#it’s that he’s been more established in his career for far longer—decades. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

imagineyourworld · 3 years

Text

Never Date a Pilot

Poe Dameron x Genderneutral!Reader

Summary: When he hears that you’re going on a date with another pilot your best friend is anything but happy

Warnings: None

Masterlist

-------

“You’re going on a date with Jak Milson?”

You put the datapad you had been working on down and looked up at Poe. Your best friend was standing in front of your desk, arms crossed in front of his chest and disbelief written all over his face.

“Hello to you too, Poe”, you sighed. From the way he was looking at you you knew there was no chance you’d get back to work soon. “And yes, I am going out with Jak.”

For a moment Poe just stared at you in silence, then he put both of his hands down on your desk and leaned closer to you.

“Why?”, he asked. Just a single word and yet it had you riled up. Yes, Poe was your best friend, but years ago you had established one single rule for your friendship: You would not talk about your dating or sex lives, at least unless one of you had a serious partner and the topic could no longer be avoided, but so far that’s never been the case.

“Do we have to talk about that now?”, you asked. You lifted your hands and motioned around the room. It was only when you looked around a second later that you noticed that although there were ten more desks in the room, all of them were empty. You were alone with Poe.

“Worried your boyfriend is gonna come in?”, Poe scoffed.

It was the tone rather than the words that made your gaze return to him. Sure, Poe could get mad, but even then he didn’t talk to you in that tone, especially not when he had no reason to be mad in the first place.

You leaned back further in your chair and sighed. Apparently you had been right and this conversation would take some time.

“He’s not my boyfriend, I’m just going on a date with him.”

“Why?”, Poe asked again.

Abruptly you jumped up from your chair, causing him to take a step back from you so your heads wouldn’t crash together. You walked to the other side of your desk until you were standing right in front of him.

“I thought we agreed not to talk about dating.”

Instinctively Poe nodded, but just a second later he shook his head. You rolled your eyes at your friend. Didn’t he see that you had a lot of work to do and didn’t want to talk about this?

“So I have to abide by your principles and you don’t have to?”

He stepped closer to you, so close that your chests were almost touching and you could see the tiny golden specks in his eyes. Usually being this close to him would make you flustered, but today it only made you angrier.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Did you know he’s a pilot?”, Poe asked just a fraction of a moment after your question has left your mouth.

You stared at him, your mouth opening and closing, your hands forming fists so tight you could feel your nails biting into the soft flesh.

“I did.”

You didn’t add that that might have been part of the reason you agreed to go out with Jak in the first place. Being a pilot, having soft curls, warm brown eyes and an easy smile he reminded you just enough of the person you would rather go out with to maybe forget about the best friend you have been pining over for years and move on.

All of the sudden the fight left Poe. He no longer stared at you with blazing eyes, but instead looked down at his feet, almost defeated. And no matter how much you just wanted to smack him a second earlier, now you longed to hold him until the worry lines on his handsome face disappeared.

“Poe”, your voice was barely above a whisper, scared you’d say the wrong thing. “What’s the matter?”

You reached out to capture both his hands in yours and gently rubbed soothing circles on his knuckles. “You know you’ll always be my favourite pilot.”

Gently, but determined, he pulled his hands out of my grib, though his eyes stayed locked on his feet.

“And yet you break your rules for another pilot.”

His voice was so soft and quiet, it took you a moment to fully register his words. Once you did, however, you were even more confused. Hadn’t he said something about rules earlier as well?

“Poe, would you stop speaking in riddles? What rules are you talking about?”

Finally he looked at you again. By now his expression was no longer angry or sad, it was plain confusion. You realized you probably didn’t look much different.

“Do you really not remember your rule about never dating pilots?”

You couldn’t keep the laugh that burst out of you contained. What on earth was he talking about? Sure, you’ve never dated a pilot, but that was partly because Jak had been the first pilot to ever ask you out and partly because you didn’t want to date just any pilot, you had a specific one in mind.

"I never came up with a rule like that."

“Of course you did!”, Poe exclaimed, a bit of the earlier fire returning to his voice and face. “Jean-Lyn’s seventh birthday party.”

He said the words with such a conviction that he must believe them to ring a bell, but you just shook your head.

“Poe, I barely even remember having been friends with someone names Jean-Lyn and certainly nothing that happened at their seventh birthday party.”

If the situation were less serious you might have laughed at the way hurt, confusion and realisation chased across Poe’s face.

“You really don’t remember, do you? We were playing a game or introducing ourselves or something, I don’t know, and we were supposed to say what we wanted to be when we grow up. I said that I was going to be a pilot and marry you, and I was one hundred percent convinced of both, but then you said that you would never date a pilot.”

You knew you shouldn’t laugh, after all, Poe was telling you about a childhood memory that clearly meant a lot to him, but you couldn’t help it.

“So you’re mad at me for something I said more than two decades ago? Poe Dameron, you are such an idiot.”

You were still laughing when Poe spoke again, but his words made you quiet down quickly.

“It’s not funny. Your words made me rethink my career countless times and if it weren’t for this war and the Resistance I would have quit flying years ago just to ask you out. And now I find out that you don’t even remember your own rule and are going out with a pilot that isn’t me.”

Finally it dawned on you. You remembered Poe thinking about not going to the Academy, wanting to quit flying and become a teacher instead, glaring at anyone who got close to you, but never another pilot.

A smile made its way to your lips.

“You know, there’s a pilot I would rather go out with that Jak”, you told Poe.

You didn’t know whether it was the years of friendship or the amused, yet loving and hopeful, expression on your face that told Poe you were talking about him, but he seemed to understand.

“I never said anything about going out with you, I said I want to marry you.”

His broad smile was matching yours and only grew when you pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

“How about we go on a date first, flyboy?”

Instead of an answer Poe put both of his hands on your waist and pulled you closer.

“Under one condition: Your new rule is that you don’t date a pilot who isn’t me.”

“I hate being told what to do”, you whispered against his lips. “But in this case I might make an exception.”

Instead of an answer Poe leaned down just a tiny bit more until your lips finally met in a soft kiss that sent fireworks through your entire body.

You had no idea why seven year old you said that she’d never date a pilot, because it was inevitable that Poe would become a pilot and there was no one else you’d rather date.

-------

Is this cute? Is this stupid? All I know is that writing this was more fun than doing my assignment

#poe dameron #poe dameron x y/n #poe dameron x you #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron imagine #star wars imagine #star wars sequel trilogy #poe dameron fluff

214 notes · View notes

robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Text

LQR Week 2021

Day 6 - Future (post-canon/modern AU/reincarnation) (ao3)

Lan Qiren was old, even for a cultivator. He hadn’t quite reached the levels of Wen Ruohan, but then again, he didn’t want to – he’d seen what living past a human lifetime, even an elongated one, had done to the man, and he wanted nothing to do with it.

He had, he thought, lived a good life, a full life. He had had a lonely childhood and a difficult adolescence, and his early adulthood had been marred by his brother’s tragedy, but he had made himself a life out of it: become a teacher to many, his students scattered all throughout the cultivation world, and raised two nephews, several of his cousin’s children, and even more grandnephews of varying degrees of troublesome. He had even, after the events of Wei Wuxian’s resurrection, gone out travelling at long last, even if he generally traveled in a carriage rather than by foot, and mostly visited his far-flung students instead of wandering freely.

It was time, he thought, for it to end.

The Cloud Recesses had always been surrounded by the warrens of wild rabbits – even more so after Lan Wangji had taken to tending to them in his misery – and visitors often made jokes comparing the white-clad Lan sect disciples to the white-furred rabbits. Lan Qiren had always been amused by those jokes, puerile as they often were; he often compared his colleagues and students to rabbits in his head.

Now, he supposed, it was his turn, for they said that rabbits would politely excuse themselves from their warren when they knew it was their turn to die, would wander off far away and find themselves a place to rest their bones that wouldn’t draw attention to their home, and he intended to do the same.

His nephews knew, he thought; they had both come to bid him farewell on his journey, even though to all appearances it was the same as any other journey he had taken over the past few decades, and they had brought the younger generation, juniors no longer, to do the same.

He had bid them farewell and went along his way.

He abandoned the carriage after a week, and went on foot. He thought he might be looking for something, even if it was only an appropriate place to put his grave, but he wasn’t quite sure what – only that he’d know it when he found it.

And then, one day, he found it.

“Hello,” the peerlessly beautiful woman said, cocking her head to stare at him as if she were a bird. “You’re a fair bit older than we usually get around here.”

Lan Qiren huffed, rolling his eyes, and raised his hands in a salute.

“Greetings to Baoshan Sanren,” he said. “I have a message for you from one of your disciples – and some criticism as to your teaching methodology.”

“I feel moderately certain I’m not supposed to remember any of this,” Lan Qiren said to the ceiling. “Quite certain, even.”

The vermilion-colored macaw he’d felt oddly compelled to buy as a pet for absolutely no reason whatsoever cackled at him from its nice cozy perch.

“And if I were going to remember,” he continued, feeling irritable, “then maybe a little earlier in life?”

Not that he would’ve given up his nephews for anything, not even the career he’d hoped to establish – as part of a proper orchestra rather than a street busker, in deference to his parents’ face – but maybe, if he’d known, he could’ve done something more to prevent this life’s iteration of his brother’s tragedy.

Of course, there was only so much one could do. He’d been born into a family of magistrates and civil servants, quiet understated scholars who nevertheless had the power to shake the government if they so wished, and He Kexin had murdered one of their elder statesmen. It would have been utterly impossible to keep her free – though his brother had tried his best. By pleading guilty having planned the attack and incited He Kexin into acting, he had reduced her sentence significantly, such that she would eventually see the light of day, while he, despite all the influence their family could (or would) bring to bear on his behalf, would probably not.

He would instead spend much of the rest of his life in solitary confinement.

Lan Qiren had seen the way things were going and had instead approached He Kexin with a suggestion that she marry his brother by proxy, allowing him at least the escape of conjugal visits – he’d tried to assure her that she wouldn’t need to do anything she wouldn’t want, except then she’d confessed that she had, in fact, been sleeping with his brother, and also that she was currently pregnant with his child, a fact she had hitherto not disclosed. She wanted to carry the child to term but had been raised and traumatized by the foster care system; she had agreed to the marriage in return for Lan Qiren’s agreement to raise her child as his own.

That had been little Lan Xichen, and a few years later there was Lan Wangji – and then He Kexin had died in a prison riot only a few short years before she might’ve emerged and reclaimed them.

“Too late,” the macaw cackled. “Too late, too late!”

Lan Qiren rolled his eyes. He didn’t mind his current life – he was a magistrate himself, although he taught classes in the nearby preparatory school in his free time, and his nephews were growing well – and he would rather have his nephews than anything else. And if it was too late for him, well, then there was still the next generation…

Wait.

If he was back, and his nephews were back –

Lan Qiren rapidly reviewed his list of acquaintances and grimaced.

Nie Mingjue was the youngest general in his nation’s history, a rising star in the country’s military and also already taking his first steps to reclaim the influence his father had had in politics; Jin Guangshan was the head of one of the country’s largest conglomerates and already leveraging his endless wealth into lobbying and influence; the Jiang sect with its scientists and laboratories, Jiang Fengmian acting as the head of the very same prep school that Lan Qiren taught at –

Wen Ruohan, sitting as always in the center of power.

The oligarchical center of power, which meant that the Sunshot Campaign equivalent was probably going to be all of their families rallying against an attempted coup designed to turn Wen Ruohan into a permanent dictator.

Great.

Lan Qiren rubbed his eyes. “I made one critique, Baoshan Sanren,” he grumbled at the macaw. “One! Did you have to be so damn touchy?”

#mdzs #lan qiren #my fic #my fics #LQR Week 2021

158 notes · View notes

onlydylanobrien · 3 years

Text

Dylan O'Brien - NME Magazine Interview

Dylan O’Brien: “I was in this transitional phase – close to a quarter-life crisis”

From YA heartthrob to legitimate leading man – how the 'Maze Runner' star hit his stride after a whirlwind decade

Definitely!” hoots Dylan O’Brien when NME asks if he still has to audition. “I’m not Tom fucking Hanks, bro.” He’s clearly amused by our question, but forgive us for thinking the 29-year-old actor gets cast on reputation alone. A decade into his career, and he’s making an impressive transition from teen TV star and YA franchise hero to charismatic leading man.

New York-born O’Brien cut his teeth on MTV’s hit Teen Wolf series, before landing the lead in the Maze Runner film trilogy based on James Dashner’s hugely popular novels. Leading a band of bright young things that included ex-Skins tearaway Kaya Scodelario, Game Of Thrones’ Thomas Brodie-Sangster and Will Poulter, he honed his craft while racking up nearly a billion dollars at the box office. “My career is a constant acting class,” says O’Brien. “To be able to do the Maze Runner movies simultaneously with Teen Wolf was amazing in terms of getting in reps and working my [acting] muscle.”

Now for the sometimes tricky bit. Many actors struggle with the post-breakout period, but O’Brien is making it look easy so far. This year’s Netflix hit Love and Monsters proved he can carry an old-school family adventure, and new film Flashback (out next week) reveals an appetite for weirder, more cerebral work. He stars as Fred Fitzell, a young man reluctant to buckle down to life as a nine-to-fiver with a boring corporate job and a long-term girlfriend (Mindhunter‘s Hannah Gross). When he runs into a freaky-looking acquaintance from his teenage years, Fred becomes obsessed with finding an old high-school friend he used to drop a mind-bending experimental drug called Mercury with. It’s difficult to say any more without entering spoiler territory, but Flashback is a wild ride underpinned by the idea that we can exist in several realities at once. Even if you follow every plot twist, you might not fully understand the end. “Oh, it’s definitely a headfuck,” O’Brien agrees. “There’s not totally an answer to figure out. There’s a lot of different things that people can take from it.”

Speaking over Zoom from his LA home, O’Brien is bright, thoughtful and really good fun to talk to, especially when he relaxes into the interview, but he clearly knows where his line between public and private lies. When he first read the Flashback script, written by the film’s director Christopher MacBride, his “mind was blown” by just how much he related to Fred. “I felt like I was in this transitional phase of my life that was, you know, sort of close to a quarter-life crisis type thing,” he says. “For whatever reason, it was like me and this script were meant to be. I remember reading it and thinking: ‘I am this guy right now.'”

“There were a lot of things in my personal life that were neglected for a while”

When we ask why O’Brien felt as though he had reached a “transitional phase”, he gives an answer that’s vague but not exactly evasive. For understandable reasons, he doesn’t mention the incredibly traumatic motorcycle accident he sustained while shooting the final Maze Runner film in March 2016. O’Brien suffered severe trauma to the brain and said in 2017 that he underwent extensive facial reconstructive surgery after the accident “broke most of the right side of my face”. Tellingly, he’s never really revealed what happened on set or how it affected him.

Today, O’Brien dances around the details of the accident and other issues he was dealing with at the time, but doesn’t shy away from discussing his inner conflict. “You know, it was a lot of personal things combined with at-a-point-in-my-career things,” he says after a brief pause. He says he’d have been going through some of this stuff anyway, simply because of his age, but it sounds as though success intensified it all. “It was like this whole fucking storm of shit,” he continues. “I was simultaneously so fulfilled and happy about these, like, otherworldly and surreal things that I had experienced in terms of where my career had brought me. I had all this confidence and fulfilment and beautiful people [in my life] – such amazing things to experience at a young age. But at the same time, there were a lot of things in my personal life that were unchecked and sort of neglected for a while.”

O’Brien says that in time, he realised he had to “stop for a second” and “re-explore how I wanted my life to look going forward”. In fairness, you can see why he needed a breather: his career took off while he was still a teenager. After his family moved from New Jersey to Los Angeles County when he was 12, O’Brien contemplated a career as a sports broadcaster – his Twitter bio still bills him as a “no longer suffering Mets fan” – then began posting YouTube videos as moviekidd826. A funny, slickly edited skit titled ‘How to Prepare for the SAT in 45 seconds’, shared when he was just 17, shows he was a born performer and storyteller. YouTube success led to him getting a manager, but his breakthrough role in Teen Wolf still came out of the blue. At the time, he was treading water at a local community college and taking auditions on the side.

Still, he has since taken a rather fatalistic view of this career-making moment. “It’s totally weird because, when I think about it now, I don’t see how it could have happened any other way. I can’t picture myself doing anything else now,” he told Collider in 2011. “It was really sudden and a little random, and not provoked by anything. It was just out of nowhere. It wasn’t my intentional doing.” Today, O’Brien summarises his skyscraper career trajectory succinctly. “I guess I just graduated high school and started acting,” he says. “And then I felt like I was just flying by the seat of my pants and never got a chance to stop.” Thankfully, straight-out-the-blocks Hollywood success hasn’t taken away his sense of perspective. When I say how easy social media makes it to compare yourself unfavourably to others, O’Brien jumps in: “Yeah, that’s very true. I was watching the Billie Eilish doc the other day, and I was like, I’ve done nothing. I’m not an artist at all!”

“No one thought ‘Love and Monsters’ was going to be good!”

O’Brien is also self-deprecating when he talks about being cast in Flashback, suggesting it happened because he had such an intense connection with Fred. “I was honestly like, ‘Who is watching me right now?’ That is the best way I can describe how I was feeling when I came across this script,” he says. “Chris [MacBride, director] and I had this conversation that went so well in terms of [my] understanding this script that I think he’d sent around a lot and [that] very commonly wasn’t understood. I think Chris has even said that the night before shooting, he suddenly had this thought, like, ‘Wait, do I even think he’s a good actor?'”

Though O’Brien has firmly ring-fenced elements of his private life, he’s actually pretty frank about his acting vehicles. He readily admits he was expecting a snobbish response to Love and Monsters, a CGI-heavy hybrid of post-apocalyptic action and romcom that dropped on Netflix in April and topped the streamer’s daily most-watched list. “It means so much that Love and Monsters has gotten the response that it’s gotten,” O’Brien says. “No one thought this movie was going to be good.” His blunt honesty makes me laugh out loud. “No one did though!” he says in response. “And so, fuck that. You know, most of the people who say something to me about the movie, they’re like: ‘I watched Love and Monsters, and it was… good?’ And honestly, that just cracks me up.” For obvious reasons, we hastily decide not to share our response to the film – namely, that it was a whole lot better than expected.

In Love and Monsters, O’Brien plays Joel, a survivor of a so-called “monsterpocalypse” that has bumped humans to the bottom of the food chain. Though he’s known in his colony as a bit of a coward, Joel sets off on a treacherous 80-mile journey to find his high school sweetheart Aimee (Iron Fist‘s Jessica Henwick), which means evading the hungry clutches of various supersize grizzlies including a giant monster-frog hiding in a suburban pond. It’s a simple but pretty out-there premise that wouldn’t work if O’Brien’s performance was even slightly condescending. Instead, his unselfconscious sincerity really sells a film that has as much in common with the family-oriented Robin Williams movie Night at the Museum as darker fare like The Walking Dead.

His obvious affection for the project really comes across during our interview today. “When I read the script, I just thought it was so sweet and funny and smart and unique, but at the same time reminiscent of all these movies that don’t really get made any more,” he says. That’s a fair point: Love and Monsters is neither a fail-safe superhero movie nor a slice of classy Oscar bait. “And when they were talking about how to market this movie, it was so funny hearing all these conversations like, ‘How do we actually get people to watch it?'” he adds. “But that’s a big part of the reason I wanted to do this movie: because it felt like something I missed seeing.”

“I’m lucky to be surrounded by people who want to make something out of love”

So in a way, Love and Monsters was a risk for an actor seeking to establish himself outside of a bankable movie franchise and a hit TV show. O’Brien has only made four films since his final Maze Runner outing in 2018, and insists he hasn’t been tactical with his choices. “I don’t have anyone saying, ‘We need to get you in an Oscar vehicle’, or any of that kind of shit,” he says. “I’m really lucky to be surrounded by people who think like me: that you should do what you’re drawn to, and make something out of love.”

He’s recently finished shooting a mysterious crime thriller called The Outfit in London with Mark Rylance. Directed and co-written by Graham Moore, who won an Oscar for his screenplay to Alan Turing biopic The Imitation Game, O’Brien calls it “quite possibly one of the most special pieces of writing I’ve ever experienced”. He first read the script on a plane and says he “actually stood up and clapped” when he got to the end. Considering O’Brien probably wasn’t flying Ryanair, this reaction presumably attracted a few baffled glances.

Anyway, it must be pretty intimidating walking onto set with Rylance, a multi-award-winning actor revered by his peers – Al Pacino once said he “speaks Shakespeare as if it was written for him the night before” – but it sounds as though O’Brien took it all in stride. He says he’s confident in his abilities, but admits to having a slight wobble whenever he begins a new project. “I’m always sort of re-questioning everything – like, ‘Can I even act?'” he says. “But I think there’s something very natural about that. I think even Rylance could relate to that feeling. Acting is like starting a new year at school every single time.”

At this point in his career, O’Brien has made peace with the fact that some people will have preconceptions about him based on what he’s known for: Maze Runner and Teen Wolf. “People will put you in a box no matter what,” he says. “There was definitely a time when that would get to me, especially when it felt like somebody had a perspective on me that in my soul, I just felt wasn’t accurate.” Still, there’s no doubt he wants to show us what’s really in his soul with more films like Flashback. “If anything,” he adds bullishly, “it just makes me think: ‘Right, I’m really gonna show them now’.”

‘Flashback’ is out on digital platforms from June 4

#dylan o'brien #love and monsters press #flashback press #the outfit press

109 notes · View notes

logicalbookthief · 4 years

Text

Class Disparity and Narrative Framing

Since a bunch of people liked my tags on this post, I thought I’d expand on this this topic.

I’m hoping we delve more into this once we get a proper backstory for Mr. Compress / Oji Harima, as it seems to be the basis for Harima’s actions in his era.

This was originally going to be just an analysis of how similar characters of different classes are treated by the narrative (specifically in regards to Ch 299) but want to first establish the role that class plays in the story overall.

Let’s start with the Peerless Thief (Oji Harima) and what we know of his ideology.

And his criticism isn’t unfounded. Heroes make a lot of money. And that’s in addition to the benefits they receive, such as medical care, education, internships. All free of charge. Once you become a hero, you’re pretty much set financially. That’s the main reason Ochako enrolls in UA, because she wants to help her struggling, working-class family.

But why did Harima find this system so unfair? If everyone has an equal opportunity to become a hero, where’s the harm in it being so profitable?

Except. Not everyone can become a hero. That is a fact Izuku had to contend with his entire childhood. For one thing, they need to have a quirk. So this eliminates the quirkless portion of the population automatically.

You need to also have a quirk that is useful in rescue & combat situations (eliminating more mundane quirks / quirks that have drawbacks that outweigh its ability) and a quirk that is marketable to the public (eliminating any quirks that are off-putting or unpalatable to people, such as Toga drinking blood or mutation quirks that aren’t “cute” or “aesthetically pleasing” enough to tolerate).

Essentially, you need to win the genetic lottery to get a quirk that qualifies you for heroism, an opportunity that offers a large degree of wealth and influence. And that’s where we get into the issue of class.

Class is defined as a group of people who share a socioeconomic status; and in BNHA, this is determined not only by birth, but also can be tied to quirks. The socio part is non-explanatory, as Izuku begins the manga showing how not having a quirk caused him to be treated differently by his peers.

The economic aspect of this is more subtle, but it’s started to come into focus with characters like Twice, Hawks and Compress.

Probably the reason Harima called for reform is this: Children inherit their quirks from their parents. Just as they inherit their socioeconomic status. Someone with a quirk that enables them to become a hero will not only pass on this wealth to their child, but also will likely pass on a quirk that would allow the child to pursue a hero career. This is why you see legacy heroes like Tenya, Shouto, etc.

This ensures that wealth remains in the family, generation after generation. Likewise, it can ensure that another family remains in poverty without any chance for mobility. In a sense, it’s the rich get richer while the poor get poorer.

Obviously, you have examples of mobility — Hawks and Ochako are the first that come to mind — but they had/have this opportunity because of their quirks.

Yes, you can still be a hero without the permission of the Hero Commission. Without a license, though, you will a) not be paid and b) be labeled a vigilante, which is the same as a criminal.

As an side-note, because I’m a nerd for words and history— in English, the origin for villain comes from the Medieval Latin villanus, or villa, a dwelling where poor farmers in the village would live. Yeah, that’s right: Villain used to just refer to a person of lower class. If you look at the etymology, many words with these connotations began as words associated with the poor. And in the hands of the aristocracy, they were effectively used to criminalize the poor.

And with that, we’ve circled back to the analysis of characters I promised at the beginning: Thief Takami and Enji Todoroki. Many have pointed out their similarity since Ch 299 was released. Rightfully so!

Both abused their children.

Both isolated their children.

Both of their wives (idk if it’s confirmed Tomie was married to Takami but that’s essentially how they lived) viewed their children through the lens of their fathers due to the unhealthy relationships they had with their husbands.

Both of the mothers were driven to a point where they couldn’t take care of their children, due to either the father’s presence/absence in the family.

What strikes me most in this comparison is how you can’t separate these characters from the issue of class. It permeates every panel and informs our understanding of their situations.

Takami is a piece of shit who blames his child for existing, something this poor kid had no control over. He views Keigo as a burden to him and his freedom and resents him for it.

The glimpses we get of the house show they live in squalor. A child is an extra mouth to feed, an extra person to provide for. You can’t examine the abuse without acknowledging the role of their nonexistent finances: Thief Takami was literally a criminal so he could get money.

Meanwhile, you have Endeavor, who is also a piece of shit, wrapped in a shinier package. He bought his wife with the intention of making children -- as many as needed -- so he could create the perfect combination quirk. Money was no object.

Expenses for Rei’s decade-long hospital stay, the nanny/housekeeper to care for the neglected kids, the fact he can so casually decide to build a new house for his family... It is never addressed by anyone in the story, because it doesn’t need to be. Money is no object.

I’m curious as to what class Rei’s family was (and I’m not exactly hopeful we’ll get this info, based on she’s been treated so far) that they agreed to this arrangement. If they were poor, the idea that their daughter would be taken care of financially might’ve enticed them. Hell, the idea that her family would be taken care of financially might’ve enticed Rei.

Through this analysis, I’ve also realized just how paranoid / concerned the Takamis act in comparison. Thief Takami isolates his whole family out of fear they will sell him out. Tomie is afraid she will be criminalized by mere association and chooses a life on the streets over the risk of going to the police.

Contrast this to how Shouto has revealed his father’s abuse to classmates he barely knew. How Fuyumi mentions in front of his friends who are interning under Endeavor that Natsuo blames their father for Touya’s death; later, Enji admits he is responsible. Remember when Endeavor flat-out told All Might, who was the most influential hero in the country at the time, that he created his son for the sole purpose of surpassing the Number One??

Yet the narrative gives this none of the weight it deserves. Because there are no stakes for Endeavor and everybody knows he will face no consequences for his crimes. The difference is that Takami & Tomie were well-aware that they would be punished if they were caught; while Endeavor & the Torodorkis are well-aware that he would not.

Suffice to say, it is telling that while the narrative has no qualms with condemning Thief Takami for his crimes and abuse of his family -- as it should -- it gives Endeavor the benefit of the doubt and chance after chance to prove he is “worthy” of redemption, even though his victims have never once denied his guilt and they certainly hold him accountable. And the only difference is that one man is from poverty while the other is from privilege.

Anyway, I could say more on this subject -- I would like to touch on how Ochako fits into the class discussion but this got longer than anticipated, so I may have to make a separate post for her -- but I’ll leave it at that for now.

#bnha #bnha meta #bnha 299 #thief takami #enji todoroki #oji harima #mr. compress

233 notes · View notes

beni-draw-ikemen-please · 3 years

Text

Casablancas

Tags: 5+ Years AU, Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Teasing, Hair-pulling, Vanilla, Rough Sex, Cunnilingus, He is a boob man, Not Beta Read, Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Feels, Light Angst, Waiting, Unrequited Love

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland

Word Count: 6,443

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Jade Leech x Asami Oda (OC)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32076625/chapters/79462633

A/N: All my TWST works will reference my original long fic of my OC, Asami and Leona Kingscholar.

If you'd like to know how the relationships got established, you may read the long fic EYES NOSE LIPS. I was in desperate need for some Jade teasing and smut and this came to me and I JUST - I needed to write it. Thank you so much for @pseudofaux for the help with writing some of the imagery I had for this piece.

She is an amazing writer and writes for most Otome Fandoms (and anime) tastefully, skilfully and beautifully!

Chapter 1: I’ve missed you

It would be like this. The quiet week when Jade finally takes a few days off from work. It would be subtle, but it was a regular occurrence, a few days in the middle of the month.

A few months before he finished his final year in the magical university, Jade was given a shiny opportunity as a manager-in-training for a luxurious hospitality agency. And while Floyd opted for a more adventurous career, Jade quite liked the more domestic approach. He liked staying in one place, and doing what he knew he could do best. To serve .

Triton Hotel is strategically and most notably one of the most iconic landmarks of Santería — a neighbouring Savanna sharing a border with Afterglow. About six hours by plane, but only two hours to pass through a magic mirror.

He’ll clock out with everything in order, a set of phone numbers and potions at the ready if an event where he is desperately needed may occur. He'll make sure though, prior to this appointment that he won’t be needed. At least, until his awaited engagement was fulfilled.

══════ ∘◦❁◦∘ ══════

As his gloved fingers aligned the last bit of stem on a vase of casablanca lilies, he straightened himself, brushed his jacket neatly in place as he eyed the clock. Any minute now—

A soft knock by his door. Precisely just as he predicted. His loft had been thoroughly cleaned, and he put on fresh flowers she liked. Got that room mist she picked out the last time they went out for tea. Jade Leech would breathe in, as if savouring the air through his lungs in this form. The form he felt fortunate to swell in.

To have this skin—

He reached for the brass handle, and as he opened the door, there she was. Raven hair tied neatly behind her. Her collared shirt buttoned just how he liked it. Her dark long skirt covered most of her beauty, beauty he was all too familiar with. Jade smiled at her, and gestured for her to come in. A gloved hand slowly finding themselves ghosting the small of her back. “Come in,” it tells her. Quietly, very gently hovering over, already anticipating the warmth of her supple—

“You’re late,” he chuckled, and instantly her cheeks would sport a mellow pink. And then, as he spoke and approached her, as his hands found her close and closer, the colour growing as intense, her apology now irrelevant, her face now too alluring, too inviting for him not to be this close. “Jade-san—

He wished she dropped the honorific. He felt as if she was calling someone else, someone familiar yet at the same time, still a stranger, even after all those years.

And though he was not present in her life, he hasn’t been for years— almost a decade— Jade felt that his shadow still clung around the scent of her hair.

Still clawed its way into her dreams when they lay together at night.

“I’ve missed you so—” she did, and he could feel it. The way she pulled him close, so close to her, he would always need to reach down even though Jade knew he could easily lift her in his arms. But she wasn’t fond of that, he knew better. It would remind her of him— her other, her long-lost love. The one who didn’t return her affections. The one who left.

Remembering him ticks something inside of Jade.

Hands would trail from her small shoulders, slowly removing the white gloves with his teeth. A sight he knew always excited her.

Thumbs slowly finding themselves by the small of her neck. He’d stop there, mismatched eyes of ochre, and lead admiring her features, gently—fiercely. Jade always felt the need to compete with a ferocity that’s been a struggle for her to forget. Even with him there.

She is the same Asami, yes she is— though, the years have certainly made her even more impeccable than the days she used to waltz across the floors of the Mostro Lounge. And her long hair now, framed her face better. Not that her shorter hair didn’t. Something about her keeping it tight and in place behind her excited the fins under his flesh, under this form.

Something about the way she kept herself from others; from the long sleeves she always wore, to the way her hosiery clung to her skin, something about it made the corners of Jade’s lips pull up to a satisfied smile. Thumbs now gently finding their way around her jaw, and now she’s looking up at him. Lips slightly parted, pale and luscious — just the way he likes her. Flushed and eager with anticipation. She’s always been stirred around him, and as the years went by, and as she learned of his affections towards her, she was able to let her guard down.

She was able to relax around him, and every now and then, she’d open the doors that led to her locked heart.

Heart that’s been locked away for him— thinking about him made the inside of Jade’s stomach coil and quiver.

A man he loathed but thanked at the same time. For he made her so beautiful, made her wait, made her patient — exactly how he loved her.

Devoted, hungry and yearning — and how, as time twirled her around and around, the precious seconds that she’s on her own on this marble polished twisted floor—of magic and wonderland, of things that will never be known to her— he was able to perform his best steps so far. Like Rothbart, he was patient to learn that dance, he was patient to learn the music, patient to learn when the prince would step away from crescendo, patient to finally have her hands slowly find his.

And he was sure not to ever let her escape, not ever.

His lips were gentle on her cheek, and Jade could hear her soft humming as he trailed gentle kisses up to the side of her head just above her eyelid. Gently, very gently on her forehead, then his hands would slowly and gingerly press themselves along her jawline, his lips—now hungry and bruising against her chin, and then her jaw.

Longer, sweeter, and heavier kisses followed his fingers as he carefully trudged across her skin like gravity couldn’t help but press himself towards her . And Jade would feel her hands on his forearm, desperately pulling him closer. She can be impatient, with so many years being too patient. For him, it wasn’t an issue. He is willing to give her what she wants, what she always wanted but never felt like she deserved.

His lips would finally land on hers, and she was very quick to open her mouth to him. Inviting him into this world only of lush and velvet— of sweetness and bitterness, the taste that’s uniquely her.

He would always know.

“Jade,” when she is desperate like this, she is quick to lose herself. Quick to drop the politeness she once so carefully honed like he did. They were quite similar in this aspect. But in the way Asami lost herself, Jade found her over and over again. His tongue now finding salvation, finding comfort in her mouth. It’s been weeks since they saw each other. His work didn’t allow many days for him to be away, certainly not even weekends, to their dismay. And she was unable to travel through mirrors without a companion bearing magic. Certainly not for more than a few minutes.

Her hands pulled him closer by the nape, her smaller figure trying her bestest to reach up to him, “I’m—

She is panting now, and it’s one of the things that Jade loved the most. Even more than his precious terrariums and the many trinkets he’s collected off the land throughout the years. She was like the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow . The trinkets he’s collected, polished and admired were merely coins, coins that just sunk to the bottom of this grand marble fountain. And she was the centerpiece, and the rainbow her mere crown. Jade didn’t think it was possible to be this hungry, this crazy about a human woman.

Asami tugged at his collar, and with fingers almost as skilled and swift as Jade’s, his tie was immediately on the floor. His jacket was already coming off as she pushed him down his leather couch. A rich crimson, and with dusts of gold, much like her eyes. Eyes he’d admired for so long. Jade is relaxed under her stare, she looked like a beast from this angle. Like a panther, ready to devour. He quite liked that contrast as she was as quiet and as shy as he could be prowling. Her knees resting between his legs, letting him know she wanted to take charge, maybe today if he let her. And Jade would smile, hands tight around the small of her back, and gently smoothing themselves around her waist, and then resting firmly by her lower abdomen.

“Come,” he invited her, his voice a smooth Ambrosian—a drug to Asami.

Her hands rested around his shoulders as she leaned for another sweet kiss.

Jade loved the way she would seem brave as she leaned close, and how softly and easily she melted under his embrace. And her head would gently rest on his shoulder after kisses, she would always be embarrassed like this. And Jade's hands would only pull her closer, gloved hands like a virtuoso of her melody, gently lifting the hems of her shirt, untucking her blouse and slowly undoing the buttons from the bottom, and then she moans.. And she would watch him, cheeks flushed red as he unbuttons her shirt.

Her hands, still on his shoulders.

Jade would run his hands, from the bottom wire of her brassiere, to the fullness of her, cupping her breasts with his hands as she slowly reached for another kiss. Hands heavy around her, and then back to where he knows she loves it best. Orchestrating touches that earned him the sweetest of sounds. Her chest, her neck, and then again, her jaw. Followed by wet kisses, and eager nips. Hands finding themselves back down her breasts again, and Asami would always wonder when she’d black out during this slow languid way he fondled her. Her blouse would be on the floor in an instant. And his hands were already pulling by her ass, lips and tongue now lapping at her full softness.

Jade was sure she won’t always be conscious of it, but her hands would pull him closer by the nape, breathless and parched for him. Music clung to its pilgrims. And he is, as he so lovingly puts it, both the virtuoso and the instrument. Only for her songs, only for her pleasure.

“It felt like forever,” it was a gradual process, how she eased into his fins. And Jade almost marveled at how their little human lost her composure the closer they fell for each other. Closer and closer , slowly, she revealed herself to him like she had never before, even after all these years of knowing.

Jade knew how much of herself she devoted to Kingscholar, so, to see her come undone like this, for him specifically, was a sight to behold. A reward for all that waiting.

Though she wasn’t one to take charge, the way she pushed him down his leather sofa proved to be quite the surprise for Jade. The way her chest heaved let the silk organza she wore shimmer under the warm lights of his loft. Like mellow clouds illuminating heaven, and she was the brightest shine, the goddess that pulled that world of light and love together.

He felt blessed to be in this form. In this form, his hands could run from her shoulders, to the small of her back. Down to her ass, a place he didn’t think would be this delectable, this tempting. Her cheeks have the sweetest tint of apples, and he quite liked the way she looked whenever she was embarrassed. Parted lips that seemed to call out to him, in every language--- human and merfolk, how her shoulders pulled themselves together under his gaze, how she’d avert her eyes— his stare can be too much for her— she admits that one time.

But Jade was quite fond of that look on her face.

And as Asami watched his eyes, she almost forgot how his hands were already undoing the last button that let her blouse down. Curious, slender fingers now teasing the top part of her chest as he pulled her closer, and closer.

She knew Jade knew his way around her like this. Her bra would come undone in an instant, and sometimes she’d wonder how much experience he’s had before her. Before all of this.

He is careful as his mouth enveloped her like this. She trusted him to be careful, though Asami knew, after a certain point in time, that Jade needed more. He needed to let the ferocity hidden behind features like alabaster and pearl, behind polite speech, behind knifelike teeth out.

Out to ravage her.

And the old fear she knew around him slowly sublimated, slowly fed a newfound feeling for him.

Something akin to the hunger she once felt for someone else, though she tried her bestest not to compare.

Wet. It was warm and wet. And though at times Jade Leech looked like he was nothing but.

Though she knew his form under the sea, savage and cold— unforgiving—the Jade before him was warm, inviting, just as hungry as she was. Just as parched as she was.

And she would gasp, and wrap her arms around him. Her face hid by the crook of his neck. Jade’s hands now grabs her thighs, and slowly drags himself across her skin. Fingers now find himself on her inner thigh, and she would gasp again. The anticipation nearly unbearable for Asami, but she quite liked the thrill of waiting. She was primed to wait, and Jade was always set to reward her.

“I— I thought I’d,” she thought about it. Taking charge. But Jade is always quick to give her the illusion that she could. It wasn’t so much that he didn’t think she would be capable of it. It was more that he enjoyed the image of her unravelling. The sounds she makes as his fingers tease her wetness. Her eagerness was fully displayed by the lack of underwear. But Jade quite liked how she kept the garterbelt on, and how the stockings hugged her plump thighs. Jade didn’t think it would be possible to want a human woman like this. To hunger for a creature of land, like this.

“I didn’t think you were the naughty type,” he chuckled against her hair. And then, he inhales . A deep inhale, savouring the air around her like this, with this form . His two fingers now inside her wet cunt, Asami moans and Jade lets himself breathe more of her, strands of her raven hair getting caught between his teeth, her hands around him tighter.

“Only, if you’ll be the one to punish me,” she tries her best, sometimes she’ll play a part - but Asami is always soft, always so sweet. He admits playing pretend sometimes gets his fins excited, gets his mouth watering, his cock hard. But Jade loved her like this. Just as much as the timid and docile Asami he’s loved over the years.

His hands reached for her ponytail, a soft thug. She moans after a soft gasp. Jade’s mouth smothering her breasts with kisses and nips. His other hand pumping into her core softly, but deeply. Two, and then three. Asami’s hands are tight around him, holding herself together. He could be unforgiving, and she’s learned to brace herself when he is in a steady pace like this.

His hands on the knot that holds her hair together, now tighter. Pulling her hair tight, slowly wrapping her hair around his wrist. His mouth lapped at her nipple, taking her— as much as possible — in his mouth.

“I’ve missed you, Asami—” he murmurs onto her skin, followed by wet nips and then gently picks her up. She holds on to him, arms wrapping tight around his neck. She didn’t like it when he did this, but it stirs something inside Asami and she can only go quiet, she can only let him.

And he carries her, legs wrapping around his lithe figure, towards his bedroom. He is as quiet as she is. And he inhales the scent of her hair. Jade gently pushes the door close with his heel, and then very gently settles her there.

The finest artefact he’s ever acquired off land.

Chapter 2: Tamed by You

Trinkets and treasures, flora and fauna he’s collected off the land receive a special space in his loft. Carefully curated around him, like the work of the princess of the sea who collected treasures from sunken ships. How he admired her fortitude. How he wished to be surrounded by such beautiful, such wonderful things, too.

Surely, none of them could be bad?

But only the empress of his world deserves the prime space of his collection, the shelf of his bed.

Unfortunately, his empress seems displeased. Being carried, like the way he brought her to the bed… Jade knows she dislikes it. That it reminds her of someone else, someone with the same kind of fury, but rougher, harder.

The sight of her pouting worries Jade, but it amuses him just as much. He hovers over on his mattress , the weight of him like an aphrodisiac seeping into her skin, into her lungs, into her lust.

“I told you,” she whispers, cheeks flushed, and the corners of her eyes shining with almost tears. “I don’t like being carried,” and he knows this. He knows this well.

But couldn’t help doing it anyway.

He plants a chaste kiss on her cheek, and then her forehead, his hand smoothing her forehead under him. “Forgive me,” he hisses, whilst taking her hand and planting soft kisses around her knuckles and fingers. Jade never wants to truly disappoint or upset her in any way.

But if it will rile her up in the end, he has the tendency to try.

“What would you like?” Another kiss, to her wrist. Then to her elbow, while he waits for her to decide and answer. His eyes never leave hers. Asami hums, and she takes a minute, while watching him plant kisses all over her hands and wrist, and then she takes him by the hand.

Pulls him back up to her into a full embrace.

She is quiet for a bit as Jade holds her tight. Then, she is facing him again, her eyes misted with want, and lips parted — ready and very, very delectable, to Jade.

“I want you,” she whispers as she pulls him close, lips parting just for him, at least Jade hopes. Her mouth invites him in, making way for only him between those lips of hers. He loves them so dearly. But whenever she expresses it like this, Jade can’t help but wonder if it is really him that she is asking for. He would very much prefer that she call his name.

Sometimes, even in these heady moments of pleasure and satisfaction, Jade’s mind can’t help but go there — to Kingscholar’s image. The subtle ways he dragged her around, as if wielding lace entwined with barbed wire around her neck and she couldn’t quite tell the difference. His indifference towards her, and how she lapped every crumb of affection he hands out every now and then.

How she deserved so much more.

It was ridiculous, how easy it all looked, how easy it all felt. All of a sudden, she was within Leona’s arms. And just like that, he let her go. No explanations, nothing.

But Jade tries to convince himself. That he is the one there, not him.

He is the one undressing Asami, with his hands, in this skin.

Not him. Not Leona Kingscholar.

Jade’s hands push the hems of her skirt up to her waist, and part the soft fabric to reveal her skin. How he has missed her like this, quivering and wet underneath his stare, underneath his hands. He leans in and trails wet, rough and jagged kisses across her neck, to her collarbone, to her shoulder, biting his way back down to her chest. His hands tightly pin her wrists down.

You’re mine, they tell her.

All mine, she hears it through his ragged breathing, through the grip on her skin. His kisses feel like warnings, beware, they tell her. But she isn’t one to listen. Not when his lips are so inviting, not when his hands of alabaster guide her so lovingly toward him. Another kiss, on the side of her breast, and then he sucks on her sensitive skin. Jade knows exactly where to kiss, exactly where to touch to put her in pieces, moaning underneath him. His fingers are trailing where the garterbelt clips, and they are easily undone by his skillful hands.

The sound of his belt unbuckling is music to Asami’s ears. She loves it, and she looks forward to the events he can lead her to after.

Her eyes try their best to focus on him, and the shape of his waist. The abdominal lines that excite her so. His trail, a darker shade of teal that makes her insides quiver. Jade Leech is a curious creature. He’s also a creature of beauty, of ferocity, and something else Asami can’t spell, not with the letters that this world can wield.

Jade knows how much it pleases her, when he is in this state of undress. The blush on her face alone is enough to know: she can’t get enough, and she wants more. More.

Jade leans in, for another sweet and tender kiss, and Asami’s hands are pulling him close, from the nape, and her hands snake around the back of his ear, her fingers gingerly caressing his earlobes. Jade doesn’t understand why she does this, what the need for it is but he lets her anyway. Maybe she is amused with sleeping with a partner who has human ears, maybe? The thought makes Jade chuckle, though she doesn’t ever seem to notice it.

“Jade.” He hovers over her like a spell gone wild, a premonition, and he languidly breathes into her skin, down her abdomen, his fingers following after— and then down her belly, fingers stroking her thighs. Heavy hands now guide her thighs up and open for him, so he can finally have the perfect view of her.

He was quick to learn the ways of pleasure for creatures of the land, but for Asami’s sake, he had to go very slow. He had to make sure he knew what she wanted, or at least, what she thought she wanted. Jade Leech leans in, and she holds her breath, her hands anchoring her to his mattress.

Asami feels him, wet and hot, a very very hot mouth on her. Tongue, a different kind of sensation than what she was used to, not as rough, not as shocking. And she feels the movement of some smooth recitation from Jade Leech’s curious and dangerous lips onto her wet cunt.

He hears the softness of her breath, the music it brings out of her, and Jade is delighted. His hands tighten around her thighs as dips his tongue deeper, alternating sucks and broad drags of his tongue. Tasting her.

She reaches for him, hands desperate to hold him as she looks into his mismatched eyes. Asami likes it whenever Jade does this, and his eyes never leave hers.

When he stares right back into hers, into her core, she feels the affection she has never thought she deserved. The love she has been hoping for. It just took her several years to realise that perhaps, it was meant to come from someplace else, from someone else. She is grateful.

Jade reveres her like an empress, like she is the fairest of all the land - maybe she truly is , for him at the very least.

She is a confection of delicateness, and melodic sighs— everything Jade wants, everything he loves most. Her legs shake from pleasure and the intensity of his touch, and he loves the way she looks as she searches for something, anything, to tether herself into this bed— his domain — desperate to keep herself in place. Because she knows if she doesn’t, she will be drifting away in pieces at how hard he is going at her clit, how hot his mouth feels on her and how much he is teasing her.

But his hands remind her that he is present, he is there.

He is her anchor, and her storm at sea — all in one.

His forearms push her down, while his hands reach for her breasts— he can, even with this form, he surely can— mouth, tongue and almost teeth still on her cunt. There have been times when he thought about doing all of this to her, with her, in his true form, and he wonders if she will ever be up for it. Jade’s mind wanders for a second, but he does not let up, it is still all about her. If he wanders too long, her voice will bring him back, her voice— as if it is truly the most precious, valuable thing in this world — brings him back to the shore of her body, the coast of her softness.

Asami holds her breath when she feels she is close, but Jade Leech wants this to last.

So he sucks hard, earning him a gasp, and then a groan. Asami chants towards enlightenment; she has to redo it and try again, if Jade lets her.

Jade feels it when she opens herself wider, urges him to push her down harder and heavier, she is close. Jade takes her by the thighs, and adjusts himself so he almost looks like he is ready to slip his entire self into her and his tongue yields her soft, hot and wet flesh, and invites her to come. Softly grazing her with his tongue, and then, sucking, and then again licking her softly.

Time feels like it stops when Asami holds herself like this, holds her breath again.

When Jade finally lets her have it, he continues his pace as he listens to her. He is desperate to make her concentrate on her sweet bundle of nerves, the touch of his tongue, and the warmth of his breath onto her.

And she finds release, her thighs tighten around his face and she cries out incoherent words and mews of satisfaction. Jade adores how she coos, and he kisses her inner thigh, continuously, letting her ride the waves of pleasure he so patiently lavished. Jade carefully moves her legs, and moves up to watch her face as she pants. Her eyes find him, smiling, and she doesn't utter a word, but Jade’s fingers are quick to trace her cheeks that are now so red, down to her lips that now look so desperate and wanting for more.

When they meet like this, a few days in the middle of each month, he savours every opportunity to make her come, and Jade finds great satisfaction in making sure she enjoys the best release, every single time. He is particularly proud of the way his masterful hands seemingly wrenched the pearl of her soul out of her oysterlike prison— out of the steel bars of the lion’s den— and into this world that is his bed.

She is his pearl, his treasure.

His precious Asami, pearlescent and soft and beautiful in the centre of his world. How he loves her, how desperate he is to keep her right there. Away from the clutching grip of the past, away from the claws of unrequited love and away from Kingscholar, forever, if this world so allows.

“P-please,” she moans, and she begs. Jade can’t refuse her when she does this. Her voice sounds like she could break, any minute now, his precious pearl. His lone casablanca.

Jade starts slow. Getting accustomed to the pleasures of this form, within this skin, didn’t take very long. She is irresistible to him, and when she first let him have her, he was surprised to find how easily he could break underneath this spell she is so unaware that’s binding his heart, his fangs, his claws and his very essence to her. Her alone.

Jade’s hand now firm on her ass, Asami opens her legs a little bit more, his grip tighter and his breathing slower and heavier than hers as he brushes the tip of his cock against her cunt.

A greedy woman, she truly is. And Jade can feel his lips form a satisfied smile, so maybe he made her this way.

“P-please,” she moans and she begs as he rolls her over.

They fuck hard and she can barely keep herself upright as Jade pushes his entire length and girth inside her. She is thankful he is so considerate, making sure there were pillows underneath her, and her face is properly cushioned. But sometimes she wonders if he truly is thoughtful, with how hard his nails are digging onto her skin, with how hard he is fucking into her.

A heavy force, just as rough when you let him be, Jade Leech.

Leona and Jade - different sides of the same ferocious coin.

But it is funny to Asami how, in between gasps and out-of-breath kisses, in the spaces between Jade thrusting himself into her, she finds these comparisons. She doesn’t want to compare them, but a common ground always seems to connect her hearts to them. Her past, and now present.

Her maelstrom, her lighthouse. Her Jade.

His scent long forgotten, his fangs long absent from her skin. Bruises long healed.

Jade bends down, sucks on her shoulder as he pounds her harder. Harder. Faster. And Asami cannot hear herself and how she is moaning, but Jade can hear her, only her. Sometimes muffled against the pillow, and then she tilts her head to the side and gasps for air.

Hands circle around her, feeling her breasts, and then he adjusts himself, his hands supporting themselves on her hips once more. He smoothes them down to her ass.

Jade knows she likes it hard, and he has always found that he wants to compete with that ferocity he knows she once loved. The only kind of love she knew, until him. Sometimes he wonders if she still loves him. If he is only a replacement. Sometimes his mind wanders. And then he goes harder, harder, pulling her pony out so he can let her hair down. Just to grab it up so it is held by his fingers instead and he can pull her hair so much tighter as he bottoms out. He is rough, and Asami is near to tears. But she likes it, she loves it. He knows she does.

“J-Jade,” she moans, drooling on her pillow. Jade pulls out, turns her so she is laying on her back. “Face me,” he growls. His voice lower now, deeper. His hands are pushing her thighs down and open, and he goes for it yet again. His thumb slowly glide down her clit as he enters her again. She gasps sharply, her eyes watching his every move, so she sees the shimmer in his eyes - dark and dangerous- and the way it encourages her to let go and come again.

He wishes someone could watch the way he fucks her. There is elegance there. His ferocity is carefully wrapped around by elegance, wrapped around her and her finger, though she doesn’t know this. Not fully.

He fucks her hard. And he takes her ankles and plants wet kisses there. Alternating with eager nips, bending and then pushing her down, harder. Kisses to her knees, it feels so good. “Ah-,” he grunts as he pushes down her legs, this lets him go deeper, more forceful.

The composure and finesse that hold Jade Leech’s demeanor together slowly break as he fucks her.

Jade knows that she isn’t made of glass. She can take it, blow by blow. So he wants to make her. He repositions them again, and puts her up so she is sitting on his lap. And then he lets her work herself down on him. He grips her tightly around the waist before he slides his hands toward her ass. His middle finger gently strokes her there, wringing another sharp gasp out of her. He knows Asami finds support around his neck whenever he teases her like this. She is breathless, and she is blushing, but she wants all of this and more.

The perfect view of her face, and the expression she is now wearing— so different, a far cry from her prim, proper, pure self outside his domain.

Only for him, she is like this only for him. Only like this— because of him.

Jade Leech doesn’t think he is deep enough, so he pushes her down, shocking Asami with the swift movement. Jade’s laboured breathing is something she can never get used to, just like the way he blushes whenever they are so close like this thrills her. His hungry eyes seem to see through all of her, exciting her insides, making her drip. Jade is thrusting into her again, and she can feel how close she is. His pace becomes more erratic, his elegance slowly crumbling to a jerky staccato that’s very unlike his usual rolls into her.

“Asami,” he hisses in between heavy breaths, and she tries to touch his thighs— as he fucks into her, starved and ravenous like the predator that he truly is. She wants to touch him too. She wants him too. She wants her hands all over him too.

Asami’s soft fingers call out to him, and he is quick to go into her embrace. His hips crash onto hers so feverishly she feels her whole body jerk and bob up and down. She feels good, she loves his relentlessness. He is close himself, brought there by her body, by her arms around him.

She stretches for a kiss. Her fingers toy with his earring, as their lips lock once more.

What is it about predators that attract her attention, make her fingers tingle? What is it about carnivores? Asami doesn’t understand it, but she knows Jade is so beautiful to her. She can feel him hitting the deepest parts of her. There is a slight sting, but the pleasure of him, the pleasure of it all, is stronger.

“I love you,” escapes her soft lips, and Jade wonders if she is really talking to him. Sometimes the trust he so lovingly bestowes upon her betrays him in the most unfortunate moments. But he tries to push that thought aside, looks directly into her eyes so he can see only her and she can see only him.

And how the light seems to reflect on her eyes, always. He loves her, too— of course he does, so much. He has thought of her with fondness since the first time they met. It took him a long fucking time to make his move but here he is, cock-deep in her, finally.

Not for the first time and not the last.

That thought is what makes him come, hot and slick inside and desperate to stay there. Her legs squeeze him lovingly, her arms pull him tight as he bites the side of her neck and feels how the last of his release oozes into her This skin, his temporary form, how grateful he is for it right now. How grateful he is for anything that lets him be with her.

══════ ∘◦❁◦∘ ══════

The aftermath of it all is a sacred time for Jade. He lays beside her, eyes carefully watching the soft shadows of her lashes on her cheeks, even breathing from her softly parted lips. The dark of her hair all over his pillow and her back, she lays on her tummy and he pokes her cheek with a soft chuckle.

What a beautiful creature, he thinks to himself. He won’t ever get used to it, he won’t ever get tired of her, this view and the many things they could learn and explore together. Jade runs his fingers through her hair, and gives her a kiss on her cheek.

And then on her fringe, inhaling deeply. He wanted to run a bath for her, but she insisted on staying in bed, and being held. He can never refuse her.

Even though Jade is the one who trims the stems of the bouquet, and sets each flower in place...even though he is the one usually in control, she rules his heart. He is on his knees because of her. She is the queen of lilies after all, the empress of his world, his precious pearl. He cannot force her and he cannot taint her.

He can only try to improve her vase.

Maybe this is what brought the king to his knees. Maybe this is why he left. Maybe he realised how big an impact she could make on his life, on his heart. But that thought makes Jade chuckle. He hasn’t been a coward, he thinks. And he marvels at how long she has waited, and how long he waited for her, the intersections in the past where they connected and met. He believes, has believed for so long, that he is the one for her.

The delicate petals, much like her lips, the precise way the flower bends, the purity of it all— his heart sings for the queen of lilies, for his casablancas.

Carefully curated, skillfully placed, within his domain.

Purest white set upon the backdrop of his darkness, elegance and ferocity…but he knows deep down, he is a mere devotee. Not a director.

Beauty tames ferocity. Always.

A/N: I just want to say thank you A BIG BIG THANK YOU to pseudofaux for helping me with this delicate piece. I wanted to stay consistent and faithful to the first chapter. I also never really written a full sexual scene so I was struggling a lot. Thank you Pseu for your patience and for your hardwork. Thank you.

I also want to thank scummy for helping me sent the pace and tone/flow of the first draft. Thank you so much!

Thank you so much for reading this piece! If you enjoyed this story, please do let me know what you think! If you're interested to see more of my TWST art,

I am over twitter most of the time. ♡(｡- ω -)

#twisted wonderland #twst jade #Jade Leech #Asami Oda #onibeni writes

41 notes · View notes

himbeaux-on-ice · 3 years

Note

KK deserves more than 6mil for 1 year and there is no way Habs CAN'T match that. It was so low I thought it was a joke of an offer as petty revenge for the Aho one. Literally had a $20 signing bonus tf. With both teams picking up racists this is good PR frankly to excite fans.

Sorry, I actually disagree pretty solidly with almost all of this, but the reasons are complex and lengthy to explain, so I’m going to put it all under a cut.

Listen, I personally believe based on what we’ve seen from him in the playoffs that KK can eventually develop into a $6.1 million dollar player — it seemed like he did well once the team had been put through Ducharme’s mini-training camp before the playoffs that actually allowed the chance to cement his systems, and put up good numbers generally during the run for someone his age. If they can find a way to get that kind of stuff out of him in the regular season, he could very well be worth $6.1 or more down the road. I really truly think he has it in him with the right coaching and the right work put in.

The problem is, owing possibly to how the Habs have chosen to develop him (remember, he came to the NHL pretty much straight out of the draft) and how very young he actually is, he has not yet actually PROVEN that he can be a player of that value consistently for most of a season at any point. I’m willing to put an asterisk on his struggles this year, because it was a weird fucking season and the Habs had a rough go of it in several points, especially down the stretch, and because we’ve seen the ability is there in the playoffs. But given what we’ve seen while he’s been on his ELC, there has been no guarantee so far that a team that signs him to $6.1 million is going to get $6.1 million in value out of him this coming season.

Like, set aside league-wide valuations for a second, and think about what the Habs, based on their budgeting and philosophy and management choices, are paying some of their top foundational players right now in terms of cap hit. Toffoli makes $4.5 million, so will Hoffman. Anderson makes $5.5 million, as does Drouin. Petry makes $6.2 million. Edmundson makes $3.5 million. Jake Allen, a player so valuable to this team that we risked “Price to Seattle” to keep him, is $2.87 million against the cap. Gally, the lifeblood heart and soul of this team who has given his literal blood sweat and tears to it for almost a decade, only makes $6.5 million against the cap. They apparently weren’t even willing to offer Phillip Danault, defensive cornerstone of the playoff run, the $5.5 million he got from LA. With Weber on the LTIR, if KK signed with the Habs at $6.1 million, he would be the third-highest paid player on the active team when you exclude dudes named Carey Price (who is an outlier and should not be counted). I love the kid. I think he’ll be a bonafide star someday. He has NOT earned that kind of payday yet, based on the established scale of how the Habs reward their players.

Based on my amateur understanding of NHL contracts and the market, a reasonable deal with KK from the Habs would have been somewhere in the area of $2-3 million (so, what they pay for players like Lehkonen (2.3 mil) or Byron (3.3 mil) or just signed Armia to (3.4 mil)), for maybe about 2 years. By the time that runs out, he’d be 23 years old and heading into the prime of his career, and you would probably have a better idea of whether he’s made that big next step or not — if he has, you probably just got two years of great hockey out of him at a STEAL, and can at that point sign him for a nice juicy contract that will pay him to that level and lock him up through his prime years (which is what you would dangle to entice him to take the short deal for now). And if when that short deal is up he hasn’t made that next leap, then you either sign him back at what he is worth, or if that’s an impasse, part ways. He has said he wants to help bring a Cup to Montreal, and do it with the core of young guys they’re assembling (and close friends like the other Finns on the team) — with that, maybe some performance bonuses if he really kills it, and the promise of something bigger down the road once he proves himself (plus the knowledge that he might not get higher offers elsewhere because of how he’s struggled) you could probably get him to sign a deal like that with the Habs.

HOWEVER.

Now that he has signed this offer sheet, he WILL get $6.1 million. Not only for this year, but once the one-year deal expires, any extension offered to him by anyone is required to start at that number. Regardless of how he performs. Unless he has the breakout year of all breakout years, this will really screw him over — because if he DOESN’T perform to the $6.1 million level, a team (be it the Habs or the Canes) is not going to want to sign him to a second deal at that pricetag. He’ll have to go hunting as a free agent, or get traded before he expires and become another team’s problem. (Note: I’m not exactly sure if the offer sheet process allows Montreal to match with a contract at the same value but longer term, but that doesn’t really solve the problem of being locked-in at $6.1 million after next season even if they can). I understand why he signed the offer sheet — his career earnings so far total just over $2 million, and of course both he and his agent would jump at the chance to guarantee adding triple that in just one year, with the promise of more of the same on his next extension. I’m sure he probably thinks he’s worth it, or can prove he is worth it. He probably thinks the Habs believe in him enough to match it, too — I don’t think he wants to leave Montreal, but he probably sees this as simply an earlier achievement of what they would hopefully be paying him anyway someday, in his eyes.

But even if he DOES perform up to that level, if he remains on the Habs that creates another massive problem crunching up against the salary cap: Nick Suzuki and Jake Evans are both RFA’s at the end of the 2021-22 season, and THEY will be looking for their “grown-up” contracts at that time, the SAME time KK will need to be signed again. Nick is probably going to develop into the better player between him and KK (look at where he already is right now), so even if KK performs excellently next year as say 2C, Nick looks like he will be even better at 1C — and if I’m Nick’s agent, I’m definitely starting my contract negotiations with what the Habs would be paying KK as my absolute lowest starting figure, if not higher. Jake probably has more of a 3C/4C upside, but if KK struggles and plays at a 3C/4C performance level and Jake does that well or better, then if I’m Jake Evans’ agent I am definitely putting my starting figure for negations right around $6.1 million, because I can argue “well, you’re paying Kotkaniemi that much, why not my client?”. Romanov is due up for his post-ELC RFA deal after next year too — because he’s more of a defensive defenceman who isn’t expected to score much, he likely can’t command the kind of figures that an offensively productive centre does, but you still need to have enough cap space to actually sign the guy for what he’s worth; Romanov is eligible for arbitration in that negotiation, so lowballing him too hard could get complicated and contentious fast. And all of this isn’t even including factors like depth players on one-year deals who will need to be replaced or brought back after this year, etc.

Accepting/matching this contract creates a dozen new problems the Habs didn’t have before at all. It carries massive risk and could cause problems for the cap and for roster construction even if KK takes off like a rocket and lives up to the figure on the sheet. I didn’t even touch on the absolute hell the fanbase and media will put him through if he is in Montreal on that kind of payday compared to the rest of the team and fails to live up to it. Alex Galchenyuk only made $4.5 million while he was here and struggling. Look how that turned out for him. You’ve seen how people get when Carey has a rough patch, how the $10.5 million gets brought up and thrown around, and that’s with Carey goddamn Price. I have been around this fanbase long enough to see what happens when people don’t feel you’ve lived up to your pricetag. It gets nasty. Think whatever you’ve seen hurled at Mitch Marner this year, then multiplied by a factor of “fanbase whose expectations have been disproportionately raised probably beyond what’s realistic by the miracle playoff run” and “the Montreal hockey media eats people alive even in good years”. He has been lucky so far in his struggles because he’s still young enough to be cheap. And I’ve still seen plenty of people already writing him off anyway.

Make no mistake: I love KK, I love what he brings to the team, I love how he fits in with the rest of the young core and their dynamics, and I really believe he has the potential to break out into a formidable 2C lowkey-superstar. And I was really, really looking forward to hopefully watching that growth and achievement happen with the Habs, as part of the super exciting future that has been building here. I will be heartbroken if this leads to him leaving, genuinely. My biggest worry with having this bright and shiny new core was always that I would have to watch it get torn apart and turn sad just like the last one.

But now that this contract, right now, at this point in his career is going to be the price of keeping him? I don’t know if matching it will be what’s best for the team as a whole, or even what is best for KK. I don’t know if Carolina actually gives a shit about him as a player enough to use and develop him right if they keep him, or what their end goal here even is other than definitely very literally getting petty revenge for the Aho thing, just look at their Twitter (I think the idea of this as DeAngelo counter-PR has become a bit overblown as an explanation, because surely they MUST know they could end up holding the tab for this and all the risk of it in the end, and that this will die down eventually, so either they’re incredibly stupid or there’s some other benefit here).

And regardless of which way everything goes, I can’t think of anyone I trust less to make the best choice for everyone involved than Marc fucking Bergevin.

#long post #sorry not trying to be mean just literally don’t agree with this at all #habs #Jesperi kotkaniemi #wnylanderthals #asks #montreal canadiens

17 notes · View notes

blackswaneuroparedux · 3 years

Photo

I don't make mistakes. I make prophecies which immediately turn out to be wrong.

- Murray Walker, BBC commentator and the ‘Voice of Formula One’

Murray Walker, otherwise known as the ‘Voice of F1’, was a BBC commentating legend from 1976 to 1996 before joining rivals ITV in 1997, where he stayed for a further five years.

Seldom can any frontrank outside-broadcast commentator have had a longer span at the microphone, or a voice more distinctively identifiable with their sport, than motor racing’s Murray Walker.

In British broadcasting lore John Arlott’s rural burr will always remain redolent of cricket’s roots in the village green, just as Dan Maskell’s creamy courtside whisper was homage to the leisured grace of the suburban tennis club, and Bill McLaren’s Borderer’s brogue forever implied the blazered probity of olde-tyme amateur “rugger”.

So, at grand prix time for bikes and cars, for more than half a century, the passionate yawp and yowl emanating from Walker’s commentary box was an almost onomatopeic accompaniment to the snarling beasts hurtling past at 200mph. It may have been high-octane noise, but the descriptions were also skilled and professionally accomplished.

On both radio and television, Walker’s florid “pants on fire” commentaries were heard across seven decades. The first grand prix he described live was for BBC “wireless” at Silverstone in 1949 (won by Baron Toulo de Graffenried’s Maserati 4CLT). His last live commentary of a grand prix was in 2007 for BBC radio, when he was 83.

In all, Walker covered more than 350 Formula One grands prix, more than 200 Isle of Man TT and senior Manx motorcycling events, and countless other categories from powerboat races to motocross and speedway. For well over half a century, if noisy motor sport was broadcast, you could pretty much guarantee that Walker’s decibels were attempting to drown it out in his valiant efforts to enhance the narrative and embellish the scene. But it was not without cost. Years of exposure to the din left him with hearing loss in both ears.

While his stimulating ebullience was appealing to (most) cognoscenti petrolheads, a wider audience fondly enjoyed the commentator’s accompanying torrent of tautologies and full-spate sophistries, his “Murrayisms”, as he called them. Most outside broadcasters are embarrassed by (or flatly deny) their reported heat-of-the-moment bloopers, but Walker happily revelled in, and nurtured his. “Far too often I’d operate mouth before engaging brain,” he would admit, “but the action in front of me was always happening at such a lick.”

The good ol’ trouper knew, too, that happily confessed horse’s-mouth recitation of these touching gaffes not only saved the bother of a freshly minted script each time, but also handsomely enhanced his fees on the lucrative after-dinner circuit.

You need to squawk for the full effect:

“This leading car is absolutely unique – except, of course, for the one immediately behind it, which is identical.”

“Mansell’s now totally in front of everyone in this race, except the two in front of him.”

Michael Schumacher on the Monaco GP grid: “There are seven winners of the Monaco Grand Prix on the grid today and four of them are Michael Schumacher.”

Nigel Mansell putting in a lap: “Nigel Mansell is slowing down now, he is taking it easy. Oh no he isn’t! It’s a new lap record!”

Pedro Diniz’s fire in Argentina: “There’s nothing wrong with the car except that it’s on fire.”

“How you can crash into a wall without it being there in the first place is beyond me!”

But what F1 fans remember best: “It’s go, go, go!”

Murray Walker was born in 1923 in Birmingham, England. Walker had a happy childhood and was proud of his roots. Walker was conscripted into the armed forces and passed out as an army officer from the Royal Military College in Sandhurst. Murray was commissioned in 1942 into the Royal Scots Greys, achieving the rank of captain. He helped make the push from Normandy to the Baltic. He would command a Sherman tank in the Battle of the Reichswald with the 4th Armoured Brigade before leaving the Army as a captain.

Upon demobilisation, went into advertising, a career which, on its own, might have made him worthy of note. Trying to find his place in the world, he studied shipping management before being employed as an accounts director by the Masius agency, where he was in charge of the Mars project which came up with the famous slogan ‘A Mars a day helps you work rest and play’.

Although he continued working in advertising, once again Walker broadened his horizons when, in 1948, he made his first public broadcast at Shelsley Walsh Hillclimb. A year later and he was commentating for BBC radio on the British F1 Grand Prix.

He established himself as the BBC’s chief motorcycling commentator before going into F1 full-time from 1978. However, even then Walker continued to dabble in other series, from the British Touring Car Championship to motocross and Macau.

It was his partnership with James Hunt at the BBC though which cemented Walker’s place in commentating history, as he brought the breathless passion and excitement which proved the perfect foil for Hunt’s dry wit and in-depth knowledge.

Walker remained with the BBC through to 1996 with Jonathan Palmer stepping up following Hunt’s death. But with F1’s television rights going to ITV in 1997, so too did Walker. This time it was former racer turned commentator Martin Brundle who brought the F1 know-how to Walker’s ‘Murrayisms’.

He retired from full-time commentating in 2001. After he ended his regular Formula One commentaries, Walker continued to appear on television for a number of years afterwards, mainly on magazine programmes but occasionally commentating on less high-profile motorsport events. Acknowledging the partial deafness he had developed over the years, in 2006 he became an ambassador for the David Ormerod Hearing Centres, and campaigned to help people understand the importance of frequent hearing tests.

On Saturday, March 13, 2021, the British Racing Drivers’ Club announced the sad passing of Murray Walker at the age of 97.

RIP Murray Walker.

F1 commemorate Murray Walker at the Bahrain Grand Prix 2021

#murray walker #walker #quote #sports #motorsports #racing #driving #formula one #grand prix #british #royal scots greys #sandhurst #BBC #commentator #james hunt #icon

25 notes · View notes

bansheeoftheforest · 3 years

Text

A Moment Of Glory

———————————————————

Chapter 7; Parva Sub Ingenti

———————————————————

Chapter 8 babyyyyyyyyyyy! Oh man, the next chapters to come are not going to be fun for Henry. I also had to rewrite this chapter like... Halfway through finishing the third-to-last chapter bc I realized that this route would be better to go with <3

Also, note, in case I did not make it clear in the actual chapter: it’s a week’s timeskip between this chapter and last chapter!

Also also! Since I have written all chapters now, I would not mind to update more frequently if that would be desired! Either I can hold onto the schedule I have rn (twice a week - Wednesday and Saturday) or I can change it so I update three times a week, Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday? I would very much like some opinions on how often to update!

———————————————————

Wordcount: 4300

Chapter summary: Brokenshire and the Scotland Yard come to a disappointing discovery, but waste no time in following a new lead.

CW [for this chapter]: Mentions of blood, mentions of murder.

[Ao3]

——

Chapters:

[Prologue] [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [Epilogue]

———————————————————

Sergeant Enoch Brokenshire, a man who so often took pride in the loyalty and hard work he put into his position in the Scotland Yard, did not like his night duty.

He sat by his lone desk, elbows placed upon the only empty space on his messy workspace that was not already occupied by paperwork. The only source of light that found itself in the dark office was a flickering flame from a tiny, half-melted candle that was placed next to him, so bravely and so obediently bringing light to the documents that had caught his sole attention. For once, it was completely quiet. Not even the normal noises from the world going on and on outside could be heard tonight; no drunkards laughing their way home from the pubs, no footsteps from late-night wanderers exploring the streets, not even the sound of other officers standing guard outside seemed to find its way into the office. Had Brokenshire not long since gotten accustomed to the eerie silence that so specifically seemed to haunt him tonight, he might have found the loneliness and the quietness a bit depressing, a bit bleak. Perhaps it was merely because he had one of the most boring, yet most important jobs tonight. Perhaps it was merely because he was waiting. Perhaps it was merely because he was alone.

Of every late-night duty he could have gotten, Brokenshire got the unfortunate luck of being stuck in his office for the evening. He could have been out wandering the corridors of this very station, maybe checking on one of the few currently held in the cells in the basements, or maybe he could have been patrolling the streets with Wipple and Jenkins like he normally did. Maybe he could have been breaking up gang fights, catching thieves, or inspecting the new shipments and arrivals by the docks and train stations in search of stolen goods, but no, he was stuck waiting for his two colleagues. A soft sigh of boredom escaped his lips, and yet he decided to occupy his time by gazing over the many documents laid upon his so often neat desk, the shiny wooden surface now hidden under dozens of chaotically sprawled papers. His eyes traveled, and yet it did not take long until his gaze was caught by a single photograph that displayed none other than Dr. Henry Jekyll, stapled to a short investigative essay about the doctor’s career in London, written and documented in hopes of getting a bit of insight about the whole case. Through the two weeks that had recently passed since his estimated disappearance, it felt like they hadn’t managed to get a single step closer to figuring out what had happened to him, who did it and where he was currently located. They could find no possible motives; after all, Dr. Jekyll was a beloved man. No one seemed to have any ideas of someone who had actively disliked him, rather than his work and connection to yet-so-stigmatized science, yet they were stuck on the single ‘suspect’ they had gotten from finding branded trinkets on the crime scene. They had interrogated practically every single person that had lived on the streets by the Society, and yet there hadn’t been a single witness, not a single trail to follow-- not even the blood that had so horrifyingly splattered upon almost every surface in the entire study had been found anywhere outside of the room, not in the corridors outside nor by the broken window. It seemed like the doctor had just disappeared in thin air, once he was, assumingly, dragged out of that window. It didn’t make sense. It didn’t make sense at all and yet this wasn’t even one of the most gruesome or violent cases the Sergeant had gotten his hands on, no, but it was still so very unnerving, maybe because of the specific circumstances, maybe because it was specifically Dr. Jekyll everything was about. No matter, it was unnerving regardless and Brokenshire was going to stand by that fact, and yet he couldn’t help but let out another sigh. Another sigh among the thousands he had made just this night. Another sigh among the thousands to come.

He felt how his eyes began to roam once more, and yet they did not wander for long before they were caught by a second photograph; this one displayed the second subject of the mess of his desk, one Mr. Richard Crawford. Having found his name-engraved jewelry on the crime scene, the opposition, aggression, and hatred that Crawford harbored for the Society for Arcane Sciences had only seemed to confirm their suspicion of him as a suspect, and since there were no more suspects at all, he was currently their main lead as well, yet Brokenshire doubted that Crawford had a vendetta against Dr. Jekyll himself, rather than their two opposing beliefs and opinions. There had been a lot of theories for why Crawford would have wanted Jekyll out of the way, some including the simple fact that Jekyll was probably the only other man in all of London as popular and influential as him, some including their clashing opinions in important political and scientific questions, and yet, through their feud, it had seemed like their rivalry had been quite one-sided. Brokenshire and his team had spent the last two weeks researching both men and their rivalry and at this point, the Sergeant was quite sure that he could give a ten-page essay for each topic respectively. Crawford was about a decade older than Jekyll and had therefore been in the public eye much longer. He was a working aristocrat and a businessman, having funded many of London’s most successful businesses, spanning from medical supply companies to breweries to real estate, and it seemed like he had seen the rise of Dr. Jekyll’s career as a threat to his own. It was not a secret that most of London and the people of power in the city were-- or had been-- against science, so while Crawford had been on top of the food chain for years, the establishment and success of the Society seemed to have struck a nerve of some sort, especially so once Crawford’s allies began to support it. It seemed like Crawford had seen that as a type of betrayal, and had come to the “clever” solution of trying to shut the operation down immediately, and yet he had never managed. It seemed like no matter what Crawford threw at Jekyll, the doctor would catch it with a smile on his face, light it on fire and toss it in the trash. No matter what the aristocrat did, Brokenshire couldn’t find a single instance of Dr. Jekyll doing anything to actively harm Crawford, his image, or his businesses, despite everything the latter did to him.

He guessed it was just another instance of what a goodhearted man that Jekyll was, of course. Ask anyone on the street and they would all tell you what a great man the doctor was, and it always seemed like every single person in London had a story about how the scientist had personally helped them, their family, or their friends. The only ones that Brokenshire and his team had heart talking badly about him had, of course, been the few people still against the Society, and yet it had never really been about his character rather than the entire idea of the Society. Everyone knew the doctor was a kind, helpful man who just wished everyone well. Men of his stock were, sadly, few and far in between, and it saddened the Sergeant to know that people were willing to hurt such a good man like that. He could not figure out why someone would do such a thing-- sure, Jekyll had made mistakes, but who hadn’t? He doubted that the doctor could have done anything to anger someone to the point of them thinking the only logical solution was to hurt him, abduct him, murder him. Sure, there were probably people mad at Hyde who decided to take it out on Jekyll, but that made no sense at all. After all, Jekyll had been just as much of a victim of the fire and Hyde’s scheme as everyone else had been. Going after Hyde’s ex-employer after leading the Scotland Yard to the Blackfog Bazaar was absolutely absurd, yet a type of revenge that Brokenshire would not put past the many criminals that lurked in the London Underground.

Really, the reason why the offenders could have done it was completely unimportant. What was important was the fact that Dr. Henry Jekyll was gone, and they had to find both him and his kidnappers as soon as possible. Hell, Jekyll could be dying or very badly injured at this very moment! Who knew what kind of torture, what kind of sadistic treatment he was suffering through? Who knew if he was even alive still? Who knew if he even was in London at all? Who knew what kind of man he would be if he was found? For every day that passed, the probability that he would be found and found alive plummeted heavily, the odds and statistics were against them. They had to be quick, so very quick, and yet...

Brokenshire’s hands found the edge of his desk as he pushed his chair away quite abruptly, grunting as he got on his legs and turned his head away from all these godforsaken documents, feeling the clinically white paper blinding him in the dim light. He made a beeline towards one of the few windows in his office, quietly running a hand through his ginger locks as he peaked between the blinds, observing, watching, praying that his goddamn colleagues would come back soon. It was dark, yet it was brighter out there than it was in his office, giving him just enough light to be able to decipher anything going on outside. The streets were empty, the night was quiet... Goddamnit, where were they?

He sighed and shook his head, mostly to try to get rid of the slight paranoia and weariness that began to grip him. He moved away from the window, feeling how all the energy in his legs only got worse and worse for every second, and he almost could not stop himself as he began to pace around the office, trying to pass time and trying to distract himself as it only seemed like all his energy got worse and worse and worse for every second that passed. Jenkins and Wipple should have been here a long time ago. What could possibly have taken them so long? They didn’t have all night!

Brokenshire was an impatient man as it was, he knew that. He seldom had the patience to wait for something unimportant and he had particularly no patience for things that were important. The fact that Wipple and Jenkins had been sent out to collect documents, proof of possible evidence of Crawford’s involvement in Jekyll’s kidnapping that could either incriminate him or prove him innocent of the whole ordeal... Sure, they had his jewelry, but that was certainly not enough proof to arrest him just yet. They needed more... More proof of Crawford’s suspicious behavior, proof that he was not above kidnapping, proof that he was not a man to be trusted. Two weeks of research, two weeks of potentially wasted and precious time amounted to this. Two weeks of quietly investigating Crawford, sinking so much time and so many resources in a potential dead-end... They were hoping to find the evidence they needed to arrest Crawford, after all, they hoped that he was the criminal in all of this, the orchestrator to the entire kidnapping and especially since they had no other leads, but for that, they needed definite proof, proof that Jenkins and Wipple had been in charge of, and if they never showed up...

The Sergeant rubbed his sore eyes, regretfully feeling how the late-night weariness slowly began to get to him, slowly washing over his body like algae clinging to every surface, only seeming to become worse and worse and more and more in quantity the longer you didn’t pay attention. He had been working on this case non-stop for the last two weeks, having barely gotten any rest at all during that time, and yet it was much less because he couldn’t pawn the case off to someone else while he took his normal days off and got the rest he so desperately needed, it was much less the work piling up and being forced upon him because there was no one else to take the case, no, it was mostly the fact that he wanted to get to the bottom of this as fast as possible, and he wanted to be the one in charge of such an important case. He trusted his colleagues with his life and yet he only trusted himself with the Henry Jekyll case, even if he wasn’t fully sure why. Everyone was worried, of course, so he had no doubt that the other officers would be just as precise and active with the case as he currently was, but... Yeah. Jekyll was a beloved man, a man who was friends with practically everyone-- the commissioner specifically, but Brokenshire could not deny that he had taken a liking to that man, as much as he regretted admitting it. He knew the cautionary tale of scientists who went mad with hubris, narcissism, and... Well, madness all too well. He knew the tale of the bright young men and women who wanted to test the limits of every aspect of the world they lived in, who wanted to understand how things worked and wanted to manipulate it into their own liking, who only got hungry for more and more until they went insane and could find themselves in the Asylums all of them seemed to fear so, or until they found themselves exiled and on the run from the law. After all, Brokenshire had known Moreau once upon an eternity ago; he had been just as respectable of a gentleman as Jekyll was, then Moreau had shown his true colors, got exiled, and now he spent the last of his days stuck in a padded cell under solitary confinement and burnt to a crisp in Bethlam Royal Asylum. He knew that there seldom were scientists who did not go mad in their own way-- everyone knew the story of Frankenstein, even if she did seem... Relatively sane now, she had still caused catastrophic damage to the people around her, innocent people specifically, and Moreau was already mentioned... The odds that Jekyll and his Society, too, were just as mad as the rest of the scientists that had made and snuck their way into the history books were far too high. Respectable facades and silver-tongued speech were all they needed to trick practically everyone, both of which Henry Jekyll undoubtedly had. Impulsive, uncontrollable, testing the limits of reality while claiming that it was for the betterment of society, humanity as a whole. It was a tale Brokenshire knew all too well and yet Jekyll had done a good job of pushing himself away from any and all possibilities that he was like those scientists. They were rogue scientists, he would say, not mad scientists.

Oh, it was a speech that the sergeant had heard a handful of times already, yet it was almost endearing, and quite charming after a while. He guessed that was just the effect the doctor had on the people around him. He was a charming man and no one could deny that. He had all of London wrapped around his pinkie, spun and held together with the silken thread he had woven with his silver-tongue, and that had been quite obvious, and it still was. After all, people had been outraged over his disappearance, and they could still hear the people of London making a ruckus and demanding that they find the doctor they all loved so much. Many of Jekyll’s friends had offered to put up rewards for whoever could come forward with any possible statements or for whoever could find the doctor, and with many, he meant many; Dr. Robert Lanyon, Sr. Lanyon, Sir. Danvers Carew, the commissioner himself, and of course the entire Society, and that was only to name a few, so there was quite a large sum of money at play now. So much money was at stake and yet they still had heard nothing related to the Henry Jekyll case. No one had seen suspicious activity, no one had any clue what possibly could have caused it... You might as well have thought he disappeared in thin air just because someone wished him gone, for no reason whatsoever. You might as well have thought the doctor never existed.

The only real ‘evidence’ and the only real statements they had about the case came from their investigation of Crawford. They had dipped their noses in practically every part of Crawford’s life, investigating and interrogating every servant, worker, acquaintance, business partner, and rival with a connection to the man in question, their statements now placed upon the sergeant’s desk, neatly waiting for when they would be of use. All they needed was Jenkins and Wipple with the rest of the accounts and statements, and hopefully they would bring the long-awaited truth. They all had theories, of course, both personal and more... Hmm, official ones, so to speak, all of which suggested that the kidnapping of Henry Jekyll was not the only crime that Crawford may be involved in, many of which seemed to be about tax evasion, blackmail... The classic stuff that men of his stock often dipped into sooner or later. Now, if Jenkins and Wipple could just come back...

Knockknockknock--

Speaking of the devil, Brokenshire couldn’t help but let out a relieved breath he hadn’t known he had been holding as he finally stopped his pace. His attention immediately shifted towards his door, and it only took a moment before he saw the door handle moving, and then through the darkness, Brokenshire finally-- finally!-- saw his dear colleagues entering, the expected documents in hand.

“Oi, sergeant, why are you cooping up in the darkness?”

As Jenkins moved forward with the documents, Wipple stayed behind to close the door behind them, taking the opportunity to also turn on the light, which, in its turn, successfully blinded the poor sergeant whose eyes had gotten so accustomed to the soft, simple light from the candle on his desk. He did not get a lot of time to adjust to it, however, as Jenkins soon placed the new documents down on the little empty space on the sergeant’s desk that had not been occupied with paperwork and, instead, occupied it with more documents. Brokenshire watched the papers, then his gaze turned to Jenkins, who looked less than proud of the work they presented. His thin lips and mustache curled into a frown, the disappointment in his sigh seemed to echo through the room.

“You are not going to believe this, sir.”

“Well, what is it? Did you find anything?”

“Well... You are not going to like it.”

The three of them surrounded the desk, waddling together so everyone could have a good view of the newly added documents. Brokenshire eyed it up and down with great interest, if not suspicion and caution, yet he was quick to look back up at Jenkins, quietly gesturing for him to continue to explain.

“Crawford has been actively against the Society, as we knew, but his way of sabotaging, as we theorized, is nowhere near illegal.” Jenkins filtered through the documents until he got a specific page, tapping it with his finger against the headlines, and them moving the tip of his finger down to the summary, “According to his bank statements, the only money that has been taken out and put into anything remotely against science as been into perfectly legal campaigns, some of just so happens to affect the Society, would the things they push for actually go through. Other than that... The only proof we have is the jewelry found on the scene. Sure, yeah, it’s clear proof but it’s nothing we can arrest or accuse him with. It’s practically impossible for the jewelry to have found its way into the office...”

Brokenshire might as well have thought he got a door slammed into his face.

Their main suspect turned out to be a dead end. All the work, all the time, and all the funds they had put into investigating Crawford turned into a dead-end, and now they came up empty-handed without a new suspect.

But... That didn’t explain why his jewelry was in Jekyll’s workspace.

“Well... Do either of you have any idea why the ring and necklace were in the office otherwise?”

Wipple and Jenkins stayed silent, glancing at each other for a short second, yet they quickly looked back at Brokenshire and seemed to struggle to come up with a logical answer to such a question. So many things could have made the jewelry appear where they did, yet none of them actually seemed as logical as... Well, the theory that Crawford paid some thugs to get Dr. Jekyll out of the game, although having paid them with jewelry-- specifically name engraved jewelry-- was certainly not the most logical option, either. The thought that Dr. Jekyll might have stolen the trinkets didn’t even cross their minds, the thought that Dr. Jekyll might have planted them there seemed too absurd for any of them to even consider it, the thought of Dr. Jekyll having faked the entire thing would probably be the dumbest thing either of them would have thought in years. Dr. Jekyll was gone, he was kidnapped, there had been blood everywhere in the office and the blood might have dried into the wood at this point. Red crimson that coagulated and stained into the mahogany wood was a reminder of what Jekyll, in this very moment, might be suffering through, a reminder that if they weren’t quick, Jekyll’s blood might not have only stained his office.

But... Hold on...

“What if it wasn’t Crawford who planted them there?” Jenkins suddenly spoke up, you could practically see the lightbulb shining over his head as the idea struck him. Both Wipple and Brokenshire furrowed their eyebrows, looking at their colleague.

“Well... Obviously. It isn’t like someone-- if Crawford did hire criminals, would have put them there intentionally. Crawford would clearly not have done the dirty work himself.” Brokenshire pressed.

“No, no-- What if someone tried to frame him?” Jenkins continued, “Think about it-- Crawford is a high standing man, he has a lot of enemies, someone might have stolen the jewelry and planted it on the scene when they kidnapped Jekyll, to throw us off of their tracks?”

The officers all went silent for a moment, as Jenkin’s words and his theory began to sink in. It only took a moment, and then Wipple gasped, almost with excitement. He grabbed Jenkins’ arm and stared at him in awe, before immediately giving him a quick pat on the back.

“Jenkins! You might actually be onto something!”

Jenkins grinned proudly, preening under the praises before the two constables turned towards the sergeant for his input. Brokenshire continued to stare down at the documents, eyebrows knitted into a deep, deep frown upon his forehead. Jenkins’ and Wipple’s excited grins slowly washed away as they watched their friend, a bit confused, a bit worried, as the sergeant reached up a hand to scratch his beard in thought.

“That... Complicates things.”

Brokenshire straightened himself, placing his arms behind his back as his frown only seemed to deepen by the second, yet his eyes did not leave the documents. If someone had kidnapped Jekyll and tried to frame Crawford for it... This might be a much more complicated situation than they had anticipated. This must be a gang activity, or someone who was very dumb for using two pieces of jewelry and nothing more. He could not deny that the idea seemed plausible-- it actually sounded quite reasonable and logical, But how did the criminals get their hands on the trinkets? Could the Scotland Yard afford to finally go and confront Crawford about it, if he knew that his things had recently gotten stolen?

Well... It wasn’t like they had anything to go on, otherwise.

“Gentlemen... I think it’s time that we go to the source, eh?”

“Source?”

“We have to interrogate Crawford. Perhaps he can point us to the reason for why his stuff was in Jekyll’s office.”

Wipple and Jenkins looked at each other, and yet they both immediately turned back to the sergeant.

“Well... What are we waiting for, then?”

The three of them looked at each other for a short moment, only allowing a second of hesitation before all three of them practically sprinted to the door, tearing it open and practically running down the corridors, immediately jumping into the police carriage that was stationed outside and then they were off, galloping through the city streets, off to an unsuspecting Richard Crawford. They had no time to waste, perhaps that’s why they all decided that they had to rush, perhaps that’s why they decided to be quick, or maybe it was the excitement of finally having another lead-- another lead that actually made sense and could be true. In just a few hours they might have their truth. In just a few hours they might find the culprits. In just a few hours, they could all just hope that they would find out what happened to the beloved Dr. Henry Jekyll.

———————————————————

This chapter was originally going to be Thomas going home from the... Ahem, “hook up” with Robert and meeting Emma Carew and flirting a bit with her, but that plan was only in the drafts and I never wrote it so it’s not what I originally had planned and mentioned in the notes above, but I’m weak for Emma and also Emma X Henry so I hope I will be able to write something for them when this fic is over <3

———————————————————

Taglist: @artzycreature @jekkiefan

———————————————————

#tgs #the glass scientists #tgs fanfic #tgs fanfiction #the glass scientists fanfic #the glass scientists fanfiction #banshees fanfic #banshees writing #tgs brokenshire #tgs sergeant brokenshire #tgs sergeant enoch brokenshire #the glass scientists brokenshire #the glass scientists sergeant brokenshire #the glass scientists sergeant enoch brokenshire

18 notes · View notes

davidmann95 · 4 years

Note

now that it's over, thoughts on Bendis' Superman as a whole?

pretenderoftheeast said: So, thoughts on Bendis' Superman and Action Comics' tenure altogether and separately now that it's over?

Anonymous said: Best and Worst things about Bendis' Superman run

Anonymous said: Now that it is over, what are your thoughts on Bendis' runs on Superman and Action Comics as a whole?

Anonymous said: Retrospective thoughts on Bendis' Superman as a whole now that it's, I guess, done?

Anonymous said: Hey so since Bendis’ Superman stuff seems to be done, what did you think of the run as a whole?

I decided to hold off a bit on writing on this one, if only so that I could reread the Action Comics side of it since Superman stood out in my memory a lot more. But now I have, and as we’re heading into a bold new era of Superman (and it’s coming in fast - just since I made my Superman in 2021 predictions we’ve gotten Ed Pinsent finally reprinting his legendary bootleg Silver Age Superman, Steve Orlando announcing his Superman analogue book Project Patron, an official shonen Superman redesign for RWBY/Justice League, PKJ’s Super-debut turning out far better than I ever expected, Superman & Lois’s first proper trailer largely taking people pleasantly by surprise, and my learning that there’s a Sylvester Stallone Old Man Superman analogue movie titled Samaritan coming out this summer) we’re ready to take a look back with at least a touch of perspective. I’ll lead with complaints, so everybody who’s been waiting for me to say that Bendis on Superman was Bad, Actually, savor this because it’s as close as you’ll get.

The Bad

* I hate to say it, but rereading that side of the run there’s no two ways about it: the structure of Action Comics as a whole is a mess. It baffled me from day one that it was the more acclaimed of the two books for so long - I guess people are hardwired at this point to think of ‘street’ stuff as where Bendis is supposed to be - because it was immediately clear that Superman had a well-defined story he wanted to tell, while Action was the usual Bendis off-the-cuff improvisation. It’s barely even a story in the same way, and it’s certainly not the ‘Metropolis crime book’ people took it as: it’s 28 issues of Superman and his supporting cast stuffed a pinball machine with the Red Cloud pinging off of each other as we wait to see who falls in the hole at the bottom, and partway through Leviathan and the Legion of Doom and 90s Superboy are tossed into the mix to keep it going a little longer. On an issue-to-issue basis it’s frequently really good, but the core plot of the book is *maybe* six issues stretched out over two and a half years.

* I’ve gone into this some before, but structure-wise Unity Saga also has problems: Phantom Planet rules but either it needed to be cut or the back half needed to be a year all its own in order to accommodate the scale of what it’s attempting. It’s got an interstellar civil war leading into the formation of the United Planets, family drama, Rogol Zaar’s whole deal, and Jon’s coming of age, and I’d say only that last one is really properly served. Even Jon forming the United Planets, while contextually somewhat justified in terms of 1. The situation being so far gone he’s the only one who’d even think in those terms, 2. Things being bad enough that these assorted galactic powers would be willing to try it, and 3. Him having the S on his chest to sell it, isn’t at all built up to within the run itself.

* Rogol Zaar sucks. He’s made up of nothing but interesting ideas - he’s an ersatz warrior ‘superman’ of a bygone age of empires up against the new model, he’s the sins of Krypton as a conservative superpower come home to roost, he’s while not outright said to be definitely Superman’s tragic half-brother and the culmination of everything this run does with Jor-El - but none of them manifest on the page, he’s just a big punchy dude with a dumb design who screams about how you should take him seriously because he’s totally the one who blew up Krypton. Even a killer redesign by Ryan Sook for Legion of Superheroes can’t fix that. There are lots of bad villains with good ideas who are redeemed with time and further effort, but I can’t imagine Zaar getting that TLC to become a fraction of whatever Bendis envisioned him as.

* The second year of Action Comics, after establishing itself in its first as one of the most consistently gorgeous books on the stands, leads with Szymon Kudranski’s weak output and then concludes with John Romita Jr. turning in some career-worst work. The latter is particularly egregious because for that first year Bendis writes a really collected, gentle Superman so him getting pushed into being more aggressive should have an impact, but Romita draws such a craggy rough-looking Superman in the first place that it mutes any sort of shock value.

* WE NEVER LEARN WHAT’S UP WITH LEONE’S CAR, WHAT THE HELL. You don’t just DROP THAT IN THERE and then NEVER FOLLOW UP.

The Good

* Superman got his real clothes back after 7 truly ridiculous years.

* Bendis fundamentally gets Clark’s voice in a way unlike almost any other writer - even all-around better writers of the character almost never approach how spot-on he is with having Superman speak and act exactly how Superman should.

* Supporting cast front and center! He writes a dynamite Lois, Perry, and Jimmy (even if many of Lois’s more out-there decisions in the run don’t end up retroactively justified the way you’d hope), Ma and Pa are more fun than they’ve been in decades in their brief appearances, he manages to turn having Jor-El in the mix into a positive, and the Daily Planet as a whole has an incredibly distinctive vibe to it like never before that I hope is taken as a baseline going forward.

* The non-Rogol Zaar baddies? All ruled. Invisible Mafia and Red Cloud are both brilliant ideas executed solidly if overextended. Zod as Kryptonian Vegeta, Mongul as a generational perpetual bastard engine primed to be incapable of self-reflection, and Ultraman as “what if Irredeemable but he’d never been a good guy and also he was a Jersey mobster” are the best versions of those characters by numberless light-eons. Lex is on-point in his sparse appearances. Xanadoth as a mystical cosmic monster older than time who still talks like a Bendis character is however unintentionally a hoot. The alt-universe Parasite is a more intimidating Doomsday than Doomsday ever was. And Synmar as an alien culture’s attempt at creating their own Superman and messing up the formula when they make him a soldier can and should be a legitimate major ongoing villain coming out of this run.

* Pretty much all the art other than what I mentioned already. Fabok does a good job bookending The Man of Steel and Ivan Reis does the work of his career anchoring Superman (special props to Reis as well for drawing the first ever non-Steve Rude interesting-looking take on Metropolis), and meanwhile you’ve got Jim Lee, Jose Luis Garcia Lopez, Doc Shaner, Steve Rude, Kevin Maguire, Adam Hughes, Patrick Gleason, Yanick Paquette, Ryan Sook, Brandon Peterson, and David Lafuente doing their own parts.

* Closely related to the art, all the little flourishes with the powers. Super-speed having a consistent visual with the background coloring changing, Clark internally putting numbers to the degrees of force behind his punches and what situations which numbers are appropriate for, ‘skidding to a halt’ mid-flight before crashing through a window, the shonen-ass major throwdowns as portrayed by Reis, how his super-hearing is handled as a prevalent element. Lots of clever bits that added flavor to what he does.

* While Unity Saga has problems, the whole of what Bendis does in Superman as a means of forward momentum for Clark and his world is excellent. The sort of three-act structure of:

** Clark is led to question his place in things over the course of a few adventures

** Involvement in the larger cosmos and the impact it has had through and on his family makes him realize the answer to his questions is that he needs to step up in a bigger way because there’s no benevolent larger universe to welcome Earth with open arms, nor a cosmic precedent for everything turning out for the best without some help

** As a consequence of the lessons learned by this change in the status quo Clark is inspired to make his own personal change in revealing his identity (with Mythological basically being an epilogue showcasing a ‘standard’ standalone Superman adventure while simultaneously highlighting his new status quo and how it fits in as a summing-up of Bendis’s take)

…does a great job of shepherding through ideas that lend a lot of forward momentum to Superman of the kind he hasn’t seen in a long time. Not perfect, but far lesser stories with far lesser ambitions have made huge impacts, so I’d certainly hope at least some of this sticks around even if, say, regardless of any retcons to the main line there are always going to be stories with Clark as a disguise and Jon as a kid. Oh, speaking of whom,

* KISS MY ASS, EVERYTHING WITH JON KENT RULED

Ahem. Probably a less confrontational way of putting that.

Do I think there was more gas in the tank for Jon as a kid? Totally, making him likeable and viable was the one really good thing the Rebirth era accomplished for Superman and I expect we’ll continue seeing more of it in the future one way or another. But whether or not him being aged up was Bendis’s decision, or working with marching orders to set up the eventually-(kinda-)discarded 5G, the coming of age narrative here is fire. He keeps the essential Clark Kent kindness and bit of Lois Lane cheekiness that reminds you he’s still their kid, which is a combination Bendis is basically precision-crafted to write, but his trials by fire give him a background entirely unlike the by-the-numbers “and here’s how Superman’s great kid grew up to be a great superhero too” narrative you’d expect while still arriving at that endpoint. If superheroes live and die by metaphors then Jon in here is what it means to grow up written as large as possible: leaving home for the first time (and seeming to shoot up overnight!), getting into the muck of how the real world works, being beaten down by authority wearing faces you’ve been taught to trust, scrambling to get through with the whole world against you, and in the end getting through by learning to rely on your own strength while keeping your soul intact and your head held high, and even managing to speak some truth to power. It gives him a well-defined life story with room to go back to and explore the intricacies of each leg of for decades to come in a way Superman hasn’t had since the original Crisis - someone someday is going to write a The Life & Times Of The Son Of Superman miniseries and it’s going to be one of the greats - and negates any question that he’s earned his stature as the heir apparent.

* Coming out of this, Superman’s world is fascinating. He’s out but rather than giving up his day-to-day life he’s openly spending part of his life as CLARK KENT: SUPER-REPORTER and part of his job on the cape-and-tights side of things is now KAL-EL: SUPER-SPACE-DIPLOMAT, Lois Lane coruns a foundation helping people whose personal continuities have been fucked over by Crisis shenanigans, Jimmy Olsen owns the Daily Planet but is still doing Jimmy Olsen stuff because that’s how he gets his kicks, and Jon Kent is going to college in the future. I’m not anywhere near naïve enough to think that’s how things are going to be forever, or shortsighted enough to think there’s no value left in the traditional setups, but god I hope these developments stick around for a long, long time to come and potentially become the new ‘normal’ as far as the ongoing shared universe stuff goes, because it all feels like the right and promising next steps to take for the lives of these characters. However it got here, for all the pluses and minuses along the way even if I maintain the former very much outweighed the latter as a reading experience, Bendis has a lot to be proud of if that’s the legacy he leaves on these titles.

* The recap pages at the desks!

#Superman #Brian Bendis #Jon Kent #Opinion

47 notes · View notes

thetravelerwrites · 4 years

Text

Dr. Maël Halvorg (Fae)

Rating: Teen Relationship: Male Part-Fae/Female Part Fae Additional Tags: Exophilia, Monster Boyfriend, Fae, Naga, Reader Insert, Anthropology, Genetics Content Warnings: Children, Pregnancy, Incubation, Infertility Words: 4723

A commission by @ivymemnoch! With Amai and Yenuno's children getting older, they need a teacher, and Amai calls a friend to help out. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

“Amai, it’s great to hear from you!” You said, sitting back and sipping a coffee. You were typing up reports at your desk when she called. “God, it’s been forever since we last spoke. How are Yenuno and the children?”

You were surprised to get a call from your old friend while you were working overseas. You and Amai had gone to college together, and while she was getting a law degree in civil rights, you were studying anthropology. You were both in fields specializing in non-humans, which is why you were studying together.

There was a college that offered specific studies in exology, or the study of non-human sentient life, Exanian University. It provided classes in medicine, law, sociology, politics, cultural exo-anthropology, and many other subjects that focused solely on non-humans.

It was established in the early 1890’s and originally only taught humans about the nine Established races. The Established were allowed to attend school in the 50’s, and during the Neogon rights movement in the 80’s, the campus and curriculum was expanded to included education on the newer races that had begun to emerge as well as open its doors to non-humans. In addition, they began to petition and encourage other colleges to offer exological studies. Many alumni of E.U. were now teaching exological studies at other colleges.

You were now a research professor for E.U., studying newly emerged races and reaching out to those shy about integrating. When you first started your career, Amai and the firm where she worked would often help draw up protection papers for the new races until they were formally recognized as a Neogon race and therefore protected under the Neogon act, which granted them the same rights as humans and the Established. Though, as time went on, new races were much rarer, and you hadn’t needed their services. The surprise call was the first time you’d spoken in months, and you hadn’t seen her face-to-face in eight years.

“They’re well, thank you!” She said. “Whereabouts are you these days?”

“Portugal,” You replied. “We’ve had reports that the Encante people may actually exist, and we’ve been attempting to locate and make contact with them. Unfortunately, because they’re underwater creatures, they’re ability to shapeshift, and their reputation as seducers in the mythology of the region, it hasn’t been an easy task. Although, several people in the local villages claim to have Encantado ancestry, so we’re running blood tests to determine the legitimacy of that claim. If they’re blood comes back with unidentified DNA, we can start the protected race process. I assume that’s why you’re calling? You must have heard the news from Song. I sent him an email about drawing up papers a few days ago.”

“He did tell me, yes, and that’s wonderful news,” She replied. “But that’s actually not why I’m calling.”

“Oh?” You’re head rocked back, surprised. “To what do I owe the pleasure, then?”

“Well,” She sighed heavily. “The older children are at the developmental stage enough now where they should begin school, and the younger ones could use some help with supplemental skills. But both Yenuno and Dr. Halvorg don’t think putting them in a normal school a good idea, so I’ve been outvoted. At the very least, they need a tutor. I’ve done what I can on my own, but I’m not a very good teacher. At least, not for fifteen children. Soon to be eighteen, actually.”

“You’re carrying a new clutch?” You said, excited. “That’s wonderful! Yenuno must be very happy.”

“He is, and so am I,” She said, sounding please but tired. “Although we think this might be the last one. My body isn’t recovering as quickly as it used to and Yenuno worries about my health.”

“Understandable. So why did you call me?”

“Well, Yenuno doesn’t know anything about the educational system, having grown up in the wild, and Dr. Halvorg wants to hire some stuffy colleague of his who will bore the kids into a drooling stupor. Halvorg won’t accept anything less than the best, which I mean… I guess it’s nice that he wants the kids to have nothing but the utmost quality, I just wish he wasn’t so damn rigid. He needs to get laid, honestly,” She huffed, and you stifled a laugh. “Do you have someone you could recommend?”

“To get him laid?”

She snorted. “No! You know what I mean. Do you think any of your colleagues at the university would be interested in educating the children of a rare, endangered race? That’s got to have appeal to you academic types, right?”

“Hmm,” You hummed, sitting back in your chair and contemplating. “I’m not sure. You know, it occurs to me that I’ve never even met your children. Or your husband, for that matter.” You sat up and looked at your calendar. “You know what? I’m due for a vacation. Why don’t I come back state-side and meet all of your little ones? I can get a better idea of who would be a good fit for them. I know several people in early education who could be great for tutoring a large group of children at different development levels.”

“Ah, you’re a lifesaver, thank you so much,” Amai said. “I’ll owe you one big time.”

“Just find me a man and we’ll call it even,” You said, laughing. “I’ll text you when my schedule frees up and we’ll make some plans.”

Two weeks later, you stepped off the plane of the airport in Coleville and rented a car. Willowridge was an out of the way town that had the E.U. campus where you and Amai had gone to school. It was a little bit of a drive from the city to get there, but Coleville had the closest airport.

You arrived at the research facility sometime around mid-afternoon, greeted out front by Amai and her youngest child, Yenu. Yenu was a 50/50 hybrid between naga and human, which was unheard of; all other hybrids were a 95/5 percent split since the males both created and fertilized the eggs. Females were simply incubators in the breeding process. Yenu was a curious mix between Amai and her father, from her stubby little legs to her long snake tail and the blue scales running down her neck and back. From an academic perspective, it’s no wonder this Dr. Halvorg was so keen on keeping her and her siblings in the facility for study.

On the other hand, she was adorable, and the entire world needed to know about it. You wondered how many specialists actually knew about her existence and why there wasn’t more published about her in scientific literature. You’re fairly sure there was only one article based on her, and it was authored by Dr. Halvorg. They were likely keeping her under strict protections until she was older, to spare her the media circus.

“It’s so good to see you!” You said as you scooped her into a hug. Her belly wasn’t big yet, but you could feel it’s hardness against your own belly. Yenu squealed happily in her arms as you squished the two of them.

“You, too!” She said, kissing your cheek. “How was the drive?”

“Scenic, as always,” You said, following her as she went inside. “I got the email from Dr. Halvorg last night about accommodations. You’re right: he’s a little abrupt, but in all honestly I’ve yet to meet a geneticist that isn’t.”

“Believe it or not, he’s way less uptight than he used to be. The children really help lighten him up.”

“He likes kids?” You said, your opinion of him rising slightly.

“Oh, very much,” She said, then her voice lowered to a sad whisper. “He can’t have any children, apparently. His kind are bad breeders, he says.”

“His kind?”

“He’s part fae,” She replied.

“Oh,” You said, frowning. “That’s odd.”

“What is?”

“Well, I’m part fae, too, and I have three brothers. And I know of several subraces of fae that are prolific breeders, several of which I helped integrate myself. Exogenetics is still an evolving science. Perhaps he has been so focused on his current work that he hasn’t checked recent literature in the field. He’s been working in conservation for several decades, didn’t you say? I’ll make some calls and see what I can find.”

“I forgot you were part fae,” She said thoughtfully. “What subrace are you, again?”

“Russian Bereginya,” You replied. “What is he?”

“I’ve never asked,” She said. “He very rarely talks about himself at all. Honestly, it seems like a sore subject with him, so I’ve never brought it up. Even Yenuno seems hesitant to ask, and he gets along better with Dr. Halvorg than I do. The only reason I know his first name is because I’ve seen it on official reports. Only the children are allowed to say it, even if it’s to call him ‘Uncle Maël’.”

“A hard nut to crack, huh?” You asked as she led you into the public lobby and fished out a personnel I.D. badge.

“You could say that,” She said. “He and I don’t always see eye to eye, at least.” She swiped her card in a card slot and pressed her thumb on the printpad. “I’ve got a temporary I.D. waiting for you in the back. It’ll be good for the next two weeks. Let me know if you decide to stay longer, and I’ll have the expiration extended.”

“Sure, thanks,” You said.

“You’re about to meet the man himself,” She said as she walked though an automatic sliding door. “Plus my man, and my children. You remember their names?”

You nodded. “It’ll take me a while to match names to faces, though. You always were an overachiever.”

She laughed.

The two of you walked into what looked like the receiving room of a warehouse, except it was empty. There was a large, rolling aluminum wall that was raised and led to a forested area outside. There was an enclosed greenhouse type thing that had several nests built, as well as a cottage at the far end.

Each little nest had a small body with blue scales and warm almond skin lying in it, curled up into a coil, eyes closed and breathing softly. The cottage at the far end also had a movable wall, which was up, and a large, blue naga with long, straight, black hair and pale skin was sitting there, typing on a laptop that was perched on a standing desk.

“Yenuno is a bit socially shy, so he connects with others through the internet,” Amai whispered. “It’s about as much social interaction with the outside world as he can tolerate sometimes.”

“It must be naptime,” You whispered back, nodding toward the kids.

She laughed softly. “The older ones only need to eat once a day now, depending on the size of their prey, and they get tired after hunting and feeding, so we schedule it for noon. They should be up soon, though.”

She waved her hand to get Yenuno’s attention. He looked up and smiled, closing the laptop. He slithered down the ramp, over to Amai to plant a kiss on her lips, and then took Yenu in his arms, tossing her up once to make her giggle before squishing her in a big hug and blowing a raspberry into her cheek. Amai shushed him.

“Let’s go to the lounge to talk,” Amai said quietly. “Yenuno, this is my friend I told you about, the professor from E.U.”

“It’s nice to meet you finally,” Yenuno said as the three--no, four--of you went to a sitting area nearby. Half of the room had chairs and a couch, while the other side had cushions with a table in between. “Amai has told me many stories about you.”

“Most of them are true,” You said, sitting. “But I won’t say which.”

He laughed and set Yenu on the floor in front of him, watching her carefully as she scooted her way across the carpet. “Dr. Halvorg will be around soon. He usually talks to the children after their naps about their hunting experiences.”

“Jeez, I thought I was a workaholic,” You said. “Does he ever relax?”

“Not that I’ve ever seen,” Amai said, handing you a cup of coffee from the bar behind the couch. “If he’s awake, he’s in research mode. He even works through meals.”

“Well, I’ll hope he’ll make some time so I can discuss the children’s developments with him.”

“Oh, if it’s for the kids, he’ll make time,” Yenuno replied. “He’s practically adopted them.”

“I swear, if he thought he could get away with it, he’d forge our signatures on adoption papers,” Amai said sardonically.

“Speak of the devil,” Yenuno said, jerking his head at the open loading space near the greenhouse. A man stood there, surveying the sleeping children for a moment before heading over to the lounge area. He was thin and tall with long, white-blonde hair in a sleek braid down his back. He was pale complected and had a sharp, angular face with bushy eyebrows and vivid, amber colored eyes. His ears had a definitive point to them.

Yep, definitely Celtic fae heritage; you could spot it a mile away. It’s true that the Celtic fae populace had dwindled over the years, though you hadn’t really considered why. You chalked it up to interbreeding with other races or being edged out of their territory. Historically, since fae were immortal, or at least very long lived, they often didn’t feel the biological incentive that mortal creatures felt to procreate. Could their long-held disinterest in breeding have eventually rendered them infertile? That was a startling thought.

“Is this the professor I’ve heard so much about?” Dr. Halvorg asked as he approached. Yenu toddled her way over to him on her short little legs and he picked her up, popping her onto his hip like a pro.

“Yes,” Amai said and introduced you. Dr. Halvorg used his free hand to shake yours.

“Lovely to meet you,” He said. “I look forward to working with you. You have an impressive reputation. I’ve actually been following your progress for quite a while.”

“Really?” You asked, surprised.

“Oh, yes,” He replied, shifting a squealing Yenu to the opposite hip. “You’re the foremost anthropologist in the field currently. You and your team are responsible for integrating over thirty percent of known Neogon races in the last ten years. As a geneticist, as a scientist, seeing the steady expansion and confirmation of known non-human races happen in my lifetime is pretty incredible to watch.”

“Wow,” You said, stunned. “I didn’t realize I had such a reputation.”

“Well, you’ve been in the field for a long time,” He said with a smile. “It’s not surprising that you might not be aware of the impact your work has had on the world.”

You may have blushed, but you’d never have admitted it. Thankfully you were spared from finding a way to follow up that statement by a range of sleepy groans issuing from the enclosure. One by one, the children began to stretch and yawn and make their way over to their parents, the first of which was one of the youngest.

“Mommy!” He said, his curly hair bouncing as he slithered over the lip of the carpeted lounge area. “Who’s that?” He pointed directly at me.

“Osan, it’s not polite to point!” She said sharply. “This is my friend who I told you was coming to meet all of you. Wait for your brothers and sisters to get over here before we start introductions, okay?”

Osan shot across the enclosure to rudely awaken the rest of his siblings. His excited hollering echoed throughout the empty enclosure.

“Ah, youth. I’d love to siphon some of that energy and drink it like an espresso,” Amai said.

“Girl, I hear that,” You replied, chuckling.

A small army of nearly identical naga children came following Osan, curious about you, chattering and craning their necks to get a better look at you.

“Kids, line up, line up,” Yenuno said, wading out into the sea of small clones of himself. “These are the five year olds: Keenai, Tani, Fuma, and Amaia. The four year olds: Nenish, Tahara, and Sadji. The three year olds: Jinsa, Ishni, Chidil, Itheti, and Dashu. The two year olds: Osan and Khuzho. And little Yenu is eight months old.”

“I don’t know how you tell them all apart,” You laughed.

“I have a mole!” Sadji said, pointing at it. “See!”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” You said, bending down to pat his head. He shook off your hand but laughed. You tickled his chubby cheek and he giggled, trying to fend you off.

“So what would you like to do?” Amai said. “I assume you already have a plan.”

“Yes,” You said. “I’d like to interview each child with a behavioral therapist and get a sense of their development levels myself, and then Dr. Halvorg and I will compare notes. I can make my determination then.”

“Sounds good,” Amai replied. “But it doesn’t have to be today, does it? You just got into town. I’d love to take you out for an early dinner, if you haven’t eaten. Yenuno hunted with the kids, so he likely won’t eat again until morning.”

“Sure, I’d love to,” You said. “Dr. Halvorg, do you have dinner plans?”

“Oh, no, I have a lot of work to do,” He said. “Besides, I’m sure the two of you will want to catch up. Please, enjoy yourselves. If you all would excuse me, I have a report to write.” He kissed Yenu on the cheek before handing her back to Amai and tousled a few of the kids’ hair as he passed. “Come along, children. Let’s do our interviews and I’ll take you all out to the playground.”

The kids cheered and followed him down the hall to the offices.

“You weren’t lying, Amai, he is really good with kids,” You said.

“Between him and the volunteers, we never have to hire a babysitter, which is nice,” Yenuno replied.

“Some days, it’s his only redeeming feature,” Amai said with a sour smile. “I still haven’t quite forgiven him for what happened when I was pregnant with Yenu. If I sit too long, thinking about it, I get mad all over again.”

“Think of the eggs, my love,” Yenuno said patiently, patting her belly. “He’s apologized many times since then. You can’t hold a grudge forever.”

“I absolutely can,” She said churlishly. “I understand his job is conserving and repopulating your species, but our marriage is an entirely separate thing and he can keep his nose out of it.”

“Well, let’s get a cheesecake and forget all about it,” You suggested.

“Sound good to me,” She said. She kissed Yenuno on the lips and waved goodbye to him. “There’s a new Italian place that’s got really good reviews.”

“No seafood! Or wine!” Yenuno called after her.

“This ain’t my first rodeo!” She called back.

The Italian place was as good as Amai said it was, and the two of you went to Tumble’s Cafe for dessert and coffee. Tumble had actually been a client of Amai’s when a hate crime had been committed against him. Now his wife and kids had two shops open in town and were doing very well for themselves.

Lucy, Tumble’s wife, was a few years your junior and a mother of three. Amai and Lucy had become close friends over the years and they were both in an interspecies mommy group. You knew of her, since you’d both grown up in the same small town, but you hadn’t actually met her before. Amai told you that the triplets often played with her children at the park, and you had to stop for a moment and contemplate the strange image of bunnies and snakes playing together.

“Is this the professor?” Lucy asked as you came in with Amai.

“Did you tell the whole town I was coming?” You asked Amai.

“I didn’t need to,” Amai replied with a laugh. “Word gets around.”

“What can I get you guys?” Lucy asked, a big smile on her freckled face.

“Coffee and cheesecake to go, please,” You said.

“Oh, no coffee for me,” Amai interjected. “Can I have a decaf iced cinnamon chai instead?”

“You got it. Whipped cream on top?”

“Yes, please. Where’s Tumble?”

“Putting the kids to bed upstairs,” Lucy said. “Such a good daddy. We’re talking about having more.”

“More than three?” You asked as she handed you a steaming cup of coffee. “I can’t imagine having more than two, at the most.”

“I guess it comes with having a non-human partner who’s used to the idea of having many children,” Lucy said, nodding at Amai, who tilted her head in agreement. “Not all non-humans have litters or clutches, but the ones who do always want more kids. At least the girls are in school now andTumble gave me a good five years before asking for another litter, unlike supermom over here. How’s that going on your end, by the way?”

“That’s why the professor is here,” Amai said, bumping you slightly with her shoulder. “She just got in today. The evaluations start tomorrow.”

“Well, good luck.” She handed you a box that contained two generous slices of cheesecake.

“Thanks, Lucy,” Amai said as the two of you left. “I’m sure I’ll be back in here soon. Tumble’s pastries are the best in town.”

“I’ll tell him you said that!” Lucy said with a laugh, waving.

The next morning, you began setting up for the individual assessments when Dr. Halvorg entered the room.

“Good morning,” You said. “Are you observing with the behavioral specialist?”

“I am the behavioral specialist,” He said. “I have a PhDs in child psychology and clinical psychology.”

“How many degrees do you have?” You asked, impressed.

“A few,” He admitted. “I’ve been alive for quite a long time, so I go back every once in a while to get another, or for a refresher. The education for each degree is much different now than it was fifty years ago.”

“How old are you?” You asked. “I know you’re part fae.”

“Amai told you that, eh?”

“Maybe,” You replied. “I mean, I’m part fae, too, so it’s not like I’m bothered by it.”

“You are?” He asked, looking at you keenly. “That wasn’t in your dossier. European?”

“Russian, and it’s not really a secret. I’m surprised you didn’t already know; I figured Amai would have said something. I was actually thinking you and I should have a conversation about that.”

He looked at you with an indecipherable expression and opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, one of the eldest children came in the door.

“Later,” He said. You nodded.

The evaluations were interesting. The children were advanced for their ages, though Dr. Halvorg told you that was normal among nagas, who had to mature quickly in the wild. Watching them problem solve during the assessment was actually fascinating. They grasped new concepts relatively quickly and were wildly curious. They actually seemed happy to learn new and unusual things and kept asking you about your work with new races. You imagined they got a lot of that exuberance from Amai. Yenuno seemed a great deal more anxious and withdrawn.

The assessments took the entire day, and Dr. Halvorg asked you back to his office to compare notes when they were done.

“I think Ishni is slightly behind the others in his age group, or rather his brothers are more advanced. Honestly, it’s hard to tell with nagas. Their development is so unusual.”

“I would agree,” Dr. Halvorg said. “With Ishni being behind, that is. But it’s nothing some focused work won’t fix. The rest of them are advancing well, based on the available statistics for their age groups.”

“Yes, it’s shocking how quickly they pick up new things. I wouldn’t be surprised if they completed a full curriculum in just a few years.”

“Based on today’s evaluations, do you have a candidate in mind who would work for them?” He asked.

You sighed heavily. “I do,” You said. “I actually know of several that would be good fits. Unfortunately, all of those people are currently under contract.”

“Oh,” Dr. Halvorg said. “I thought you said you knew someone who would be perfect for this job.”

“I said early development!” You replied. “But these children don’t need early development. That’s shapes and colors and numbers and things like that. All of these kids can already read. Even the two year olds! They need more advanced tutelage, and I didn’t realize that when Amai first asked.”

“So what would you recommend?”

You sat back in your chair. “Give me a few days to think it over and make some calls and I’ll get back to you. In the meantime, just go about things as normal. I’d like to observe how things run here naturally.”

“Is that in reference to the search for an educator?”

“No, it’s for my own personal observations,” You said, smiling. “I am still an exo-anthropologist, after all, and quite honestly, the last couple of days have been riveting.”

He grinned. “A woman after my own heart.”

Two nights later, you walked into the enclosure after dinner to a strange sight: Dr. Halvorg reading the kids a bedtime story. He was sitting on the ground in the circle of nests and reading from a big book of non-human fairy tales. Race appropriate ones, of course. It was so unusual that all you could do was lean against the doorframe and listen.

When he finished, he helped settle all of the children and wished them a good night, and set the lights to starlight, with little pinpricks of light shining through the ceiling. When he saw you, he walked over.

“So, no good,” You said. “There aren’t any teachers who can come in on short notice.”

He sighed unhappily. “Well, what now?”

“I’ve decided that until they make contact with the Encante people, I’m not needed, so I might as well make the most of my time here and be the kids’ tutor until I need to go back or a teacher is made available.”

“Really?” Dr. Halvorg said, surprised. “Well, the kids like you, and you’re certainly well-educated. Have you ever taught before?”

“Briefly at E.U.,” You replied. “I taught one year of anthropology. It was nice staying in one place for a while, and the students seemed receptive to me. I only left because I was needed for a first contact situation.” You looked around. “Where’s Yenuno and Amai?”

“Date night,” He said. “They’re off… doing whatever people do on dates these days. I haven’t dated in decades, so I’m not certain what that entails anymore.”

“I could fix that, if you like,” You offered.

He smiled, but tilted his head. “How do you mean?”

“You could go on a date with me,” You said. “Since I’m going to be staying a while and working with you, it’ll be nice to get to know you better. And… maybe more than that.”

He looked like you’d hit him with a brick. He was still smiling confusedly, but his mouth was open and he couldn’t seem to speak.

“You okay there?” You asked.

“Ye--yes,” He stammered. “Forgive me. I… I appreciate the offer, but… I... I, uh…”

“It’s okay to say no, Maël,” You replied, laughing a little. “You don’t have to find an excuse. ‘No’ is a valid answer.”

He laughed a little self-consciously. “I’m sorry. I’ve been married to my work for so long that I just haven’t considered the possibility of dating. It’s… not something I’m interested in. I hope you understand.”

“Of course,” You replied. “That’s completely fine. And if you change your mind, that’s fine too. You know how to get in touch with me. No pressure. We’re both adults, after all.”

“Yes,” He said, adjusting his glasses. “I appreciate that. Thank you for the offer.”

“Think nothing of it,” You said. “I should get back to work. See you tomorrow.”

“Yes,” He repeated. You waved and walked away, unaware of his curious, piercing gaze on your retreating back.

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience! To help me continue creating, please consider buying me a Kofi, becoming a Patron, or donating directly to my PayPal!

Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

#Exophilia #Fae #Naga #Reader Insert

213 notes · View notes

naturecpw · 4 years

Link

The Lost History of Yellowstone Debunking the myth that the great national park was a wilderness untouched by humans By Richard Grant; Photographs by Andrew Geiger

After 14 summers excavating in Yellowstone National Park, Doug MacDonald has a simple rule of thumb. “Pretty much anywhere you’d want to pitch a tent, there are artifacts,” he says, holding up a 3,000-year-old obsidian projectile point that his team has just dug out of the ground. “Like us, Native Americans liked to camp on flat ground, close to water, with a beautiful view.”

We’re standing on a rise near the Yellowstone River, or the Elk River as most Native American tribes called it. A thin wet snow is falling in late June, and a few scattered bison are grazing in the sagebrush across the river. Apart from the road running through it, the valley probably looks much as it did 30 centuries ago, when someone chipped away at this small piece of black glassy stone until it was lethally sharp and symmetrical, then fastened it to a straightened shaft of wood and hurled it at bison with a spear-throwing tool, or atlatl.

“The big myth about Yellowstone is that it’s a pristine wilderness untouched by humanity,” says MacDonald. “Native Americans were hunting and gathering here for at least 11,000 years. They were pushed out by the government after the park was established. The Army was brought in to keep them out, and the public was told that Native Americans were never here in the first place because they were afraid of the geysers.”

MacDonald is slim, clean-cut, in his early 50s. Originally from central Maine, he is a professor of anthropology at the University of Montana and the author of a recent book, Before Yellowstone: Native American Archaeology in the National Park. Drawing on his own extensive discoveries in the field, the work of previous archaeologists, the historical record and Native American oral traditions, MacDonald provides an essential account of Yellowstone’s human past. Tobin Roop, chief of cultural resources at Yellowstone, says, “As an archaeologist, working in partnership with the park, MacDonald has really opened up our understanding of the nuances and complexities of the prehistory.”

MacDonald sees his work, in part, as a moral necessity. “This is a story that was deliberately covered up and it needs to be told,” he says. “Most visitors to the park have no idea that hunter-gatherers were an integral part of this landscape for thousands of years.”

In the last three decades, the National Park Service has made substantial efforts to research and explain the Native American history and prehistory of Yellowstone, but the virgin-wilderness myth is still promoted in the brochure that every visitor receives at the park entrance: “When you watch animals in Yellowstone, you glimpse the world as it was before humans.” Asked if he considers that sentence absurd, or offensive to Native Americans, MacDonald answers with a wry smile. “Let’s just say the marketing hasn’t caught up with the research,” he says. “Humans have been in Yellowstone since the time of mammoths and mastodons.”

Shane Doyle, a research associate at Montana State University and a member of the Apsaalooke (Crow) Nation, burst out laughing when I read him that sentence from the brochure. But his laughter had an edge to it. “The park is a slap in the face to Native people,” he said. “There is almost no mention of the dispossession and violence that happened. We have essentially been erased from the park, and that leads to a lot of hard feelings, although we do love to go to Yellowstone and reminisce about our ancestors living there in a good way.”

* * *

On the road between the Norris Geyser Basin and Mammoth Hot Springs is a massive outcrop of dark volcanic rock known as Obsidian Cliff, closed to the public to prevent pilfering. This was the most important source in North America for high-quality obsidian, a type of volcanic glass that forms when lava cools rapidly. It yields the sharpest edge of any natural substance on earth, ten times sharper than a razor blade, and Native Americans prized it for making knives, hide-scraping tools, projectile points for spears and atlatl darts, and, after the invention of the bow and arrow 1,500 years ago, for arrowheads.

For the first people who explored the high geothermal Yellowstone plateau—the first to see Old Faithful and the other scenic wonders—Obsidian Cliff was a crucial discovery and perhaps the best reason to keep coming back. In that era, after the rapid melting of half-mile-thick glaciers that had covered the landscape, Yellowstone was a daunting place to visit. Winters were longer and harsher than they are today, and summers were wet and soggy with flooded valleys, dangerous rivers and a superabundance of mosquitoes.

MacDonald made one of the most exciting finds of his career in 2013 on the South Arm of Yellowstone Lake: a broken obsidian projectile point with a flake removed from its base in a telltale fashion. It was a Clovis point, approximately 11,000 years old and made by the earliest visitors to Yellowstone. The Clovis people (named after Clovis, New Mexico, where their distinctive, fluted points were first discovered in 1929) were hardy, fur-clad, highly successful hunters. Their prey included woolly mammoths, mastodons and other animals that would become extinct, including a bison twice the size of our modern species.

The Clovis point that MacDonald’s team spotted on the beach is one of only two ever found in the park, suggesting that the Clovis people were infrequent visitors. They preferred the lower elevation plains of present-day Wyoming and Montana, where the weather was milder and large herds of megafauna supported them for 1,000 years or more. MacDonald thinks a few bands of Clovis people lived in the valleys below the Yellowstone plateau. They would come up occasionally in the summer to harvest plants and hunt and get more obsidian.

“Native Americans were the first hard-rock miners in Wyoming and it was arduous work,” says MacDonald. “We’ve found more than 50 quarry sites on Obsidian Cliff, and some of them are chest-deep pits where they dug down to get to the good obsidian, probably using the scapular blade of an elk. Obsidian comes in a cobble [sizable lump]. You have to dig that out of the ground, then break it apart and start knapping the smaller pieces. We found literally millions of obsidian flakes on the cliff, and we see them all over the park, wherever people were sitting in camp making tools.”

Each obsidian flow has its own distinctive chemical signature, which can be identified by X-ray fluorescence, a technique developed in the 1960s. Artifacts made of Yellowstone obsidian from Obsidian Cliff have been found all over the Rockies and the Great Plains, in Alberta, and as far east as Wisconsin, Michigan and Ontario. Clearly it was a valuable commodity and widely traded.

On the Scioto River south of Columbus, Ohio, archaeologists identified 300 pounds of Yellowstone obsidian in mounds built by the Hopewell people 2,000 years ago. It’s possible the obsidian was traded there by intermediaries, but MacDonald and some other archaeologists believe that groups of Hopewell made the 4,000-mile round trip, by foot and canoe, to bring back the precious stone.

https://www.smithsonianmag.com/history/lost-history-yellowstone-180976518/?utm_source=pocket-newtab

#american indian history #american indian museum #archaeology #hunting #indigenous peoples

19 notes · View notes

talvin-muircastle · 3 years

Text

Am I Queer? It’s Controversial.

This is going to be long, and it’s going to cover a lot of ground, so please bear with me.

Recently, this article came to my attention:

https://www.healthline.com/health/gender-nonconforming

I have spent a fair amount of time questioning my own sexuality/identity, and having it questioned by others. Now approaching five full decades of life, I feel comfortable saying:

I identify as Male, and Straight.

I am Gender Non-Conforming by the standards of the culture I come from.

But I am not comfortable saying this qualifies me as “Queer” or otherwise under LGBTQIA+.

That article (which is by no means the Last Word on the subject) identifies several areas where I do not conform to my AMAB status as culturally defined:

I have long hair. But I also have a thick beard and moustache, and I like that combination. Still, I grew up in a place where long hair on a guy meant you were A) Queer or B) into Heavy Metal. Even though my teen years saw me sporting a military-style buzzcut more often than not, I tended to hang out with the Metalheads. My long hair continues to be a point of contention with my conservative relatives and in-laws. Some of them think I am a Hippie, which is funny because I am allergic to Cannabis. Wanna watch me fight for breath and puke? Blow weed smoke in my face.

I am a Stay-At-Home Dad and Homemaker. I have been the breadwinner for this family, but that is not part of my identity. I am quite content to let my wife handle that part of things, and so is she. I have been a Dad longer than I have been a father, in fact: for most of my life I have been mentoring teenagers that find their way to me seeking advice, comfort, acceptance, and guidance. I spent a lot of time worrying about what career should I follow, and it took me far too long to understand and accept that Dad was what I was after. A woman seeking motherhood as a career is validated, a man seeking fatherhood in the same context is not conforming.

When I was younger, I got hit with one hell of a double-standard: while wanting to be a Dad as a goal is not acceptable, I was supposed to go out there and sow my wild oats. OK, I wasn’t really supposed to get girls pregnant, but I was supposed to try. Wait, what? Try that again? OK, if you were a teenaged boy in the 80s and 90s and I am pretty sure before that (not sure after, AIDS changed a lot of thinking all around), you were not supposed to get a girl pregnant, but you were supposed to make an attempt as often as possible, in fact you were supposed to score but fail. If you are confused, don’t feel bad: I was living steeped in this paradox 24/7/365 and came out of it real confused.

Meanwhile, I was looking for a long-term, meaningful relationship with a woman who could be a partner in my life, and avoiding the one-night stands I was supposed to be after according to the standards of my culture, and so many of the people around me—parents, teachers, peers—decided that I must be Queer. And that was Not A Good Classification To Find Yourself In in Rural Tennessee of the 80’s and 90’s. Lacking real support, I entered adulthood like a trainwreck still skidding down the tracks, confused as hell and desperately trying to please people whose opinions mattered to me far more than they should. I did finally find that relationship, and we celebrate 21 years of marriage this month. Meanwhile I can’t keep track of who has gotten divorced and remarried from that crowd anymore.

I am not a fan of American Football. (I am not a fan of soccer, which is football to the rest of the world, but that’s not going to get you labeled Queer in the USA as yet.) Even so, I got recruited to be the Football Manager for my high school football team, and then I spent several years studying to be an Athletic Trainer in college as an add-on to my English and Education degree. The fact that I spent 7 years of my life on the sidelines of football games (and basketball, and baseball) and still do not really understand the rules of those sports should have been a clear sign to me that I was trying to conform and failing badly. An American Male of my generation is supposed to like these things, he is supposed to scream at the television or scream from the stands when watching a game, he is supposed to have a Favorite Team and Wear Their Stuff.

Yeah, that’s not me. I don’t like combative sports. I like things that involve grace, beauty, and art. Figure skating (either gender, singles, but especially pairs) is fun to watch. The more artistic of gymnastics events are nice (uneven bars and vault are kinda boring, but I love watching floor exercise.) Watching someone do tricks on a skateboard is more interesting to me than an MMA bout. I enjoy the art of it. I used to watch WWF Wrestling as a kid, but I found I enjoyed the “story” more than the violence. Martial arts practice that is done like a dance is more interesting than watching two people try to kick each other in the face for real.

I’m told I am supposed to like these things. I am told that not liking them makes me less masculine.

This extends into online gaming as well. Oh, I like some combat games. We aren’t going to talk about how many hours I have played the XCOM series. But…I don’t like PVP or multiplayer. I like the story arc, and accomplishing things. Minecraft? I like building, and killing mobs is very secondary to that. In single-player I usually just go peaceful mode and explore the world, build grand railways and tunnels, create comfortable houses or make a home under a lake with a glass roof under the water. In World of Warcraft I spent more time exploring the world and getting cool screenshots than worrying about getting Phat Loot and XP. I would take a whole afternoon just to escort a couple of new players through dangerous territory so they could find their friends.

I have gotten a lot of grief over that. I am supposed to go out and kill kill kill stab stab stab get the loot!

And I am supposed to get more than the other person. It’s competition. Men are supposed to compete. And if you can’t get more than the other guy you go dump buckets of lava on his house and laugh at the noob.

I hate that.

By the standards I was raised with, I am gender nonconforming. I most definitely do not conform to the expectations that were laid upon me from my youth.

Does that make me Queer? I am not comfortable claiming that.

The standards I was held to can also be considered Toxic Masculinity. They hold that Queer==Less Of A Man. “Queer” is not “Less.” I was raised to think it is, but I have learned, and grown, and I know that it is not. I also do not accept that I, myself, am Less. The very premise of me being labeled Queer by those people is wrong on all counts. I am different. I have always known that. I believe that “Man” and “Male” can encompass more than violence, bullying, and competition. I also know full well that many who identify as “Woman” and “Female” embrace those as ideals as well.

I am no stranger to violence. My life has often been violent. I have fought off muggers who were armed with knives, I have stared down the barrel of a gun, I have been beaten because someone else wanted to establish himself as the dominant male in our school just after he moved there. I am not a pacifist: the only reason I have not killed another human being in self-defense is because I was outnumbered. I just don’t feel that defines my gender, and I have been told it should. I fight to survive and to protect others, not to prove that I can.

Others who look like me are guarding statues of Columbus with their Assault Rifles because they feel their masculinity is threatened. This is another area where I do not conform to my expected gender roles. Not only do I not feel my masculinity is threatened by BLM, or Pride, or the existence of Trans folks, I no longer feel my masculinity can be threatened. I spent so many years under attack from “my” side, and gotten so much support from “their” side, that I now understand that my gender is not about what THEY think. It is MY identity. I OWN it. I am who I am regardless of their perception of me. Nothing someone else does can take that from me.

And if anything about me is Queer, it is that: the understanding that my identity belongs to me and not to those who seek to mislabel me.

I have been told by some in the Queer community that I am welcome among them, and I am grateful for that. So, so many of my stories can be prefaced with, “There I was, the only Straight Guy in the room, when:” I am proud to be an Ally.

But calling myself Queer? I’m not comfortable doing that. I could, and I know some who would accept it. But I feel it is more important to me to break the toxic definition of Masculinity and show that things like nurturing, caring, creating, dancing, loving, uplifting, and oh yes parenting, these ARE Male Qualities, always have been, and should always be. No criticism of GNC folks who take the Queer label intended or implied: they are not Less, they own their own identity, they are valid. They are themselves, and have a right to be.

I am me.

I am a Man.

I will never be the Man they wanted me to be, and I am PROUD of that.

Happy Pride Month.

Don’t let the bastards get you down.

#lgbt #lgbtq #pride month

6 notes · View notes

chiseler · 3 years

Text

Hammett Made It Easy

To put it bluntly, it is simply, humanly impossible to watch Roy Del Ruth’s original 1931 film version of The Maltese Falcon without drawing comparisons and parallels with John Huston’s much more popular (if not exactly “timeless”) version from a decade later. After all, in many fundamental ways the films are a nearly identical match, scene for scene and line for line. Almost, anyway. Enough so that you’d notice.

The fault for this lies squarely on the shoulders of author Dashiell Hammett. whose 1930 novel made straying from the original source material extremely difficult. The sharp dialogue, the snappy pacing, and the already cinematic scene structure are all so very good that there was little reason to go messing with it. In fact, as the story goes, when screenwriter John Huston made the decision to move into directing, Howard Hawks gave him a copy of the book as a potential first project shortly before Huston left on a vacation. Huston handed the book to his secretary and told her to type it up in script format. She did, and it was that initial version straight from the book that was green-lighted by the studio—even before Huston had had a chance to read it.

Huston later made a few minor changes and additions, but one has to wonder if ten years earlier screenwriters Maude Fulton and Brown Holmes didn’t work much the same way, given how much of the 1931 film’s dialogue reappears verbatim in Huston’s—with the notable exception of the Shakespeare quote that closes the latter (a line supposedly suggested by Humphrey Bogart).

Granted, Huston’s film runs twenty minutes longer than Del Ruth’s spiffy 80-minute number (for a number of reasons, including a much larger role for the hapless gunsel Wilmer and an extended final sequence), but nevertheless if you remove the script from the equation, comparing the two films becomes much easier. At that point the remaining important factors are the directors and their styles, and the casts and their performances.

By 1931, Del Ruth was already well underway in a directing career that would find him making comedies, musicals, dramas, Westerns, and even the occasional horror film. Although comedies were his real forte (he would soon direct Lee Tracy in Blessed Event), taking on something like the Hammett novel was not that unusual. He was not a particularly remarkable director, and stylistically his films resembled most other standard films of the day. The scenes were quick, the camera was static, he didn’t have much time for pizzazz. As was the case of so many of the films of the era, his pictures often resembled filmed stage plays. He was on a tight schedule, and as soon as he finished one he had to be on to the next in a couple days. In the end he crafted an entertaining, well-told story, and that’s all the studio and audiences were looking for.

Meanwhile, The Maltese Falcon was going to be Huston’s directorial debut after having solidly established himself as a respected screenwriter. Some of the suits at Warner Brothers were hesitant to let him make the leap, so he had to prove to them he could do it, and approached the film with the kind of energy and big ideas you find with so many first-time directors. Although the film wasn’t as flashy and inventive as Citizen Kane, Huston did pull out a few tricks, like the famed seven-minute take, and the camera work was fluid and energetic. Even if audiences didn’t notice a number of his little flourishes, it was still a very confident film. More importantly, it was an entertaining, well-told story—and that’s what the studio and audiences were really looking for.

(It’s worth noting, however, that Huston’s version was much tamer than Del Ruth’s—perhaps for obvious reasons. In Del Ruth’s version there’s no pussyfooting around the fact that Sam Spade really is having an affair with his partner’s wife. Nor is there any question what happens after Spade accuses Ruth Wonderly/ Brigid O'Shaughnessy of only using money to buy his allegiance.)

What Huston really had on his side was, if not star power exactly, then at least a handful of familiar faces. It might have been Sydney Greenstreet’s film debut, but audiences certainly recognized Mary Astor, Peter Lorre, Elisha Cook, and Bogart. Up until this point of course Bogart had only been a character player, but his star was definitely on the rise, and broke with this film.

Del Ruth, on the other hand, was working with an armload of good, available B actors. Most of them worked regularly, but they weren’t exactly Joan Blondell or Douglas Fairbanks.

It’s in looking at the performances of the two groups that the real differences between the films arises. Take the character of Sam Spade, for instance. Bogart’s performance as the womanizing, sharp tongued private dick always struck me as stiff and stagey—you can almost hear him thinking of each gesture before he makes it, and each line before he speaks it. There’s something tangibly artificial in his performance, the feeling that we really are watching an actor, and moreover one who’s not trying very hard. Or maybe one who’s letting his stage training get the better of him, thinking the dialogue alone will carry the day. I of course love Bogart, just not here, particularly.

Ricardo Cortez (in reality the NYC-born son of Austrian immigrants) portrayed a much looser, more easy-going Spade, always ready with a quip and forever chasing skirts. He gives a much more relaxed performance that often borders on the straight comic. In spite of the fact that Cortez is much more comfortable in the role, it seems, his Spade is almost out of place here, smirking his way through a double murder investigation.

Seen today, Greenstreet’s Gutman seems so unique a performance that it immediately became iconic, and a character and performing style he would go on to recreate for the rest of his career. It seems unique anyway, until you see Dudley Digges Gutman from a decade earlier. The similarities between the two performances are shocking. The intonation, vocal tones, the side mutterings, the laughter, the gestures, even the facial expressions are so nearly identical it’s almost as if Greenstreet studied Digges’ performance closely and decided to recreate it for the remake. Strange thing is, for American character actor Digges, it was a unique role quite unlike anything else he’d played before or would play again. Unless you care to argue that the spirit of the true Kasper Gutman inhabited both actors (and then stayed in Greenstreet), it’s a mighty remarkable coincidence.

One of the more interesting distinctions can be seen in the character of Spade’s secretary, Effie Perine, and more specifically it boils down to a single line reading.

In one of the first and most famous lines of the film, Effie informs Spade that a new client is waiting to see him. In the Huston version, bubbly Lee Patrick says, “You’ll wan to see this one anyway—she’s a knockout!” She seems awfully enthusiastic about it, happy to encourage her boss’s assorted flings. It seems a little odd, but then she spends the rest of the film running errands for Spade and we never give her another thought.

In Del Ruth’s version, Una Merkel’s Effie does not smile and does not chirp when she says dourly, “You’ll want to see this one anyway. She’s a knockout.” There’s so much stifled bitterness, frustration, and jealousy in the line that we can read her entire character—almost her whole life—in those few words. And for the rest of the film, whenever Spade asks her to run another errand or do another favor, we know what she’s thinking when she agrees. Thanks to Merkel, Effie becomes the one honestly tragic figure in the entire story, with the possible exception of Wilmer.

As Gutman’s henchman and punk, far be it from me to compare anyone with the great Elisha Cook, Jr.—unless of course it’s the equally great Dwight Frye. Sadly Frye has been given very little to do here except look sullen and angry. In fact he’s only been given a single line of dialogue (“I’ll fog him”). Still, he’s always fun to watch—though admittedly not as much fun here as Cook, who gets to give Bogart a vicious kick in the head.

In the end and over time, the choice of which, if either, version is superior is a simple matter of taste. It does become easier to understand, though, why in the 1950s Del Ruth’s version was redubbed Dangerous Female in order to distinguish it from Huston’s.

by Jim Knipfel

4 notes · View notes