't depend on other peoples perception of him.) Nick realises that a lot of his negative perception/jealousy/etc of Ben when they first met was because he saw a lot of himself in him, Nick was in more or less him when he started some 5 or so years ago, and Nick helps Ben out in the way he wished someone had been there for him because he cares a hell of a lot about him and wants him to have the best chance at things.

And they grow into better people and just at the pique of things, where Nick is enjoying not being in an abusive relationship and staying with Ben while he gets back on his feet, Ben gets drafted and is trained at first to become a power armored foot soldier (standing at nearly 6′6″ he’d be a monument of fuck you to the enemy) but do to his deliberately bad aim with weapons, hes instead trained to pilot a vertibird, where hes then shipped off to anchorage. its there that he goes MIA after going against orders with his co pilot to provide medical assistance to a group of people stranded off from communication he spotted in flight earlier. Ben ended up glad later on that he and his co pilot were shot down, because for all 25 hours he was left dying in the snow, it meant that he didn't have to justify him going against orders by bringing back Chinese soldiers who’d end up a lot worse for wear than him. By the time his KIA status was revoked (they weren’t about to announce the miracle of his survival before they knew he’d survive lol) he’d already had a funeral, which Nick had attended, because I write like everything's a soap opera. but yeafksf him dying and attending his funeral left nick in a lot of grief, because he’d thought he’d have forever with Ben to go slow with him into being in a relationship and now Nick thought he’d never get that chance. and when they meet back up after it all when Ben returns it’s romantically charged to say the least.

Obviously I haven’t been sticking entirely to lore with this but the lore presented in fallout 4 is fucking bullshit so. i hesitate to call this a fix but i need to put in this disclaimer before i start spouting off. hey how about instead of nicks fiance getting iced jenny lands was actually his partner once he transferred to Boston to be with his husband to be, and she was cruelly twisted against her own intentions to try and kill nick because Eddie winter put her family in jeopardy and Eddie doing this was a coordinated attack towards them both that hes not just powerful enough to get revenge he can do it in such a way that they cant even trust the people around them. And nick got his mind juices squeezed or brain scanned whatever because of the resulting trauma of being shot by his best friend jenny. and also ‘Shaun’ is Ben and Nicks kid Max and upon learning later as a gen 2 that his son is the leader of a great source of trauma for nick hes forced to introspect in ways that have more tangible effects because his ability to decide who he is as a man ties into immediate problems And nick doesn't have to focus on revenge disguised as justice because he has a responsibility to live in the here and now.

Thank you for this ask!! I hope that was coherent enough to understand kjdsf if you have any more questions about him or anything else I talked about I’d be flattered to hear them!

#fallout #fallout 4 #fo4 #nick valentine #sole survivor #Benjamin Romara #Anonymous

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ideolatry · 6 years

Text

Thank-you, Dragon Age.

To Patrick Weekes, David Gaider, Mike Laidlaw, Lukas Kristjanson and the rest of the creative team behind Dragon Age: Inquisition,

I’m not sure if you’ll ever read this. Chances are this will just be another wave in an ocean of fan mail, but one can hope.

Thank-you for saving my life.

No, really.

Where do I start? Let’s see… it’s 1998, I’m a strange 15 year-old girl in a small mill town in northern British Columbia. I don’t fit in. I’m a parrot amongst ravens. A really awkward parrot. With a bad haircut. There’s lonely, and then there’s Lunchtime Lonely™. You know, where you tuck yourself away in the corner of the cafeteria, just you and your floppy cheese sandwich, desperately hoping to avoid attention, because any attention coming your way is not particularly positive at this juncture in your social career.

Something tells me you get it.

It was at this point I discovered Baldur’s Gate, and it was like... my fantasy gateway drug. Through fantasy, science fiction, comic books and video games and the community around those genres, I realized there was a place in the universe for weirdos like me. I learned that the things I came to understand I was: a nerdy, bisexual, poly, whimsical, book-addicted extroverted introvert were okay things to be. I found my own voice as an artist and writer and fully embraced my inner awkward parrot.

I remained a Ride Hard/Die Hard fan of anything Black Isle/Bioware sent out into the universe from that point forward, but it wasn’t until Dragon Age: Inquisition that I realized that a story, rather than just a vehicle for inspiration, enjoyment, or escapism, can also be a life vest when you need it most.

A couple years ago I went through one of those periods where it felt as though I spun the Wheel of Fortune and landed on Bankrupt. Those moments in time when it’s like the universe takes notice of you and decides it’s your turn on the rack.

I gave birth to a beautiful boy, and though I loved him with all my heart, I was hit with crippling postpartum depression and anxiety. I could barely function and ended up on some strong medication which I subsequently weaned off of because the side effects were decidedly worse than the condition. Shortly thereafter my son’s father lost his job and we had to give up our beautiful home and move a family of 5, including a newborn, into the teeniest of tiny apartments.

Then I received the horrible news that one of my closest friends, whom I affectionately referred to as my ‘baby sis’ had been killed, struck by a car while waiting for her bus. Six weeks after, still reeling from that news, my very best friend in the entire world, possibly the closest connection I’ve ever had, died unexpectedly of pneumonia. We all just thought she had a bad cold.

Several months after that my son’s father and I went through a painful separation, including horrible fights around custody, my mother was diagnosed with COPD and emphysema and my father’s kidneys failed and he was put on dialysis.

I’m not sharing this with you for pity points, I promise. I realize that there are many, many people with far greater problems than I. I was and am still, blessed in immeasurable ways. I’m sharing this only to give you context as to where I was emotionally by the end of that year. Emotionally is actually a strange word to use, because I largely didn’t feel anything. I’d surface occasionally for moments of despair or anger, but for the most part I became numb to everything and everyone around me.

I had forgotten how to laugh, how to love, how to see the world in anything but shades of grey. I functioned much as a robot does, in order to do the things I know my two sons needed me to do for them, but it was all on auto-pilot.

It was at this point I started playing Dragon Age: Inquisition. I had played through once before, while pregnant, and enjoyed myself… but it was different this time around. This time the game scooped me up and drew me in, and surrounded my mind and heart with its music, its art, and of course, its writing.

For the first time in months, I found myself authentically smiling. I discovered depths to characters I had only paid cursory attention to beforehand. I padded the game with the books, comics, fan art, fanfiction, and the wonderful anime. For a while, Dragon Age and its denizens became my entire world. Dorian reminded me what it was like to experience friendship. Solas reminded me what it was like to experience love. The laughter they shared was my laughter, their heartbreak was my heartbreak, and rather than providing simple escapism, Dragon Age gave me a safe place to try and *feel* things again.

It was like being woken up after a long sleep. My own uthenera. I started noticing the outside world once more. The scenery in the Hinterlands inspired me to start hiking. The music of Trevor Morris had me sinking into playlists derived from and inspired by the game. The Solavellan plot-line gave me the impetus to start writing again, something I honestly thought would never, ever happen.

I decided it was time to start taking better care of myself, for my own sake, and for my boys. I used the goal of cosplaying my Inquisitor as the proverbial carrot on a stick I needed to get in shape, and I started going to the gym. I learned how to lift weights, and I discovered that if you can get past the point where exercise is horrible, it can actually become one of the most wonderful things in the world. I lost 65lbs, gained so much strength and confidence, and wore my cosplay to my city’s annual Sci-Fi/Fantasy convention, where many of my acquaintances didn’t recognize me. Whether that was due to the weight loss, the elf ears, or the genuine smile on my face, I’ll leave up to you. I was also blessed enough to have the incredibly talented @nipuni paint a picture of my Inquisitor at the Winter Palace.

I’ve even gone on a few dates. Ha. Who knows what the future may hold?

I can honestly say that I’ve never felt more strong or hopeful in my entire adult life. Ironically, I’m crying as I write this. No words could ever be adequate for the gift you all gave me. You were there for me precisely when I needed you to be, and if it hadn’t been for Dragon Age:Inquisition I’m not sure where I’d be today, or who I’d be. Whom I’d be? Who I’d be? Look, I said I was a writer. I never said I was a *good* one.

Your creative efforts helped me deliver myself from the brink. Your work was instrumental in giving two young children their mother back, and I want you to remember that when you’re doubting yourself, when your creativity is bumping up against corporate complications, when you’re being derided or attacked by the very fandom you serve, when you’re wondering what the fucking point of it all is, anyway.

Please remember that you changed someone’s life. Immeasurably. Forever, and for the better. I realize you have obviously had that impact on many thousands of people, but that’s their story and this one is mine.

Once upon a time there was a girl. She went missing. You saved her. The End.

All my love and gratitude, always…

Christy-Lee

#dragon age: inquisition #dragon age #dragon age cosplay #solas #solavellan #artsaveslives #patrick weekes #david gaider #mike laidlaw #nipuni

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fallxnprxnce · 5 years

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Watched Hellboy II again today, and what a wonderful movie, better than I remembered, but what a sad ending. Let's imagine that Nuala merely stabs her hands/legs enough to prevent Nuada from moving, then he is locked up and Nuala, Hellboy and his team try to reason with him. How would it go? What would happen? He did say that he needed to be killed because he wasn't going to stop, but maybe he could change his mind? Besides, he seemed to understand Hellboy's feelings of being rejected by humans.

{out of exile} Okay, first of all, thank you so much forsending this in, whoever you are. This is a great question that I could answerin 47 different ways and go in 47 different directions with. I’m not sure I’mgoing to give you the answer you want or will even like, though, because thistouches upon several unique headcanons I have for my version of Nuada. Butanyway, I will tease apart each layer of the question and of his potentialresponse and hopefully at least give you some interesting reading, even if it’snot 100% in keeping with the canon. For anyone new to this blog, you’re aboutto get a book. I… go into way more detail than anyone ever should with mymuses, whether they are canon or an OC. So strap yourself in, here we go. XD

Alright, let’s take the first part ofwhat you suggested: Nuala stabs Nuada in a nonfatal way. So, maybe she stabshis wrist to get him to drop the dagger, and/or stabs him in one or both legsso he can’t really move around so much anymore. And let’s assume that whatevershe does, while nonfatal, is enough to stop him to the point that Hellboy andthe others are able to disarm and apprehend him. The first obstacle to overcomewould be Nuada’s own emotions. You can’t just cripple (even temporarily) anancient Elven warrior and expect him to take it well. With my version of Nuada,his emotions would be as follows, in this order, over the course of the nextseveral hours; shock and betrayal that Nuala would do this to him, rage that hewas stopped in such a dishonorable fashion (with regard to standard Elvenwarrior battle etiquette, that is), and finally crushing sadness that he’s beenwounded to the point of no longer being able to fight. Okay let’s deal withthese one at a time…

Nuala’s betrayal would not be a smallthing for Nuada. He has already been betrayed by his father (first when sidingwith the humans and second when ordering his death), so now to have his sisterdo the same would be not only offensive to him but it would completelyblindside him. It would be an indicator to him (at least in his owninterpretation) that their relationship has moved from an antagonistic siblingrivalry to downright hatred. Nuada is bitter toward Nuala, he’s resentful, andhe’s hurt by her behavior, but he does not hate her. To feel that she might hatehim to the point of wanting to wound him that badly (and she knows it wouldhurt him emotionally beyond just the physical injury) would be very damaging tohis emotional health. He would want to withdraw, close himself off, and wouldprobably stop talking until he has fully processed what she did and what hethinks that means for their relationship. And the fact that she is willing toharm herself just to stop him would only add to the emotional trauma for him.That’s… a very high level of hatred in his book, and he simply does not bearNuala that level of animosity. He never thought she hated him that much, and itwould be very shocking to him.

Stopping him in this fashion (and inthe canon fashion by killing him as well) is insulting to Nuada as a warrior.Using their soul bond against him when he doesn’t see it coming and has no wayto defend himself is like bringing a gun to a knife fight. Or… blowing peanutdust in someone’s face when you know they’re allergic. It’s knowing that youhave an incredible, unfair, and decidedly personal advantage over someone andusing it against them fully knowing what it will do. It’s not just what she didthat is insulting and painful, but it’s the incredibly personal method sheused. It’s almost like she whipped out some damaging emotional secret in themiddle of battle and used it to make him falter or something, that’s how hefeels. Their bond is a very personal thing to him, and Nuada is definitely onewho values privacy and personal space. So to have the one person in the worldwho shares that personal space withyou and knows you better and more intimately than anyone else in the world doesuse that bond against you… is massively insulting.

And finally, being crippled or felledby something outside of your control is nota way a warrior wants to go down. If it’s in a fair fight, yes, good, sure.That’s what he lives for, and frankly, most of Nuada’s personal identity as anindividual is wrapped up in being a warrior. It’s not just a hobby or a job oreven an obsession… it’s his life.Crippling a warrior is like stabbing a painter in the eyes, or damaging acomposer’s ears. It’s not just disabling, but it’s disabling in a very personaland insulting way. So this, too, would weigh on Nuada emotionally. When heloses the ability to fight, he loses a great part of who he is as a person, andthat will render him emotionally unstable for a time. Both the aspect of losinga large part of his identity and feeling like it was nothing he could have eventried to defend himself against would leave him feeling very exposed andslighted in a hurtful way. I say hurtful here because this would make him moresad than angry.

Okay so we’ve dealt with where Nuada’shead would be at after Nuala stabbing him to cripple him somehow, so now let’stalk about the bit you mentioned about getting him “locked up.” This… poses a huge problem for my version of Nuada. Idon’t wanna go into a ton of detail because long,but my version of Nuada is the opposite of Nuala for a lot of reasons, which ismostly canon. But one of the ways in which he is the antithesis of her is thather emotions are very flat most of the time and she is calm, reserved,patience, and frankly unexcited in most situations, whereas he is volatile,emotional, very genuine in that he doesn’t hide how he feels, and he is very wild. I mean that in the most primal ofsenses. The way I write my Nuada, his connection to Nuala really is like a yinand yang sort of thing. They’re opposites, which means that in many cases theyare extremes of different personality traits. So Nuada isn’t just a littlerambunctious or difficult to handle because that’s just his personality, he’sactually wild, as in… almost feral. I don’t mean that he runs around naked,snarling, and drooling at the mouth, haha. I mean that he carries in his soulan inborn wildness that is an extreme of some type of energy, be it divine orjust environmental earth energy, which makes him innately have a wild soul andheart. What this means on a positive level, is that he has a lot of stamina,he’s very in tune with things like intuition and instinct, he craves thingslike running and training and physical exercise in general, and he is very wellsuited to be a warrior. But on a negative level, his wildness renders himsometimes not able to properly deal with or control his emotions, it makes himimpulsive, it makes him defensive and guarded emotionally, and it renders himthoroughly unable to deal with the feeling of being trapped, restrained, orconfined.

Locking him up, therefore, would present a lot of problems for the BPRDif they want him to remain a stable and living prisoner, heh. Think of a feralanimal if it’s caged. What would it do? Become violent, attack the bars orwalls, maybe injure itself trying to escape, and depending upon how long theanimal with left imprisoned, it might even get upset or panicked to the pointof adverse physical health effects. All of that is true of Nuada as well, atleast the way I write him. And it’s entirely a mental thing, too. What I meanis, whether he is actually restrained with handcuffs or inside a cell, or he’sin a large warehouse and not restrained in anyway but there’s no windows ordoors to escape from, same thing to him. Perceived confinement is just as badas actual confinement. It will trigger this wildness within him into drivinghim to seek escape at all costs. It’s a rage response at first, but given timeit will boil down into panic and despair. It’s not something he can control,but rather is like a phobia that will trigger him the moment he perceives thathe is being restrained or is about to become restrained.

If the BPRD locked him up, he wouldrepeatedly attempt to escape to the point of injuring himself. That’s if he’sjust thrown in a cell or locked room or whatever. If they manage to drug him orwhatever else to get him let’s say… strapped to a gurney or something asutterly restraining as that, despair and panic would set in. He might pass outfrom not being able to get enough air or because his blood pressure wouldskyrocket. It’s not that he’s physically fragile, by any means, but just thatthe level of panic with this is so high that it has that much of an effect onhis system. If kept in that state for a prolonged amount of time, he will startto have issues with the Iron Malady.

There is also another aspect ofpersonal slight in being confined too, because Nuala knows very well that Nuadahas this response to being restrained. I would argue that, knowing how herbrother reacts to restraint, she would not permit him to be tied down orshackled or anything like that. Maybe put in a room or something, but therewould have to be some sort of counseling involved to keep him calm. But… onecould also argue that she was so irritated with him by that point that shewould not care how much he panicked, and this is a massive sore spot for Nuadain his relationship with Nuala and with his father as well. All his life, hehas been singled out, put down, mocked, and made to feel like he was a failureor disappointment because of incidents involving his wildness. Whether it wasnot being able to sit still, he habits of running off into the woods to explorefor days on end instead of being at home in court, or his reaction to gettingstuck somewhere and not being able to free himself, this is something hisfather told him he was just doing for attention and that his sister looked downupon. So it’s really a sore spot for him if Nuala allows him to be restrainedgiven how she knows he’ll react. She’s basically saying, I have no respect forthis wildness inside you, and therefore I have no respect for you.

Right, so… all of this boils down into… Nuada would have some seriousemotional traumas to overcome, in addition to just healing physically, beforehe could even being to be rehabilitated in any cerebral manner, heh. And yes,it is possible to get Nuada to listen to reason with regard to human, it hashappened several times in threads on this blog. But… it is not easy, it takes time, and there are only a fewspecific ways in which it can be done.

One way is to present him with a humanhe can’t kill, heh. If there’s even one he can’t kill, that upsets two things:his ability to give a kill order for all humans, because it would include thatone… and his concept of “the other.” “Othering” in psychology is something thatcan be done either subconsciously or deliberately by racist folk to makedegrading, dehumanizing, and/or killing people they see as different fromthemselves in an unacceptable way easier, better, more just, more righteous,whatever, in their minds. It’s a lot easier for some individuals to persecuteand/or kill people they don’t know personally, who have no names, no faces, andno perceived connection to them, than it is to kill Joe down the street they’vetalk to many times and who they know has a wife and three kids. Keeping peopleas “the others” in one’s mind keeps them separate from them and makes theprejudice and racism easier and more justified to them. Destroying the conceptof “the other” for Nuada would mean that he would start identifying with thehumans in some way or would come to know them on a personal level that heunderstands even though it’s not him. Accomplishing that really throws a wrenchin his plans to kill all humans, because they stop being “the enemy” and startbecoming just “people,” not unlike this own.

But what kind of human could he notkill? Hand him a baby. I’m serious. Or like… even a two year-old. He could notkill a human little one. He just can’t. It’s small, it’s weak, it’s innocent,it has no clue what’s going on, and gods help him if it smiles at him, hahaha.He knows that babies, toddlers, etc. have little to no understanding of thegreater world or of any of the complex concepts with which he’s so angry aboutwith their larger adult counterparts. He can’t blame them… the way he can the adults, at least in his mind. Heknows this, too, which is why he avoids babies like the plague, heh. He reallydidn’t even want to look at the one Hellboy saved during the encounter with theforest god. Nuada just assumed somebody saved it, whatever, he doesn’t care atall. (He cares. XD) So if the BPRD really wanted to try to rehabilitate Nuada,hand him a baby, heh. I realize they would not trust him with one, but I’m justsaying, nothing would put a crack in his resolve more than that. Maybe onecould hold a baby a safe distance away and they just talk a while about howcute it is, how it doesn’t understand, how he’d want to kill its parents andtake them away, all that stuff. Believe me, after a while, all of that wouldweigh very heavily on his conscience. Because Nuada is not inherently evil.He’s taken a noble cause and been changed so much by anger and sadness that hissolution to it is extreme and evil. There’s a difference between that andsomeone who wants to kill all humans because it brings him pleasure. Nuadawould get no pleasure from killing humans, he’s just trying to stop them fromdestroying the earth and killing his own people. He sees it as a kill or bekilled scenario, and that is easy for him to do because of this “othering”thing he’s doing with the humans. The BPRD would have to get him to stopthinking of humans and elves as them and us, respectively. They would have toget him to identify with humans and feelsomething for them… and showing him a cute little baby where he can’t get awayfrom it is a good way to start, haha.

The only other type of human as far asadults that he would not be able to kill is one he falls in love with, or onewith Elven blood. Present him with someone of mixed blood and you mess up hiswhole deal. Or present him with someone he doesn’t know is human or thatcircumstances bring him closer to and he falls in love with them? Ugh, he’s soscrewed. Because again, they’re not a nameless, faceless enemy anymore, they’resomeone he loves. This is how he’s been truly changed in most of the threads onthis blog in which he was diverted from his plans. So… maybe if the BPRD had ahalf-elf on their side (which has happened in threads) or if they can get someinvestigator to become friends with him or anything like that, again it breaksdown this concept of “the other” in his mind, and the walls between “them” and“us” begin to dissolve. Once that happens, he cannot continue on with his plan.

Also it is important to note that Iheadcanon that Nuada has tried many times over the centuries to reach out tohumans, either to explain to them the error of their ways or to offer themsolutions and guidance, and each time he rejected, denied, mocked, attacked,etc. So… another way the BPRD could approach convincing Nuada to listen to themis to say look… yeah, humans have been ignorant assholes in the past andthere’s stil a lot of ignorant assholes left today, but those numbers aredecreasing. Today in the world, there are far more conscientious humansinteresting in the environment, next-gen agriculture, science, greentechnology, and sustainable living practices. Nuada doesn’t realize this, andif they took the time to educate him on it and actually got him to honestlylisten to what they were saying, he would realize that the world is differentnow than it was centuries ago. Nuada perceives humans as stagnant. Ignore then,ignorant now, will always be ignorant, heh. He doesn’t see the way in whichsociety has been slowly changing for the better because he’s not living in it.

Especially after we went into exile, he didn’t just stay away from elves, heavoided humans as well. So he has no concept of what’s being done by humans nowto correct the mistakes of the past or prevent/alleviate them in the future.It’d be difficult to get him to sit still long enough, haha, but if they canget a few humans to give presentations about green technology, hydroponicagriculture, recycling, better waste management practices, reductions in carbonemissions and a general decrease in the usage worldwide of fossil fuels likecoal… I think his mind would be blown, heh. Then once they have him interested,involve him in it. That’s huge withhim, because Balor and Nuala were very exclusionist when it came to Nuada. Ifthe BPRD presents all these things to him, and then says dude… you could helpguide these people toward what needs to be done the most. Let them know whatelves need because we don’t know. Tell it from your point of view and lend usyour expertise. Together we’d be stronger. I think offering to actively includehim would definitely be enticing to him.

Okay, I think I rambled enough. I hopethat answered most of your question, but if you have any follow-ups (or anyoneelse, for that matter), feel free to ask! =)

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littleoldrachel · 6 years

Text

Next chapter is up! Read it here on ao3, or here on ff.net, or under the cut.

100 Ways to Say I Love You Summary: In which actions speak louder than words, Sirius and Remus sort of fall in to a relationship, and even though neither of them have said those three all-important words, they both know it anyway.Or: 100 Ways to Say I Love You by Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. Previous | chapter 12/100 - “Take my jacket. It’s cold outside” Based on this post by p0ck3tf0x Tw for mentions of negative body image, depression, anxiety, self-harm, fat-shaming, and discussions around classism.

The thing is, when Remus said you can go, it wasn’t meant to be a permanent thing. He didn’t mean take your stuff and get out of my home, he didn’t mean you’re not welcome here anymore. But he should have realised, that with Sirius’ history, he wouldn’t have taken it any other way. Within an hour of their row (? - Remus doesn’t want to call it a row, or a conflict, or anything that suggests that things aren’t fine between them, because in doing so, it acknowledges the mishmash of hurt, anger, and embarrassment that has tangled itself in his chest), every trace of Sirius’ semi-residential status has quietly removed itself from Remus’ flat.

And Remus hates it. He hates not hearing Sirius impersonating Freddie Mercury, he hates that there are no longer toothpaste smears on the bathroom sink from where Sirius spits too enthusiastically, he hates the way that Winky mopes around the patch of sofa Sirius had made his own, pawing at the indent his perfect arse left there.

For the longest while, all Remus can do is sit on the floor in front of his sofa, Winky against his chest, too numb to even cry. His head is a tornado of emotions, and he flips between self-doubting guilt and self-righteousness anger dizzyingly fast. On the one hand, he knows he’s justified in his frustration - and the part of him that has therapy stitched in to his very core reminds him that his feelings are valid and important. Impact matters more than intent - and whilst he doesn’t doubt that Sirius’ intentions were good (because Sirius is good - reckless and thoughtless and impatient, but fundamentally, unshakably good), it doesn’t detract from the fact that his words hurt. It hurts because Sirius should know better than to call him proud and force his ‘help’ upon him. It hurts because the implication that money and a new place to live would make all his problems disappear is fucking offensive.

It hurts because having Sirius living with him for the last couple of weeks has been so fucking domestic and lovely, and this was a just a harsh reminder of what cannot be.

(Remus has to suck in a shaky breath at this point, because, numb as he is, this wound has struck him at his centre, and it hurts).

And then there’s the other part of him - the part that is so steeped in self-loathing and depression that it will never truly be cleansed. It whispers that this was an overreaction, that it was deserved, that he’s ruined the best thing in his life - that Sirius will never come back. It murmurs that it wouldn’t be so bad to take the money and offer, that Remus has doomed himself to struggling forevermore. (It lies, Remus tells himself, though even in his head, he’s not as firm as he would like to be).

He’s itching to talk to his friends and have them validate his feelings, because if he keeps them inside his head, he is going to have a breakdown. He can already feel the ragged edges of his heart aching with every shuddering breath, and his eyes are burning with unshed tears.

But he can’t. Because Sirius will be home by now - with James and Lily, not with him, because home will never mean Remus ever again now - and Sirius will need them both. And… if he’s being really honest with himself, he’s afraid of what calling them might mean;

James doesn’t do sides, but if he did, Remus knows he would always choose Sirius in a heartbeat. The two of them are closer than brothers, and matter more to each other than almost anything else, and whilst Lily is more likely to be neutral, Remus cannot pit her against her best friend and fiance - not for his sake, it’s not worth it.

(He’s not worth it).

Remus jolts and realises his nails are embedded in his palms - the stinging pain in his hands is real, and he stares at the way blood oozes from the marks. It scares him how much Sirius means to him - it terrifies him that he’s so quickly reverted to old coping mechanisms, and it’s this unbridled panic that makes him finally move.

He needs to get out - and not in the sense those words would have meant a couple of months ago, he just needs some time out. Running away from his problems hasn’t always helped in the past, but the thought of staying here, and having to deal with the fallout of his and Sirius’ relationship, of having to explain himself to every one of his friends, of having to explore with his therapist why this hurts so much - he can’t.

And so, he won’t.

Winky blinks dopily at him, then tucks herself back into his stomach, and he makes a rare, spur-of-the-moment decision.

He’s going home.

(If you can call a place that made you despise everything about yourself, that tore you down with every millimetre you grew, that taught you that you were wrong and worthless and - if you can call a place like that home).

The following morning finds him at the train station, an over-priced ticket in his pocket and a dreadful heaviness in his heart. He’s thrown things together in a rucksack without really thinking - which is how he later ends up with twelve pairs of socks but no underwear - and he rang his mother on the way to the train. She had done her best to hide her surprise beneath a layer of genuine pleasure, but Remus knows there’ll be prying questions when he arrives.

(He’s weirdly okay with that - perhaps by then, his heart will have finished gouging scars in his chest).

And so, he avoids the calls from his friends, cancels on his therapist, pointedly doesn’t look at Sirius’ Snapchat story, and clambers aboard the train that will take him to the place he once thought he’d never escape. The journey is appalling - as all trains outside of London are - and it’s early evening before he finally arrives.

His father stands on the platform, a tall, thin man leaning on a stick and squinting at every passenger who exits the train. When he claps his eyes on Remus, he hobbles towards him as fast as his knees will allow.

“Ahuv, Remus!”

“Shalom, papa,” Remus returns, allowing himself to be clasped tightly in a warm embrace. Despite the rockiness of their relationship, the comfort this contact gives him almost brings tears to his eyes, and he has to swallow hard against his father’s shoulder to hide it.

“You look tired,” Lyall says, almost accusatory, and Remus waves a hand.

“Work. Delays. London stuff,” he says, “is mama at home?”

Lyall frowns at the change of subject, but allows it, attempting to take Remus’ backpack as they make their way to the car park. “No, we are collecting her from work on the way home. She is very happy you are here.”

“I’m happy to be here,” Remus says, internally wincing at how bad of a liar he is.

“Nobody is happy to be here, Remus. This is the place people come to die.”

“Papa.”

“Hush now.” His parents’ car is almost as battered as his own, and it takes three attempts before it sputters into life, but his father pats the dashboard affectionately anyway. “Tell me about your work.”

Remus shifts uncomfortably. “There’s not a whole lot to tell,” he says, and at his father’s noise of displeasure, he begins a halting update on the publishing company and its struggle in the digital age. By the time they’ve reached his mother’s place of work - a hotel on the outskirts of town - Remus is cringing from the weight of his father’s disappointment at his lack of anything - no success, no promotion, no clue what he’s doing with his life.

(Perhaps this was a mistake).

(But then his mother arrives and hugs him so warmly and tightly that he can’t stop the tears from leaking out this time).

Her chatter fills the journey back to his parent’s tiny house, and continues on into dinner. Remus is grateful for it, because exhaustion is starting to cloud his brain, and any more interrogation about his employment failures will lead to an actual breakdown. Instead, he soaks up the unchanged-ness of his childhood home and tries to pay attention to all of the gossip about people he used to know like his own family.

(He hopes that his father’s mention of the girl he’d briefly dated in secondary school was out of humour and not hopefulness, but the glint in Lyall’s eyes makes his heart sink).

The nostalgia here is suffocating - as he lies in a bed too small for his frame, and stares up at a ceiling that’s still covered with posters of animals, he struggles with the memories of the depression that had almost taken control of him as a teenager. He remembers avoiding looking at his body and the way it bulged when stepping from the shower, and how unhappy it made him to catch sight of his reflection. He remembers spending hour after hour either crippled with a darkness so all-encompassing, it pinned him in bed, or a panic so overwhelming, it was all he could do to lie as still as possible. He remembers picking apart razors and playing with lighters and sharpening shards of glass with the sole intention of destroying himself.

They aren’t good thoughts.

(But it’s not Sirius and how everything is ruined between them. It’s something altogether different and darker, but it sucks him into a restless sleep far more effectively than recent events could).

He deliberately hadn’t bought a return ticket - partially because he hadn’t felt able to make that sort of decision, and partially because his bank account wouldn’t stretch that far - and so, he doesn’t even think about going back. He spends his days wandering streets he used to know like the back of his hand, helping around the house with cleaning, and exploring the tracks into fields and forests at the edge of the town. Most of the time, he’s alone, but as long as he keeps himself busy, he’s fine - he can handle this.

He knows his parents are worried about him - they discuss him in hushed voices when they think he’s not listening, and he pretends not to notice the concerned looks they give him. His friends are worried too, and it’s this that reassures the tiny part of him that feared their rejection.

Look, he knows he can’t stay here forever - he can’t even stay here long at all, given the fact he’s supposed to be at work - but right now, it’s where he needs to be.

Alice: Is this you having a breakdown?

Remus: Nah, just needed some time out.

Alice: From ???

Alice: From Sirius?

Alice: Bc I swear, if /he’s/ the reason you’ve run off back to the place that nearly killed you, imma kill him.

Remus: It’s not like that Al

Remus: I swear, no killing necessary

Alice: Are you okay?

Alice: Like honestly?

Remus: Yeah

Remus: At least, I will be. I needed this.

Remus: It’s complicated. But I’ll explain when I’m back.

Alice: You are coming back, then?

Remus: ???

Remus: Of course??

Alice: Just checking

Alice: Love you [purple heart emojis]

Remus: [purple heart emojis]

James: i don’t like thinking of you being back there but i will accept that you’re doing what’s right for you

James: just know that i’m here when you’re ready to talk, k?

James: love you so much [sparkly heart emojis]

Remus: Thanks Prongs [sparkly heart emojis]

Lily: i miss u, when r u comin home?

Remus: Idk yet, but I miss you too [red heart emojis]

Lily: [sad face emoji, broken heart emoji, red heart emoji]

Sirius: can we talk pls?

“Don’t forget your drugs, hamud.”

“Aren’t I a little old to be your hamud, mama?” Remus looks up from his bowl of porridge with a wry smile, the endearment warming his heart.

Hope looks affronted, clasping a dramatic hand to her bosom. “Nonsense,” she says briskly, “you are always my hamud, Remus. In fact, here.” She whips his bowl away, deftly tips the bottle of golden syrup upside down and liberally sweeps it across the surface. When she returns it, she’s grinning mischievously, and Remus can’t help the chuckle that bursts out of him at the smiley face dribbled over the oats. “When you were little, you wouldn’t eat your breakfast without this,” Hope says fondly, and Remus smiles too as he’s tugged into the memory.

“And when you were in hospital, papa went out of his mind trying to get me to eat,” he says, spooning up a mouthful of pure syrup. “Because he didn’t know that I had your sweet tooth.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, ahuv,” Hope chides him, but she’s still smiling. In the weak morning sunlight, the rays catch the strands of her hair that are turning silver, and dance over the crinkles about her eyes. Remus deliberately doesn’t think about the way her eyes strain to read the papers, or how stiff she rises from prayers, because thinking about her ageing sends him on a downwards spiral into thinking about death and the anxiety that gives him is not something he ever wants her to witness.

Remus swallows and takes another bite. Hope sips at her tea, and the morning is quiet and still for a while as they sit with their thoughts.

Eventually, Hope clears her throat. “It’s not that I don’t love having you here,” she begins, and Remus’ heart sinks at what must be coming next, “but I am worried about you being here.”

“You don’t need to worry, I’m fine,” Remus says automatically, and Hope tsks loudly.

“It is an insult to me as your mother that you expect me to believe that.” Remus lowers his spoon, ready to apologise, but Hope continues. “It’s my job to worry about you, ahuv. And it doesn’t take much to work out that something’s upsetting you.”

Remus hesitates, because whilst he and his mother are both trying this openness and honesty thing, there’s a large part of him that still feels he has to shield the ugly parts of himself from her, that doesn’t want to burden her with his messy problems. In that pause, Hope reaches a hand out towards him, and links their fingers together.

“Talk to your mama, Remus.”

Remus sighs. “It’s - it’s complicated. I - sort of argued with Sirius. And I’m really pissed at him, but I still l - he’s still my friend, and I… I guess I’m just disappointed.”

“What did you argue about?” Hope’s tone is neutral, but when Remus raises his eyes to hers, the care in them is so much that a lump rises in his throat.

“He… well, I told you about his Uncle Alphard.”

“Yes, yes, the reason you didn’t come to Hanukkah.”

“When he died,” Remus says slowly, “he left Sirius his money. A lot of money. And Sirius - he said he’d give me half of it.”

There’s a pause. Hope’s eyebrows have climbed to her hairline, and then she repeats incredulously, “he’d give you half?”

Remus pushes himself from the table and begins to pace, unable to control the irritation that is thrumming through his limbs.

“It’s like he thinks he can just throw money at a situation and magically make it better? Like I don’t know that my flat is terrible. And he comes along with his millions and says he’ll move us somewhere better and I’m just supposed to click my heels and snap to it? Like I’m some fu- some charity case.”

Hope stares down into her mug. When she speaks, she sounds tired - more tired than Remus has ever heard, “when someone is born with that level of privilege, it takes a long time for them to unlearn it. I’m not -” she raises her hands placatingly when Remus makes to protest. “I’m not trying to excuse him. He should know better. And that he doesn’t is exhausting for us working-class folks.”

“I’m just tired of it. I’m tired of having to save everything I can and watch them spend the equivalent of my rent on a shopping spree. And I know they don’t even mean to be dicks about it, but that sort of makes it worse, because they’re so used to their entitlement that they don’t have to think about it.”

Hope lets him rant - perhaps it’s because she can tell he needs to let this out to someone who understands, perhaps it’s because she uses his frustration to fuel her own anger, perhaps it’s because she loves him and she’s his mother. Either way, she makes an encouraging noise to continue, and suddenly, it’s like every ache of growing up in poverty is exploding out of him:

“They’ve never understood it - not really. James and Sirius both come from private school, six-car, four-house families. At uni, I had to teach them how to do their laundry, because they have people to do that for them. They didn’t understand why I had to have two jobs to cover uni. They don’t understand how privileged they are that their parents paid for their accommodation and tuition fees and everything they asked for. They don’t understand what it’s like to have to learn to drive illegally in your cousin’s stolen car because their daddies bought them their own when they turned seventeen.”

Remus leans against the table, hands clenching its surface so tightly he can feel the splinters embedding themselves in his palms. “And even the others are too middle class to get it - Lily went abroad every year for holidays, and Frank and Pete sort of get it but they’ve never struggled for money for meals or had to watch their parents go to bed hungry so that they could eat.” He meets his mother’s eyes and the understanding in them draws him back to his seat with a sigh. “And I'm glad they've not had those experiences… I’m just tired.”

“I’m sorry, ahava shelli,” Hope says after a while, once it becomes clear that Remus has run out of steam. There’s little else that can be said, and Remus continues to stew in his hurt frustration, the pleasant feeling from before entirely dissipated. He glares at the smiley face in his bowl - though its smile has turned into a grim slash by now.

The silence stretches for a long while, and Remus can tell Hope’s building up to something, because the anticipation makes his stomach squirm unpleasantly.

“You know that Sirius didn’t mean this maliciously,” Hope says carefully, and Remus opens his mouth to protest - because sure, but? Not the point? But Hope quickly continues, “I’m not saying to forgive him immediately. Because he needs to learn to be better. Not just for your sake. But… if this boy is as good as you’ve made him sound over the years, I know he’s going to do the work. He cares too much to let this come between you. And so do you.”

“I know,” Remus says softly - this isn’t anything he hasn’t spent the last week circling back to in his head, but somehow, hearing it out loud makes something click.

(I care too much to let this come between us).

“You know why this hurts so much,” Hope murmurs, squeezing his hand gently.

Remus takes a deep breath, and it aches like pulling glass from a wound when he admits, “I’m just - I can’t help but think we’re too different sometimes. Like, even if he felt the way I do, we’re from such different lives - I have nothing to offer him that he-”

“Remus John Lupin. I did not raise you like that.” His mother’s voice is sharper than it’s been this whole conversation, and Remus starts. “Money or no money. That man would be lucky to have you. Do I make myself clear?” she says fiercely, and Remus nods meekly.

(One day, he’ll be able to believe her. One day, he’ll know his worth - he has to trust in that. For now, he’ll have to trust in the people he trusts the most).

“So, what now?” Hope says eventually, quieter and calmer than before.

“I just need him to apologise,” Remus says at last. Because if he doesn’t - then he’s not the man Remus is convinced he is, and he’s not worth the years of pining Remus has subjected himself to.

(But he will apologise, and he is worth it. Remus is certain of it).

“Have you let him?”

“I - what?”

“Have you given him the chance to apologise?” Hope says.

Remus looks at her, then down at the porridge, and bites his lip.

“I think you know what you need to do, hamud,” Hope presses the palm of a warm, weathered hand against his cheek, and leaves the room.

Travelling back to London feels bizarre - although he was free to leave his parents’ this time around, there’s a sense of lightness and freedom that accompanies him all the way down south. It’s warmer in the city, and it’s warmer in his soul - though sadly not in his flat as he re-enters, and shivers as the temperature drops a few degrees.

He can’t afford to turn the heating on, so he pulls on another woolly jumper and pretends its as good, and makes a cuppa. Once he’s settled on the sofa with a blanket about his shoulders, he pulls out his phone, and begins to respond to the piles of messages he’s left answered over the last few days.

Eventually, he comes to Sirius’, and tries to summon the same resolve he felt yesterday, in that tiny kitchen.

(It shouldn’t be so difficult to tap out such a brief response).

Remus: Yes, when?

His heart speeds up painfully when he hits send, and he clutches his phone to his chest like a teenage girl, because he likes Sirius so fucking much, no matter how problematic he is, and he’s desperate for this to work out.

His phone buzzes, and Remus jumps, immediately checking his notifications. To his… disappointment? Relief? He’s not sure how to feel - either way, it’s not Sirius.

Instead, it’s a message to the group from Kingsley, informing them all that the following evening is a Compulsory Gang Meet, to be missed under pain of death. His friends are so fucking dramatic.

Speaking of dramatics - Winky slinks into the apartment through the tiny broken windowpane, catches sight of him, and flings herself at his feet, meowing loudly. Alice has been coming and feeding her, but Remus still feels guilty that she’s been alone all week.

He snaps a selfie of her curled against his stomach, and goes to send it to Sirius - even goes as far as to tap out a how cute is your daughter??? before remembering.

(Soon, things will be normal again, and Remus can go back to pining in peace - still torturing himself with dreams that can never be, but at least he’ll be torturing himself with Sirius instead of this awful distance).

To say that things are Awkward at the pub, would be the understatement of the century - possibly even the millenia. Sirius nodded and smiled when Remus arrived - late, obviously - but they haven’t talked yet, and the only available seat was directly opposite Sirius, not exactly ideal for a deep, meaningful chat.

“Gonna go for a smoke,” Kingsley stands, waving his lighter. “Anyone coming?”

“Yep,” Frank says solemnly, pulling out his inhaler, and making to stand. Alice rolls her eyes, too used to his jokes to even muster a smile, and yanks him back down unceremoniously.

“I’ll come,” Remus says, surprising himself, because cigarette smoke makes his head hurt and stings his eyes, but he also can’t stand the unhappy tension every time his and Sirius’ eyes meet.

Kingsley’s eyes flicker knowingly towards Sirius, then back at Remus, and his smile twists into something too sympathetic for Remus to bear. “Let’s go,” Remus says hurriedly, seizing his threadbare coat from the back of his seat, and looping an arm around Kingsley’s.

Sirius suddenly stands, and the chatter of the group dies immediately, as their friends look between them. The attention makes Remus’ anxiety flare.

“Take my jacket - it’s cold outside,” Sirius says, his eyes imploring Remus to meet his gaze. Remus steadfastly looks at the floor, but takes the proffered leather jacket, sliding it around his shoulders.

He’s loathe to admit it, but it helps. It’s baggy around the shoulders and tight around his middle, effortlessly cool in a way that Remus has never been and could never be, but it takes the bite out of the wind. (And, a tiny treacherous corner of his mind whispers, it smells like Sirius - his fancy aftershave and outdoors and paints - which is possibly more comforting than any physical benefit).

Kingsley lights up a cigarette, taking a long inhale, and releasing his breath slowly, so that smoke combines with the mist it creates. He’s all long limbs and dark, glowing skin, casually sprawled against the pub wall, like something straight out of a catalogue. Remus leans beside him, and for a while, neither of them say a word.

Then -

“So. You and loverboy are in a tiff?” Kingsley’s tone is light, but he links their arms together in solidarity, which takes the sting out of loverboy.

“He’s not my loverboy.”

“Sure, and I’m a straight white boy.”

Remus rolls his eyes. “Fine. I like him-” (it’s strange how much easier that is to say out loud these days? Remus-half-a-year-ago would have a panic attack sooner than admit that) “-but it’s not like that.”

Kingsley blows a circle of smoke, and Remus is half-admiring (because Gandalf, duh?) and half-disgusted (because smoking, duh?). “What’d y’all fight about?”

Remus sighs. “Me being poor and him being rich.”

Kingsley frowns. “What, is he tryna Pretty Woman you?”

Remus laughs in spite of himself. “Something like that.”

Kingsley sighs. “Rich people, eh?”

“I know.”

“Are you gonna forgive him?”

Remus stares at him, because as if Remus has any choice in this, as if he’d let this stand between almost a decade of friendship and an unrequited crush. “Of course.”

“Does Sirius know that?”

“What do you mean?”

“I heard through the grapevine that he’s convinced he’s ruined everything.”

“If by grapevine, you mean you eavesdropped on him-”

“Fuck you, I have my sources,” Kingsley elbows him playfully in the ribs.

Remus laughs. “I’m waiting for an apology. But when he does, of course he’s forgiven.”

Kingsley stares at him. “If you were any more in love with him, you’d be vomiting rainbows, I hope you know how gross you’re being.”

“Wow that’s homophobic.”

“Your mum’s homophobic.”

“Not anymore.”

Kingsley cackles, stubs out his cigarette, and slings an arm around Remus. “I’ve missed you, don’t just disappear again, kay?”

“I won’t.”

Kingsley shifts from one foot to another. “Fuck, it’s cold. You coming back in?”

“In a minute. Go on without me.”

“You sure?” Kingsley frowns, but he’s only wearing a shirt, and just the sight of him is making Remus shiver.

“Go,” he urges, and Kingsley slips back inside, the door swinging shut behind him.

Remus leans back against the wall, wrapping the jacket around himself, and exhaling slowly. He can’t say that he’s altogether surprised when the door opens again, and a familiar voice says, “Moony?”

Sirius stands there, wringing his hands together, looking more nervous than Remus can bear. “Can we talk?”

“Yes,” Remus says immediately, and Sirius’ shoulders visibly relax.

“Thank you,” he says, the relief palpable, “can we…?” He gestures down the road, and Remus shrugs.

“Sure.”

Sirius smiles - hesitant and still nervous, but just as fucking cute as ever. Remus’ heart - his stupid, fucking traitorous heart - pounds a little harder at the sight of it (and wow, he’s never getting over this man).

“Let’s go.”

#littleoldrachel writes #writing #fic #wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #100 ways to say i love you

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scripttorture · 5 years

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How much do you know about torture apologia at a government level? Like people who are actually paid to torture terrorist? I feel like that is a government-approved thing unless I’m mistaken. How can they not see they’re getting no information or just plain wrong information? And these ‘professionals’ are hiding their mental health problems? Or is the FBI torturing terrorists for information not as real as we are lead to believe? I’ve got a story idea about a victim mistakenly accused.

Thisis a pretty broad question. And it also sounds like it’s trying tostart a debate over getting writing advice. I’m going to give itthe benefit of the doubt and take it at face value as a writingquestion.

Ithink the short answer is essentially: read Rejali. He covers this inconsiderable depth, it’s the last third of his book. I’ll do mybest to summarise his points but I can’t produce 300+ pages ofevidence plus sources on a blog like this.

O’Maraalso talks about it a fair bit and Cobain’s entire book is aboutthe links between torture and the British government. Granted Cobaindoesn’t know a thing about torture but the pattern of legalwrangling and political apathy he records is incredibly valuable.

Thereare a couple of points I think are important going forward.

Thefirst is that although information is often the justification givenfor torture it’s rarely the point.

Somethingcan be justified, ignored or tolerated in someparts of a government and stringently punished in other areas.

Inlarge enough organisations leaders can be genuinely unaware what somemembers are doing.

Sogiven those points let’s start with the second question becauseit’s easiest.

Inmodern democracies people are notpaid to torture. That is not their official role. They are hired asguards, soldiers, teachers, care takers, nurses, doctors, police anda handful of other professions.

Thatis they are being paid for.And it’s not what they’re doing.

Whetherwhat they’re actually doing (torture) is condoned by anyone furtherup the chain of command then their immediate superiors is reallydependant on the circumstances. And very difficult to prove.

Governmentapproval of torture in modern states rarelylooks like top officials saying ‘We torture people!’

Here’sthe kind of phrasing it looks like instead:

‘These particular set of abuses are not torture because-’

‘This isn’t really painful’

False equivalence such as ‘Well I diet voluntarily so starving someone can’t be harmful’

Outright denial ‘Our troops could never do that!’

Ouright denial Part 2 ‘Well no one told us that was happening!’

Shifting the blame ‘Those people are lying to get into the country/get money/get attention etc-’

Shifting the blame Part 2 ‘Those people deserve it because they’re mentally ill/an ethnic minority/poor/violent/look like trouble etc-’

‘Obviously we don’t torture people but we should because it would work!’

‘We need strong measures in these desperate times!’

The sort of political/cultural outlook that links efficiency to ‘toughness’ and sees kindness and compromise as weak

Tortureapologia on the government level thrives on plausible deniability andredefining terms until they’re unrecognisable.

Forthe purposes of your story I think you’d probably be better offstepping back from the FBI.

WhatI mean by that is- if you’ve been looking for sources specificto the FBI that’s why you’re so confused. Those sources arepoorly collated, poorly studied and (personal opinion) deliberatelyconfusing.

Awellstudiedwell recorded example of torture as unofficial-government-policywould be the Franco-Algerian war. And this is alsobeset by confusion because a lotof the sources from the French side were written by torturers tojustify their actions after the event.

Onceagain I’d recommend reading Rejali and for greater context on whathe says Alleg’s TheQuestionand Fanon’s appendices to TheWretched of the Earth.

Yestorture continues because of governmental positions. But that doesn’tnecessarily mean outright orders to torture.

Itcan mean a lack of political will to eradicate torture, ie no one islooking for it. It can mean officials being aware of torture andchoosing to ignore it.

Myimpression is that apathyrather than malice at the top levels is the key. In the worst cases,yes there was outright malice from some individuals within a largergovernment. But it’s the apathy of the majority that allowed forabuse.

Governmentapproval doesn’tlook like a high level official ordering troops to torture.

Itlooks like the state Governor seeing that most of the police in theirstate probably use torture and sitting down to do this calculation:‘Am I more electable next year if I try to tackle this or if Iignore it?’

Italso looks like a Commissioner seeing that a person arrested for anemotive crime like terrorism has been complaining of ill-treatmentand doing this calculation: ‘Do I look better in the public eye ifI seem like I’m standing up for a person from a hated minority whois accused of doing something awful?’

WhatI’m driving at here is that- the reality is a lot more nebulousthen what you seem to be thinking of. Tacit acceptance, differentpriorities, cowardice- are all much more likely then the kind ofscenario where the elites explicitly order abuse.

Ithink I should move on to the third question which is just as tricky,before I get bogged down in labouring the point.

Howdo organisations not realise the information they get from torture iswrong?

Theshort answer is that by using torture they destroy the systems thatallow them to double check information. Because they can’t doublecheck anything they don’t realise that they’re working withincorrect information.

Iwilltell you how that happens but let’s have an analogy first to giveyou an idea of how skewed this makes the base information.

Imagineyou’re looking for information on the internet about something youhaven’t seen but you can’t use wikipedia, any popular searchengines or any official sites. You are going entirelyby searching tumblr. And you can only access the first piece ofinformation that comes up with any tag you search.

Picka popular fandom and imagine the kind of screwed up view you’d getof a character if you tried to find information about them like this.I am picturing the Flash fandom and Captain Cold and imagining justhow easy it would be to walk away with the impression that thecharacter was a main character not a bit part.

Nowlet me show you how including torture in an investigation is theequivalent of blocking yourself from everything but a hellsite with abroken search algorithm.

Sothe first thing to appreciate is that torture breakstrustwith the public. If torture is common place then no matter how‘secret’ an organisation tries to keep it the groups who areeffected find out.

Wenotice when people around us go missing. We pay attention when thereare stories of people ‘like us’ being hurt.

Andwe lose trust in authority. We stop reporting crimes. We stopvolunteering information.

Whichcuts an organisation off from the mainsource of accurate information they can get: voluntary reporting bymembers of the public.

Wedon’t report strange things our family or friends have done if wethink it might get them tortured. We don’t mention that we saw atall ginger man leave a back pack on that street near where the bombwent off.

Frompersonal experience- sometimes you stop reporting things even whenyou’re completely outside the context that taught you organisationscan’t be trusted. I’ve been assaulted in the UK and genuinely didnot consider calling the police. Because I learnt young that policeexist to ‘make people disappear’ and the habit is hard to break.

Thesecond point is that torture produces a lotof lies and human beings generally are terrible at telling whensomeone is lying.

Sotorturers don’t have access to the biggest source of accurateinformation but they dohear a lot of lies.

Thethird point is that when torture becomes part of an organisation thenpeople spend lesstimeconducting genuine investigations and fact checking.

Torturerstend to be pretty arrogant and they usually report looking down onpeople in their organisation who don’ttorture. Basically they seeing doing the hard work of a genuineinvestigation as boring and beneath them.

Thisworks togetherwith the first two factors to make it almost impossible to fact checkthings.

Imaginea group of 50 people tasked with investigating a particular incident.Five of them are torturers, so they’re not actually investigatinganything. This takes our number down to 45.

Thenwe remember that the torturers are generating information, even ifit’s false. Which the other members are investigating.

Let’sgo with low estimates. Let’s suggest each torturer has one victim aday (this is unlikely, real numbers are probably much higher) and outof those they get an average of two ‘possible leads’ each day(this would vary a lot, some victims would say nothing, some mightthrow out as many as twenty names in a day). Let’s also pretendthat a potential lead can be investigated by one person (this isinaccurate, I’d generally expect at least 2-3 people for each new‘lead’.).

We’vejust got rid of ten more people on the first day.

Let’spretend that it takes three days to investigate a lead. This is alsoa very low estimate, properly following up a lead can take weeks.

Withour low-estimate fictional organisation we’ve reduced the amount ofpeople doing useful work to 15 in the first three days.

Fifteenpeople trying to do the work of 50, while the torturers keepgenerating lies that are wasting the time of everyone else.

Thiscripples the organisation’s ability to work as all the time andenergy is going into investigating lies.

Andwhilethis is going on the torturers are still torturing. And they’reassumingthat their information is correct.

Sothey’re generating morelies that supportthe previous lies.

Letme give an example of what I mean.

Saya torturer takes in a random person. This first victim knows nothingabout the terrorist group but if they don’t give a name thenthey’re going to keep being tortured.

Sothey tell the torturer Wednesday Adams is definitely the leader ofthe terrorists in this area.

Nowa genuine investigator is wasting time looking for Wednesday Adams.May be they come back in a week and say that no such person exists.

Bythat point the torturer has been asking a lot of people aboutWednesday Adams. And some of them will have sworn they saw WednesdayAdams, that Wednesday Adams was behind that attack and that she haslinks to this other organisation and also that thing I saw on thenews once and- So on.

Itspirals.

Maybe it gets to the point where the torturer finally accepts there’sno ‘Wednesday Adams’ on the census. But by that point they’vestacked a lot of their personal reputation on the existence of thisshadowy leader.

Sorather than admit they’re just wrong, they assume ‘WednesdayAdams’ is a pseudonym and now they’re asking everyone what herreal name is. Now they have six different possible ‘realidentities’ for Wednesday Adams.

Andthis is how organisations can fail to notice that torture doesn’twork.

Becausethe scale of misinformation is just so huge. Because the amount oftime it takes to provethe information is wrong gives the torturers more time to embellishthe lie.

Becausesuperiors who are genuinely unaware torture is going on in theirorganisations might well look at this torturer, who keeps coming upwith new information, and these ten genuine investigators who comeback with nothing but dead ends, and decide that the tortureris the only one ‘getting things done’.

Itdoesn’t matter that they’re wrong. Because it takes months,years, to prove that they areand everyone in these organisations is under huge pressure to haveanswers now.

OKlet’s move on to question four; mental health problems intorturers.

Firstoff, I have yet to meet a mentally ill person who hasn’ttried to hide their mental health problems at some point. The worldis not very accepting of mental health problems whatever the context.The pressure to hide them is immense. In some places people are atreal risk of violence and abuse if their mental health problems arenoticed as mental health problems.

Inthat context- it isn’t surprising that torturers do try to hidetheir symptoms.

Thetoxic sub-culture torturers tend to produce is- It’s incrediblymacho. It tends to rely on ideas about how the torturers are ‘toughand strong’. It equates violence and lack of mercy with strength.

Itviews mental illness as weak.

Andbecause the people within these groups are violent, because they havea tendency to turn on each other, there’s a huge pressure to hidemental health problems. That’s way before you bring the widerorganisation into the picture.

Manyof the organisations torturers are typically part of actively try toscreen out mentally ill people. Being obviously mentally ill can meanlosing the job.

SoI don’tthink it’s particularly unusual that torturers try to hide mentalhealth problems.

Howsuccessfulthey are at hiding them is a different question and it’s difficultto answer.

Becausea lot of people are moved or dismissed on mental health grounds andthis does notmean they were involved in anything abusive.

Tortureis difficult to prove. Most torturers are not charged. Their crimesare not recorded as part of their record. They are not hired astorturers.

Accordingto the WHO around 10% of the global population has a mental health problem.

Howdo you tell the difference between the people who are just mentallyill, the people who developed mental illnesses because of ‘ordinary’job stress and the people who developed mental illnesses because theyabused others?

Withoutaccurate, fair recording of torture accusations itis impossible to tell.

Personally?I think it’s highly likely that a lot of torturers can’t hidetheir mental health problems well. That they reach a point and have abreakdown on the job. Then they lose their job.

Butall of that can happen with no record of abuse.

Weneed more research on torturers. Desperately.

Andanswering these questions about the circumstances around how peoplestop is incredibly important. It can help us spot them, it can helpus spot people who might be targeted for recruitment by torturers. Itcan help us stop torture.

Andright now there are frustratingly few answers.

Whichleaves the final question- Are the FBI torturers?

Honestly-I have no idea. I am not particularly interested in America orAmerican history. I am not American. I do not go out of my way toread things about the FBI and could tell you very little about whatthey do.

WhatI can tell you is that organisations likethe FBI have usually tortured at some point in their history. Thatglobally the United States has developed a reputation for doublestandards.

ButI can not make a definitive statement on a group I know next tonothing about.

Inorganisations likethe FBI iftorture is going on it’s often not in the entire organisation. Itis often particular branches, particular units, particular areasrather than the whole country-wide organisation.

It’seasy to make broad statements like ‘the Chicago police torturedpeople in 70s’. And that’s not untrue.

Butif we’re being specificit would be more accurate to say ‘there was a cell of torturersoperating within the Chicago police force in the 70s and the widergroup failed to stop them.’

Wasthe entire Chicago police force responsible for the abuses? I wouldsay yesbecause it was literally their job to stop these abuses and they didnot. However they were notall torturers. They were not all actively engaged in torture and Ithink it’s extremely likely that many people at the time simplydidn’t realise what was going on.

Incompetence,not necessarily active abuse.

I’vewritten an awful lot. It should be a start at answering some of yourquestions. But all of these questions are complex and difficult.

Idon’t think, in this case, you can take my answer as a substitutefor wider reading.

Onceagain, Rejali.O’Maraas well.

Allegfor the survivor’s perspective on what both describe.

Cobain,to be taken with a pinch of salt and read afterRejali because Cobain is not a scientist and falls for apologia quitea lot.

You’vechosen to tackle a story that’s going to be a lot of work. Try notto be discouraged by that.

Theseare important stories. And they deserve to be told properly.

Ihope that helps. :)

Edited for typos

Edit 2: @dude1818 That is really not funny and I don’t appreciate you trying to turn discussion of a serious crime into a joke.

I’m aware of the formatting problem and I’ve been trying to fix it for some time. I’m going to try another fix this week but I can’t actually test whether any of my attempts work because I don’t have a mobile phone.

Availableon Wordpress.

Disclaimer

#tw torture #behaviour of torturers #writing torturers #torture does not work #torture as interrogation #torture apologia #torture apologists #effect of torture on organisations #tw police brutality #Anonymous

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