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gimme-mor · 3 years

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ACOTAR THINK PIECE: ELAIN ARCHERON, UNTOUCHABLE

*DISCLAIMER*

This will be a long post.

Please take the time to read this post in its entirety and truly reflect on the message I am trying to send before commenting. My goal is to use my background in Gender and Women’s Studies to deconstruct the comments I have seen on Tumblr and Twitter and bring awareness to the ACOTAR fandom.

The reason I am tagging “Elriel” in this post is to call attention to the arguments in the Elriel fandom that: weaponize Elain’s femalehood to shame real life people for their opinions about Elain’s character and her relationship with Lucien; victimize Elain’s character in fandom discussions; and coddle Elain’s character, which limits fandom discussions about her narrative development and prevents the ACOTAR fandom from holding Elain accountable for her actions and inactions in the same way that the fandom holds other characters accountable for their actions and inactions. It is for these reasons that I WILL NOT remove the “Elriel” tag from this post because all of the above points contribute to the toxic discourse surrounding Elain’s character.

I urge those who use these arguments to understand their implications, why they are problematic, regardless of intent, and reexamine their contributions to the ACOTAR fandom. I WILL NOT tolerate anyone who tries to twist my words and say I am attacking people and their personal shipping preferences. In fact, I AM CRITIQUING THE ARGUMENTS THEMSELVES NOT THE PEOPLE USING THE ARGUMENTS.

Also, I highly encourage the Elriel fandom to read this post because it addresses how the concept of choice as an argument enables arguments to exploit social justice and feminist languge in order to vilify Elucien shippers, among other problematic things.

Elain Archeron is one of the most polarizing characters in the ACOTAR fandom. Though opinions about Elain vary, arguments in the Elriel fandom cite society’s perception of traditional female characters in comparison to non-traditional female characters as the reason behind the hate, and this belief is used to provide an explanation as to why other characters in the series are favored over her. In the series, Elain is portrayed in a wholly positive light and this image carries over into the Elriel fandom, painting her character as a good and kind female who has been unfairly wronged and a victim of circumstances that were out of her control. When arguments in the Elriel fandom oppose other viewpoints in the fandom, they fall into one of three categories:

Category 1: Weaponize Elain’s femalehood to shame real life people for their opinions

Maybe people who hate Elain are just jealous of her in a weird way similar to when someone hates the pretty, nice, and charming girl in school just because she is too perfect

Disliking Elain is misogynistic

What happened to feminism? What happened to women supporting women? What happened to she can say no? All of that disappears the second you force Elain to be with Lucien

Elain antis are misogynistic

All Eluciens are Elain antis

Antis claiming they’re feminists when in reality they hate on Elain and Feyre but love Nesta

Elain antis are such sore losers. Y’all were that bunch of people who could not get over being rejected from hanging out with the cool kids so y’all are projecting your hatred towards pretty people now to get validation

I don’t get how Elain’s love for gardening equals boring for some people. I’m sorry your misogyny finds traditionally feminine activities boring

Why are you attacking a female? What did Elain do? Where are your feminist voices?

The fandom is misogynistic towards Elain

If people loved Elain they would ship Elriel

If you hate Elain it says a lot about your feelings toward women

If you hate Elain because she has no “development” then you must hate Azriel because otherwise you’re misogynistic

Eluciens are turned off by the idea of a woman that has the autonomy to reject a man for the simple reason that it is her choice

Eluciens are all about feminism and “it’s HER choice” until it comes down to females not wanting a male

Eluciens don’t respect Elain’s feelings when they ship her with someone that was part of her trauma and makes her feel uncomfortable

The way some Elucien shippers completely disregard how uncomfortable Elain is around Lucien is so hilariously not funny. Prioritizing being mates over Elain’s feelings is just regressive

It’s hard as a fan of Elain to see someone ship her with a person who makes her physically uncomfortable to be around. Wouldn’t you want both characters to be happy to be around each other

Imagine if SJM saw all the awful things her “stans” had to say about Elain

It’s true that we know comparatively little about her, but is she really boring or do you just not value stereotypically feminine traits?

So y’all are just gonna tell me you prefer Elucien over Elriel? Even though Lucien treats Elain as if she’s something that belongs to him? The only reason he wants to be with her is because she’s his mate, he doesn’t respect her, doesn’t treat her as his equal, even though that’s what mates should be? He doesn’t bother to look past what’s on the outside to see her for who she is. And Elain is obviously repulsed by the idea that she should belong to anyone or have no choice in who she can be with. Azriel is her friend and the only person who sees her quiet strength. He has so much faith in her, in her abilities; he’s the one who kept her company when no one else did, he’s the only one who bothered to see her for more than her brokenness. You’re going to tell me you still prefer Elucien over Elriel?

The more I see Gwynriels that ship Elucien out of their hate for Elain, the less I can understand Elain stans that ship Elucien. Pls Elain has made it very clear that she doesn’t want Lucien, why would you ship her with him? Do you hate her too? Smh

The real question would be, if you care and understand Elain why would you ship her with Lucien (where she canonically shrinks when he is near)?

People crying over Helion and Lucien’s mom not getting to be with each other and her being forced into a relationship she didn’t want, but also ship Elucien? Just say you hate Elain

When Elain’s book is out, Gwyn stans will look like clowns and I will laugh because they set her up by shipping her with Azriel just because they hate Elain. Watch them play the victims now because Elriels are clapping back the hate they’ve sent towards Elain

As romantic as wanting girl who is visibly uncomfortable around a guy who caused her trauma to end up with the said guy. Guess their standards for romance are in hell

Category 2: Victimize Elain’s character

Gwynriels only want Gwyn with Azriel because they despise Elain

Gwyn stans and Gwynriels are Elain antis

No one in the books dislike Elain, so why are there so many people who do?

Elain hasn’t done anything wrong or questionable to warrant the hate she gets

Not having Elain’s POV makes it easy for people to be swayed a certain way about her character if you already don’t relate to her in some way

It’s been years since this series came out and we haven’t gotten a lick of an Elain POV, but people still hate her for what? We don’t know her thoughts, dreams, or aspirations

We haven’t even had Elain’s perspective yet and people are passing these judgments off on her

Elain antis who say she’s boring are just cruel when she has obvious symptoms of PTSD like Feyre and Nesta

Gwyn is one of the most overhyped characters and that’s only because most people hate Elain and they couldn’t wait to find a random girl to ship Azriel with

Nesta was abusive to her sisters but Elain (who has only ever been kind) is painted as the villain

From the text we know that Elain is the epitome of feminine stereotypes (gentle, gardening, baking, non confrontational for the most part). Yet people still call her boring or deny that she has any interesting character traits?

You can’t love Nesta and hate Elain

People hate Elain because of internalized misogyny and lack of taste. All the girl does is tend to her garden and mind her business and they treat her worse than Tamlin

Does Gwyn deserve all this support? Of course yes! She is amazing! But where’s that support when Elain was in the same situation as she? Where’s that support for her right now? Why do they idolize Gwyn for her interactions with Azriel and hate Elain for having any interaction with him?

It’s not even a ship war anymore, they just hate Elain

People hate Elain for no reason

Some of y’all don’t like feminine traits and it shows

We know less about Eris and Helion but people don’t call them boring. Why would rejecting femininity make Elain more interesting?

Elain has had a lot forced upon her

The main reason I believe most people love Gwyn so much is to get Azriel away from Elain. It’s not a secret that Elain has been a widely hated character for years so suddenly we get a new female who has a minimal amount of interactions with Azriel and BOOM. New ship that once again doesn’t make sense (just like Azriel x Emerie after ACOFAS)

Elain hasn’t done something so terrible for her to get this hate. At this point some of you are just being misogynistic and you don’t want to accept it. Don’t call yourselves feminists and then say bs like this, it’s embarrassing. She’s pretty and everyone agreed to hate on her

Just a personal feeling, but I feel like a lot of the Elain hate stems from internalized misogyny. That to be a strong female lead, you need to pick up a sword and fight. That to be strong, you need to adapt traditionally masculine traits

Elain is feminine. She is beautiful. She loves to bake and garden. She is docile, quiet, observant, and a people-pleaser. All traditionally feminine traits. Yet for some reason, she’s like the worst in these people’s eyes?

I think also maybe a lot of people can’t relate to her femininity? That her being so beautiful and quiet doesn’t allow for the people who dislike her not to self-insert? Most of the hate stems from people not wanting Elain to be with Azriel. It’s mean, but maybe the people who hate Elain literally just can’t self-insert if they have a story and that’s why they’re vehemently against it?

Poor Elain. The Cauldron dealt her a bad deal. Upon emerging as Fae, she is immediately declared by Lucien as his mate, never mind that she was already engaged to a prick. Her love life is not good

It blows my mind how they really think that they can compare all the shit that Elain gets with some dumb jokes about Gwyn on Twitter (and yes, the “hate” towards her started mostly because Elriels are clapping back, it was bound to happen)

I would think of it as anti-feminist with Elain and Lucien because she has consistently stated that she does not want him so if she was forced to embrace the bond that would be taking away her right to have a choice but with Az she feels comfortable around so if they were mates then Elain would be happy and feel safe which again should be the priority for women to feel safe in their relationships with anything and to not be forced into any type of situation aka the mating bond in this

Category 3: Coddle Elain’s character

Elain has value the way she is, in all her domestic girly glory. Not every character has to be badass

We don’t speak of Elain’s flaws frequently because everyone else already speaks badly of her, mainly in an unfair way

There is definitely something deeper going on with Elain but by no means will she ever be evil or any less feminine. That goes against everything we already know about her

It’s ok to critique Elain because she needs growth but y’all keep forgetting the shit her and her sisters went through

The last “bad” thing Elain did in ACOTAR was not help Feyre when they were impoverished and I’m tired of people acting like she’s a terrible character when it was their father’s responsibility. It happened 4 books ago and Feyre has forgiven both Nesta and Elain

Elain’s character and the evil Elain theory are a great example of the trend where people only consider female characters interesting if they reject femininity

We don’t know enough to hate Elain

Many people want Elain to turn evil (which in my opinion seems to come from a place of internalized misogyny)

However we don’t tend to talk about her faults, at least not publicly, as that has been, and still is, done to death, and I--personally, at least--find it much more fun to theorise about potentially interesting aspects of the overall plot, than dwell on negatives

And ultimately, I would be shocked if Elain has a more karmically-charged story than Nesta, considering that Elain’s “wrongs” are so much less severe and bad than Nesta’s, and Elain has already apologized for them (or paid the price in other ways, like through what Graysen did)

I guess I also think Elain has suffered and been punished enough. I hope her story is about finding hope in terrible situations, and learning to love her new life, and choosing her own path after everything that has been done to her. I don’t think she needs to be punished anymore or face any additional trauma

Also, why is she being judged on her decisions as a human at all? Fae are monsters to humans! They enslaved them for thousands of years, and the Wall was erected to keep them out

Like I’m sorry, but think Elain would want to leave her ONLY FAMILY AND FRIENDS for the Spring Court where she has no one because--oh look, lots of flowers!--is the craziest thing I have ever heard

Her sisters are in the Night Court. Her nephew is in the Night Court. Her closest friends (Nuala and Cerridwen) are in the Night Court. Her love interest is in the Night Court. Her extended family is in the Night Court. Her home is in the Night Court

SJM isn’t going to keep two sisters together and split up the third. Especially not keep Feyre and Nesta together and separate Elain. They were either all going to end up in separate places, or together. Not 2 here and 1 there

Compared to the other female characters in the series, Elain is the only character whose femalehood is at the center of conversations; this is because arguments in the Elriel fandom fixate on it when discussing her character. While Elain, Feyre, Nesta, and Mor are all representations of white womanhood and white beauty, Elain epitomizes the most fragile version of white womanhood. It’s easy to blame society’s perception of traditional female characters in comparison to non-traditional female characters when it comes to the discourse surrounding Elain’s character because it: falls in line with the fixation on Elain’s femalehood to silence opposing viewpoints; is a simplistic explanation that fails to tackle the underlying issues with Elain as a character, the same issues that are downplayed in-universe; absolves Elain of her wrongdoings; prevents the ACOTAR fandom from holding Elain accountable for her actions and inactions within the series; and diminishes the impact Elain’s actions and inactions have on those around her. It’s not that Elain is hated in the fandom because she’s a traditional female character; it’s the fact that arguments in the Elriel fandom deflect a critical analysis of Elain’s character because she’s a traditional female character who embodies the ideal white woman in need of protection. White fans and white-aligned fans of color, especially white women, have a tendency to vehemently defend, gatekeep, and coddle white female characters in fandom; this makes it difficult for other fans to engage in critical discussions about these white female characters because they’re viewed as flawless and all around perfect characters despite evidence to the contrary. Since Elain is viewed positively by the other characters in the series, it has rendered her character untouchable to any perceived slight or criticism in fandom discussions because those negative opinions challenge what has been said about her character thus far. And as a result, her character has been placed on a pedestal and implicitly hailed as the epitome of white womanhood; and when she’s criticized, it’s seen as a direct attack against white womanhood. Arguments in the Elriel fandom: exploit feminist language and perpetuate white feminist tactics under the guise of defending Elain’s character; center Elain in conversations about female oppression in the ACOTAR world and uphold white feminist ideologies in their critique of ACOTAR’s patriarchal society; and use the fragile white woman narrative to victimize Elain in Lucien’s presence, playing into racial biases that are associated with white supremacy’s defense of white womanhood.

Feminism is a social movement that seeks to promote equality and equity to all genders, and feminists work toward eradicating gender disparities on a macro-level, in addition to challenging gender biases on a micro-level. As feminism became more mainstream, a flat and oversimplified version of feminism emerged: mainstream feminism. The mainstream feminist movement is meant to represent all women, but rarely does it center conversations around issues that concern most women. The problem with mainstream feminism is that it’s just a popularized version of white feminism. White feminism has relied extensively on an individualized understanding of women’s oppression, exclusively from the lens of privileged white women. White feminism only focuses on the oppression experienced by white, able-bodied, affluent, educated, cishet women; and it views gender as the key mode of privileged white women’s oppression, isolated from the privileges granted by their other social identities. White women can be and are oppressed under the patriarchy but only because they are women; their identity as women does not exempt them from the privileges granted by their whiteness. The term white feminist does not mean any feminist who is white, but refers to feminists who prioritize the concerns of privileged white women as though they are representative of all women. However, the term is not exclusive to white people. Because white feminism is so pervasive, people of other racial and ethnic backgrounds often buy into white feminism, believing that if they work hard enough, they may be able to reap its rewards.

Just like white feminism, mainstream feminism only recognizes the identity of being a woman, assumes that all women share common experiences of gender oppression, fails to address other social identities in relation to overlapping systems of oppression, and disregards privilege in relation to various social identities. Just like white feminism, mainstream feminism is palatable because it doesn’t seek to challenge the systems in place, instead its goal is to succeed within them. Essentially, mainstream feminism and white feminism are extensions of performative feminism. Performative feminism is a type of performative activism that’s used to describe feminist views that are surface level and solely for the benefit of one type of person. It’s a pretense which often has nothing to do with genuine activism. Arguments in the Elriel fandom normalize and promote performative feminism because the topic of feminism is only referenced when discussing Elain. This indicates that these arguments are engaging in disingenuous discourse to push a personal agenda within the ACOTAR fandom, and it becomes more apparent when they use white feminist tactics to shut down opposing viewpoints:

White feminists weaponize and exploit feminist language to silence the opinions of other women, especially when they’re called out for their problematic behaviors

White feminists use the phrase “Women supporting women” to defend other white feminists who exhibit problematic behaviors instead of holding them accountable

White feminists weaponize phrases like “Women supporting women” and “You just hate women” to attack other women who disagree with them on any given topic

White feminists use phrases like “All women face challenges” and “Stop pitting women against each other” to sidestep conversations about privilege

White feminists divert conversations away from privilege and towards the Trauma Olympics to equate their struggles to the oppression of marginalized people

White feminists skirt around the realities of other forms of oppression and discrimination, downplaying the experiences of marginalized people

White feminists diminish or ignore the ways in which gender oppression affects other marginalized people

White feminists paint those they harmed as aggressive, mean, or divisive when confronted with the ways they have harmed a marginalized group

White feminists deflect criticism by focusing on the anger or emotions being expressed rather than the issue that is being discussed, invalidating the concerns of marginalized people

White feminists speak over marginalized voices in an attempt to sound “woke”

White feminists get defensive and insist there’s no way they could be a part of the problem because of what they’ve done to help marginalized groups already

White feminists say they don’t see color in an attempt to obscure racial issues that need to be addressed

White feminists center and victimize themselves in conversations about racism, which derails necessary conversations from taking place

White feminists who are white weaponize the intersectionality of their race and gender to avoid accountability

Feminism is not meant to be approached from an individualistic perspective nor is it only about addressing the experiences of privileged white women, it involves addressing the intersections of race, class, gender, sexuality, (dis)ability, and other social identities as well; and it involves addressing how these social identities relate to privilege. Moreover, feminism is not about women upholding complete loyalty to other women because of a shared gender identity, and to claim that it does implies that women should be held to different emotional standards than men. If men are able to dislike and criticize other individual men, real or fictional, without their characters being compromised, why aren’t women granted that same privilege?

It’s clear that SJM set up the ACOTAR world to mirror a patriarchal society, and that the imbalance of power between males and females stems from sexism. Arguments in the Elriel fandom analyze the ACOTAR world through a feminist lens to show how ACOTAR’s patriarchal society, to which the mating bond is innately tied, contributes to female oppression and limits their agency. When choice and free will are emphasized as part of Elain’s arc, they imply that Elain, through the mating bond, experiences female oppression under ACOTAR’s patriarchal society because of her identity as a female with that identity being the focal point of her oppression in the world. Elain is one of the most privileged characters in the ACOTAR world: she’s High Fae; she’s the sister of the High Lord and High Lady of the Night Court, which gives her access to wealth and political influence because of that connection; she’s able-bodied; she was magically blessed by the Cauldron; and she lives in Velaris, a place that grants females autonomy and power because of the beliefs of Rhysand and Feyre. Arguments in the Elriel fandom trivialize female oppression in the ACOTAR world because they disregard the fact that Elain’s privileges prevent her from experiencing female oppression in the same way that other marginalized females in the world do. The mating bond being one such example because those around Elain are not forcing the bond on her, instead they’re allowing Elain to reach a decision about the bond for herself; a privilege that other marginalized females in the world probably wouldn’t have. Just because Elain has endured hardships in her life and is a female in a patriarchal society, they do not erase the privileges she holds within the ACOTAR world. The failure to include Elain’s privileges in discussions about Elain being a female in a patriarchal society feeds into white feminist ideologies because white feminism operates from a very narrow perspective; it doesn’t take other intersecting identities into account when it examines gender oppression, leaving no room for discussions about privilege (or lack thereof) in relation to those intersecting identities. When discussing oppression in hierarchical societies, it’s imperative that privilege is also included in the conversation because privilege and oppression are not mutually exclusive; they equally affect the ways in which people navigate those societies through their social identities.

Rather than attributing Elain’s uncomfortability to her new life as a Fae female or the mating bond itself and her trauma to the Cauldron, the King of Hybern, or Ianthe, they’re placed on Lucien to cast his character in a negative light. Moreover, fandom discussions portray Lucien as a possessive character to further emphasize Elain’s discomfort despite the inaccuracy of this characterization in canon. Arguments in the Elriel fandom play into racial biases when it comes to Lucien (a male character of color) because they mischaracterize his character in order to victimize Elain (a white female character), placing her character in the role of the white damsel in distress. In Western society, the concept of womanhood has been conceptualized from a Eurocentric perspective with femininity and feminine attributes favoring white women. It’s the idea that a certain type of femininity is only inherent to white women as they are seen as the embodiment of an ideal womanhood. White womanhood has been a symbol of innocence and purity, and white women have been viewed as fragile beings in need of protection. The reason white womanhood functions within white supremacy is because it’s the same idea that has motivated white men to kill and beat black and brown men. The so-called protection of white women has been used as a justification for the horrific violence committed by white men because black and brown men were stereotyped as aggressive and seen as a threat to the virtue of white women. The white damsel in distress trope considered white women as worthy of protection because of their perceived innocence and purity; women of color were not granted that same treatment because they did not fit into the ideal image of womanhood. Over the years, this trope became a means for white women to exercise limited power in a patriarchal society with white women weaponizing their status as the damsel much to the detriment of black and brown men. It’s through the white damsel in distress trope that white supremacy sustains its dominance in Western society. The misrepresentation of characters of color in fandom, the dismissal of their importance to the overall story, and using them as tools in arguments centered around white characters are the foundation of fandom racism; they’re examples of how racism moves silently in fandom spaces. Instead of examining their behavior and taking constructive criticism from fans of color, white fans will often double down on their bigotry and center their uncomfortability in the conversation when confronted with their complicity in fandom racism. White fans expect fans of color to swallow fandom racism in its many forms in order to not ruin the experience of fandom, dismissing the fact that racism is prevalent in nearly every aspect of society. This mentality ensures that no one is held accountable for the harm they caused and alienates fans of color in fandom spaces.

To reiterate what I mentioned in my first think piece: terms like “oppression”, “the right to choose”, “feminist”, “feminism”, “anti-feminist”, “anti-feminism”, “internalized misogyny”, “misogyny”, “misogynist”, “sexist”, “sexism”, “racist”, “racism”, “classist”, “classism”, “discrimination”, and “patriarchy” are all used in specific ways to draw attention to the plight of marginalized people and challenge those who deny the existence of systems of oppression. Yet these words and their meanings can be twisted to attack, exclude, and invalidate people with differing opinions on any given topic. When social justice and feminist terms are thrown around antagonistically and carelessly to push a personal agenda, it becomes clear that these terms are being used to engage in disingenuous discourse and pursue personal validation rather than being used out of any deep-seated conviction to dismantle systemic oppression. Being an ally, activist, or feminist is not an identity, it’s a practice. It requires: ongoing self-reflection; holding ourselves accountable; listening to marginalized people; educating ourselves; dismantling implicit biases; challenging those around us who are exhibiting problematic behaviors; and action behind our words.

It’s important to be aware of the language that is used within the fandom when defending or critiquing characters and ships. It’s also important to question how an argument is framed and why it’s framed the way that it is to critically examine the intent behind that argument: is it used as a tool to push a personal agenda that reinforces problematic behaviors, or is it used as an opportunity to share, learn, enlighten, and educate?

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Tagging: @spell-cleavers @bookofmirth @m0bulidae @ilya-boltagon

#elain archeron #elriel #acotar fandom #acotar: fandom critical

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sonoftatooine · 3 years

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Whumpay 2021

DAY 9: GENTLE/BRUTAL

It’s a couple of days late but I started writing it dammit so I’ll finish it ha

Characters: Anakin Skywalker, Padmé Amidala

Warnings: Implied/referenced abuse, torture, neglect, blood and injury

Summary: Anakin doesn’t become a Jedi after the Battle of Naboo, but is instead snatched up by Palpatine and raised secretly as a Sith. Years later, known to the Galaxy at large by a Sith assassin in service of the Separatists, Darth Vader makes the decision to rescue Republic Senator Padmé Amidala from execution by the CIS. Injured in the escape, he is left at the mercy of Senator Amidala to treat his wounds.

***

“Stay still.”

The weight of the small, slim hand on his chest was so gentle compared to the usual touches that he was used to enduring that Vader half thought he was hallucinating it through the pain of the blaster wound in his shoulder, but it stilled him just as surely as his master's biting grip promising violent punishment should he not comply. Eyes which he knew to be a soft brown, but which the red lenses of his mask painted a deep black, stared down at him, and the face of Senator Padmé Amidala swam before him, pale and wan and worried. Her Force presence, which had been full of equal parts determination, suspicion, and confusion in the mad dash from the cell which had meant as her coffin, had lit up with a heady mix of fright and concern when he had run his saber through the last of their pursuers only to stagger and collapse to the ground as the pain in his shoulder that he had barely felt in the heat of the fight finally caught up with him. He could feel that concern now, wearing down his tired shields, with all the force and all of the gentleness of a wave roaring up to shore in the wind only to break softly over rough sand like a gentle caress.

“Vader, can you hear me?,” Padmé asked. Her voice was tight and distressed, and he felt a sharp spike of fear from her like a shard of ice through his heart. “I need to know if you're awake. I— You're losing blood. You have to stay awake—”

“I am...” Vader gritted his teeth against the burning pain in his shoulder. “I'm awake.”

Her relief felt like a cooling balm in the Force. It was baffling and pleasant and terrifying all at once, and when he tried to untangle the mess of emotions from one another, he found that he had no idea where one began and the other started. Why should she be relieved that he was awake when him being unconscious would surely have provided the perfect excuse to escape both his company and the Separatist-held space she had found herself in? Why would she be concerned for him in the first place? And what's more, why should he find himself reaching out to the sensation, wanting more, when he knew it was the very antithesis of what he should desire as a Sith?

You know why, said the small, snide voice in his head that had come over the years to sound very like his master's. His master who had always said, between vicious bouts of Force lightning that left his skin painted with a map of thin, spiderweb scars, that his biggest weakness was his need for attachment. It was like a leech bleeding him, Sidious claimed, and that all he did to him was to stem the flow that was draining his hatred, his resolve, to make him strong. Well, if his attachments had been comparable to open wounds, he thought, he had just ripped out his stitches. Rescuing one of Tyranus' prisoners meant for execution, killing his men all because of little more than a week's worth of memories from a past life? Damaging himself fighting against his own side to save a sworn enemy of the Sith? His master would be so angry, and his punishment—

“Good. That's good.” He was brought abruptly out of his spiralling thoughts by the sound of ripping fabric, and with a wince and a bitten down groan, he shifted to see where the noise was coming from. To his astonishment, he saw that Padmé was ripping off sections of her soft white cloak with an expression of fierce determination on her beautiful face.

“Wha—?,” he rasped, then tried again. “What...are you doing?”

Padmé didn't even pause from her task. Bundling up one of the strips into a ball, she leaned down and pressed it firmly against the entrance to his wound. He hissed at the contact, the sound too quiet to be picked up by his mask's vocoder.

“You're bleeding a lot,” she said by way of explanation. Even though her worry sung as loud and clear in the Force as ever, her voice was now as full of determination as the expression on her face. It reminded him of all those years ago when she returned to Naboo—full of her plan of action, ready to carry it out and damn anything or anyone that tried to stop her. “We need to keep pressure on the wound.”

I know that, Vader wanted to say. Of course he knew that. It was hardly the first time he had been hit by a blaster bolt. Nor was it as if he had never had to treat his own injuries. In fact, as long as it was not too far beyond his abilities to fix, his master demanded it—getting injured was a result of his own weakness, and it was only fair that he was forced to deal with the consequences of his own mistakes. What he did not understand about this, however, was why she was bothering to help him. You didn't show your enemies mercy, and you certainly didn't show them care. Her concern and relief had been strange enough without adding this to the mix, and really, he was starting to feel far too dizzy and faint to try and figure out the reasons behind it on his own. But he did not say any of this to her. Instead, what he said was:—

“You're ruining your cloak.”

Not for the first time, he was glad of his vocoder, for it transformed the pathetic almost-whimper the words came out as into the deep, unwavering tones that his enemies knew him by. Yet it didn't seem to make much difference to Padmé's reaction, as he felt a stab of shock in the Force, her lips parting in a soft 'o' and her brows turning upwards in a frown, before his senses were overwhelmed with a heavy, concerned sadness.

“You're hurt,” she said quietly, slowly, as if she were trying to soothe a wounded animal. “That's far more important than keeping my cloak intact.”

Oh. He didn't— He couldn't—

“Do you need that mask to breathe?” Padmé asked all of a sudden.

“I—what?” His brain, muddled and too full of fog to register what she was asking him, stalled.

“Vader,” Padmé repeated gently. “Do you need the mask to breathe?”

“No, it's— No.” The mask was to hide his identity, Sidious had claimed when he had first gifted it to him. He didn't see much point to it, personally, other than perhaps to hide his youth and to give him a more intimidating voice—at this point, not even his old friends on Tatooine would have been likely to recognise his face—but his master was always very insistent upon it, that he never remove it in front of enemies. But why would Padmé want to know? He didn't understand—

“Can you keep this—,” she nodded towards the cloth, stained dark with his blood, that she was holding against his wound, “—pressed against your shoulder while I take your mask off?”

His mind, still too sluggish and slow for his liking, had taken in the first part of her request long before he could take in the second, and by the time he had registered what she intended to do, he had already taken the rag from her hand and was pressing it down against his wound.

“No!,” he exclaimed, somewhat belated, as a sudden sharp panic stabbed through him. “You can't! You can't—”

Padmé frowned.

“Why?” she asked.

He should lie, he knew. He should make up some reason or other, but he couldn't—

“My master,” he said. “He's forbidden me— He will be angry if he finds out—”

Padmé's frown deepened at the mention of his master. The Force was once again flooded with that overwhelming sense of sadness.

“I don't think your master will be pleased with you saving my life either,” she pointed out, not unkindly. “Vader, please. You're losing blood and I can't tell how bad it is if I can't even see you underneath all of— I need to get that mask off you.”

As much as he wanted to, Vader couldn't argue with her logic on either count. He had already made his master incandescently angry by saving Padmé from the execution the Sith had had planned for her—after that, nothing would cool his ire, and keeping his face hidden would have seemed like a poor appeasement in comparison to his crime. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he nodded.

He felt Padmé's relief in the Force for the second time that day, soft and bright as it was before. It was met with his own apprehension as she reached down, a frown of concentration upon her brow, trying to figure out how to release the helmet's mechanisms. All of a sudden, he was unsettled, not just on account of his master's orders, but by the realisation that Padmé would see his true face. The face that he had kept hidden from all except his master and Tyranus ever since he had been snatched from Naboo as a child. He felt very like that child now, trapped, helpless, caught in the horrible awareness of his own vulnerability—the same vulnerability that he had fought so hard to burn out of himself long ago. He— The mechanisms of the mask clicked and whirred, and the comforting, stifling black plastisteel was pulled away from his face and set on the ground beside him.

“Oh.” Though he could hear Padmé's voice, he could not quite make out her expression—he was still adjusting to the burst of light and colour his eyes had been assaulted with after the dull red of the mask's lenses. “Oh Force, you look pale. Are you usually that pale?”

Vader blinked. The brightness had faded to a more manageable level, and he could now see her face—the first time he had seen it in full colour since the Battle of Naboo, rather than in varying shades of red. She was as beautiful as he remembered, even drawn, white-faced, with dark, tired circles under her eyes, and her expression half one of open-mouthed shock, half one of fierce concern. He blinked again, trying to take in her words.

“I'm usually pale” he said, his words coming out as a soft croak. Years of isolation and darkness in the Works of Coruscant and the deep chambers of Sith temples had rid him of the golden tan his home planet had given him, turning his complexion a pallid white, save for the dark shadows painted beneath his eyes by just as long of fear and stress and lack of sleep. Combined with the limp tangle of curls atop his head and the yellow of his eyes, he was sure he must look quite the wretched sickly creature to her eyes. A far cry from the fearsome image his master had intended him to strike with his enemies.

“Right.” Padmé let out a breath, rubbing the back of her hand against her forehead. Then, before he had time to register what she was doing, she had brushed a few stray strands of hair out of his eyes and pressed the flat of her palm to his own brow. He jerked back in surprise—or at least he tried to. With his head already lying on the ground, it came out as nothing more than an odd little twitch. “You feel a bit cold. Really, I'm not qualified to deal with this kind of injury—especially not without bacta. We need to get you to a proper medic. Fast.”

“My ship,” Vader hissed out. “There's a med-droid and supplies on the ship.”

The ship that he had intended for them to escape in throughout their pursuit from Padmé's cell. It was not so far as to be a problem for two healthy, uninjured people to reach, but with him wounded and losing blood... Above him, Padmé seemed to have seen a hint of his thoughts upon his face, for she frowned.

“Do you think you can reach it?”

“Yes.” No. Perhaps. No, he could do it. He had done it before, pushed through far worse agonies and triumphed against the limitations of his body. He was a Sith—pain only served to fuel his power, give him focus.

Blood loss, however, a snide little voice in the back of his mind that he steadfastly ignored said amid a new wave of dizziness, is rather harder to turn into something useful.

“I'll...have to bind the wound” he said.

“Alright.” Once again, the presence of a solid plan seemed to fuel Padmé's determination as much as pain did his strength, burying her worries beneath a thick wall of resolve. She stripped off another length of fabric from her cloak, and he reached out his trembling flesh hand to take it. She shook her head.

“It will be easier if I do it.” He could still sense an undercurrent of fear beneath her determination. Fear that she would do something wrong, that she wouldn't be able to get him to a medic on time. Despite herself, it scared her in a way that he could not understand, no matter how he tried. “If you can just—”

“I can do it” Vader interrupted as she gestured for him to pull his hand still pressing the cloth to the wound away, so that she might access it. Despite his confusion at her concern, despite the knowledge that she was his enemy, that she didn't know to look upon him as anything but an enemy, he didn't think Padmé would hurt him. She had no active malice in her—not like his master, and the med-droids that followed his orders when he was dealt any serious damages that required attention beyond his own. But the instinct to recoil, to not let anyone near when he was so vulnerable was too strong. He pressed the cloth clutched in his mechno hand tighter to his shoulder, shying away from the reach of her fingers. Padmé frowned.

“Let me, please,” she murmured. “I can't help you if you don't let me.”

He didn't want to let her. He didn't want to let her—let anyone—near. Her worry felt sharp and jagged, like broken shards of transparisteel, and despite himself, he wanted to soothe it. She wouldn't hurt him. She was an enemy. She wouldn't. He sensed no cruelty from her, no desire to cause pain. She wouldn't— Slowly, reluctantly, he drew his hand back, and let her approach.

Padmé's fingers were soft and gentle as she pulled back the tattered fabric of his robe to get to the injury beneath, but he froze dead still at the touch nonetheless. Her concern spiked higher in the Force at the sight, but she didn't waste time in getting to work. The pressure from his hand against the wound was soon replaced by that of the rag tied tight about his shoulder. He couldn't quite hold back a quiet sound of discomfort as she accidentally jostled him tying the knot, and her Force presence gave an odd little flinch in apology.

“Sorry,” she muttered. “Sorry.”

Vader blinked, confused.

“It's fine,” he said. Really, what was she apologising for? He couldn't remember having been treated so carefully since the days when his mother had treated his scrapes and bruises after he crashed his podracer, or after the worse of Watto's beatings. But no, he didn't want to think about his mother. He had shown enough weakness in front of his enemy for one day. “We should get to the ship.”

He tried to sit up—they had to get to the ship fast, before any reinforcements came looking for them—but his body seemed to have other ideas. His shoulder screamed in protest, but he barely noticed it through the fierce wave of dizziness that had suddenly overcome him. It was worse than the previous ones—nauseating, causing his vision to swim so violently that the world turned into a blur before him. When his vision finally sharpened again, he was lying on his back, and Padmé was bending over him, white-faced, one hand gripping his prosthetic tight where it lay against his stomach.

“I don't think we're going to get you to the ship,” she said shakily. “Perhaps I could bring it here. If I can get to it—I'll be faster—then I can fly it here and the med-droid can see you—”

“Why?”

It was the question Vader had been burning to ask ever since the injury had overwhelmed him. Why was she doing this? Why did she not take the opportunity to save herself when he would only slow her down? When he was her enemy, as far as she new, a Separatist assassin, a Sith, a danger to everything she had ever worked for and believed him? Padmé, however, didn't seem to understand him, for she frowned down at him in confusion.

“Why?” she echoed.

“Why...are you helping me?,” he insisted. “You...you could escape back to the Republic much easier if you left me.”

Padmé drew back sharply, though she did not let go of his hand.

“I'm not about to leave you here bleeding out on the ground when I can do something about it!” she exclaimed, indignant.

Vader frowned.

“I'm your enemy.”

“My enemy who just saved me from being killed,” Padmé retorted. “You got shot protecting me. That's more than just helping someone treat their wounds. You could have been killed! If anything, it should be me asking you why you chose to help me.”

Vader was silent. For what could he say? What could he tell her? That no matter how much his master tried, he had not been able to fully crush the affection that she had sparked in him when she had stepped into Watto's shop all those years ago and showed kindness to a little slave boy who had thought she was an angel? That despite her opposition to all his master and the Sith intended to achieve, the thought of her death rended his heart in two? He could barely even believe he was that boy most days; how could she possibly believe it? How could he reveal to her the monster that boy that had once risked his life to help her had become? Even if he had wanted to, he would not have been able to find the words. So he said nothing, focusing on the pain and the heady faintness so that he wouldn't have to think of her disappointment reverberating in the Force.

“Alright,” she sighed. “If you don't want to tell me, that's your choice. But whatever your reasons, you still saved my life. I'm not about to repay you by abandoning you. We're both getting away from here. Together.”

She spoke so fiercely that despite the pain from his wound, despite the blackness that threatened to encroach upon his vision every time he shifted, he could almost believe her. It was foolish, the kind of naïve idea he had once believed with all his heart, and a habit that his master had taken great pains to break him of. And yet— And yet, he wanted... He wanted— Padmé squeezed his hand tight. Though small, her grip was strong and steady, and her eyes shone with a fierce light.

“You saved me. Now I'm going to save you. No matter what.”

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thepilotanon · 3 years

Note

could we pls get headcanons for loki and his partner both having a size kink? like his partner being smaller than him;)

I’m going to do both with Loki being “bigger” than his partner and also Loki being “smaller” than his partner. I’m not going to be talking about his boink-boink (God, I love coming up with “safe” terms), but I hope you’ll still like these!

As always, 18+ related content under cut!

Reader being smaller than Loki

I think it’s safe to say that Loki loves seeing his partner underneath him, and seeing how small they are in every way in comparison to his own body. The fact that he is fairly tall on the height scale for people on Midgard, it reminds him how he is a god, and you are a rather fragile, sweet mortal. He would probably like to talk about how so different you two are while he’s working on your body; things like “Amazing to see how my hand seems to engulf you, my dear. How marvelous, seeing how easily I can overpower you” or “How would you think, my dear, if you were given up to me as a sacrifice, back in the day? Not that I have been offered sacrifices, but, oh, imagine being given such an exquisite gift to have at my leisure.”

And when it’s your turn to be on top, Loki is going to just love seeing the different point of view. I don’t think it would be hard to handle things when it’s your turn, but Loki will be handsy and still compare your size with his with the most gentle and affectionate of touches. He’d probably comment how well you take him with no trouble, that you’re the most powerful little creature in the whole universe who can take him with such grace.

Reader being bigger than Loki

Loki isn’t really used to it...but he sure as hell is enjoying it. He likes it when his lover is similar, yet still different in some way to him, but will have no problem using it in the bedroom. Loki would thoroughly enjoy the fact that he wouldn’t need to take the extra measure of adjusting or making sure some things “fit” or accommodate to either one’s comfort or have to worry about bending himself down to reach your skin while his hips are working (I don’t think Loki is that flexible and would like to occupy his mouth however he can while in the middle of being busy). He would love to spoil you with words, like “You must feel so powerful, being able to look down upon me, don’t you, my dear? Now you understand why I so enjoy demanding people to kneel to me. Even if I am the one taking control right now, you still have that ability to flip the tables.”

I want to say that Loki treats you like an equal, but also still as a mortal - not like forcing you to be small or anything, but that you are still worthy of such affections without bringing your size as a “flaw”, because it’s not a flaw to him. He would be really good at making you see it as a positive, even go as far as comparing you to the same level as a god with how you are, and how in our history, we made statues and paintings to imitate and worship your size - which he has no problem giving you many examples in the bedroom!

#headcanon #loki x reader #loki odinson x reader #loki laufeyson x reader #marvel loki x reader #pilotanonwrites

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cazimagines · 3 years

Note

Ok here me out niki with a nascar s/o what would that be like

- After celebrating his latest championship in F1 Niki decided to go to America for a little holiday. He never really had a desire to ever visit America but after Hunt was seen spending time there, making fans Niki wanted to go and do the same thing due to how he hated seeing Hunt have all the people fawning over him

- He heard of the sports Nascar but he never held it in any regard. It was crap compared to F1, just America's way of trying to have their own special thing because they couldn't join F1. He didn't want to go anywhere near it thinking just sitting and watching it would be a waste of his time but out of the little friends that he had, they forced him to go see it.

- Like he predicted, it was crap. He spent most of the time sitting there complaining about how it was nothing like F1, that the cars were rubbish, not going nearly as fast enough as they did in F1. One American had the nerve to turn around and shh him saying 'what does he know about cars'

- Niki wanted to murder that man

- But there was one thing that caught his eye. Though he hated watching all the cars achingly drive by slowly, there was one car that seemed to at least have the ability to cut edges, overtake other racers efficiently. They weren't nearly as good as the other drivers at F1, but they were better than the rest of the Nascar drivers.

- After the race, he decided to go over to the racer. He didn't know what compelled him to. He had no reason to but he did. He watched you emerge from the car, hugging your other teammates. You were friendlier than he was, had a better relationship with your teammates. 'Hey' he called out to you, 'You're driving, it was okay'

- You turned around to him amused and also shocked by his words, 'That's all you can say? Okay? I'd like to see you try and race in one of these' you bite rank and he glares at you, 'You don't know who I am?' he replies, 'Should I?' 'Seeming as I have won many F1 championships, yes'

- You roll your eyes at his words, realising he was one of those arrogant F1 drivers 'Oh you're one of them. I don't pay attention to those races. I find them boring' Niki scoffs, glancing away from you in anger, 'Because you know these races and cars are crap in comparison' 'I know for a fact that these cars are better than yours ever will be' 'Then why don't you visit England sometime so I can show you what a real driver is like'

- And that you suppose is what you could consider your first date. It took a long while before Niki asked you out. Because of your jobs, there were long periods of time where you two didn't see each other, plus the mutual hatred you had for each other in the beginning. You both deserved each other's racing and aimed to prove each other wrong about who was better.

- But you two had almost a mutual respect for each other as well. Though you would never admit to it both of you viewed each other as best in the field. After all, you could admire the driving skills of a talented driver which both of you were.

- While the foundations were shakey because of this mutual respect you two were able to build a relationship off it. You both still annoyed each other to no end, the arguments between the two of you could get out of hand but you had enough passion and dare I say it, love, to push through it.

- During the year it was hard for you two to meet up, with Niki travelling the world for each race apart from America, and you staying stationed in America for Nascar, but it made the times when you got to see each other again worth it.

- Yes he could be an asshole, an arrogant dick, but you ended up loving him for it at the same time and he loved you equally back.

TAGS: @shrekboobies @arianalilyblack @wonderwoman292 @zemosimp420 @lieutenantn @neoarchipelago @cable-kenobi @edencherries @faustlyaccused @julyvegan @prestigious-tea @hannahbal-the-fannibal @my-blood-is-maple-syrup @competitivepomegranate @mywinterivy

#niki lauda #niki lauda x reader #niki lauda fic #niki lauda x you #niki lauda fanfiction #niki lauda rush #rush 2013 #daniel brühl

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dontbecattyratty · 3 years

Note

What’s your opinions about the uk tour cast/character choices vs the west end?

Hi anon! Sorry this is late coming, for some reason Tumblr didn’t send me this notification.

I’m gonna go through and try to hit the main characters, in no particular order.

Mole: I think Fra Fee is adorable, and I think he does a great job with the wide-eyed curiosity of Mole, but I do find that he plays the character with broader strokes, which makes the show feel a bit more like children’s theatre, and less like a family show. With that said, his version of “A Place to Come Back To” is STUNNING, and might actually surpass Craig Mather’s performance for me.

Ratty: Oh boy. Uh. I am not a fan of Thomas Howes’ Ratty. One of my absolute favorite things about the West End production is how Ratty becomes a bit more of an everyman, and I think that Simon Lipkin brings a tremendous warmth to the role. Take this with a grain of “I think Simon Lipkin is the best Ratty of all time,” with the POSSIBLE exception of Richard Briers (and Peter Sallis, but I don’t think he’s a fair comparison because he got MUCH more material to work with, since he played Ratty in the Cosgrove Hall series, and never technically played him in an adaptation of the book itself). Thomas Howes’ Ratty reminded me a LOT of Mark Gatiss’ Ratty in the 2006 film, and I’ve never been a fan of him in the role, although he does have his moments. I think Thomas Howes’ portrayal can be quite mean-spirited at times, and as interesting as it was to see the nods to “Wayfarers All” in the musical, there wasn’t much payoff, since Ratty never made an actual attempt to leave the Riverbank. Since his arc was less about his relationship with Toad in the tour, I felt like his story didn’t go anywhere much. The Andrew Gordon adaptation of The Wind in the Willows does a lovely job incorporating “Wayfarers All” into the story, and I would have LOVED a similar treatment here.

Toad: I actually slightly prefer Rufus Hound in the tour! I think he’s got just a bit more pathos, and he gets some really funny moments that got cut for the West End production (“short of murder,” as an example). I love him in both productions, but I do think he’s slightly better in the tour. Overall I don’t have a lot to say about him though, because the performances are similar.

Badger: David Birrell is a lovely Badger, but I’m typically not the biggest fan of making Badger Scottish, because I feel like it leans into…whatever was happening in the Disney version too much (and yes, I do blame the Disney version, because MacBadger is the earliest version of Scottish!Badger I’ve been able to find, and it’s SURPRISINGLY prevalent). I also just think Gary Wilmot was a really good Badger. HOWEVER, it makes me so sad that they changed Badger’s line in the end to “no one’s ever said that to me before” from him saying that it had been a “long time” since anyone had said that they loved him on the tour. It really expresses Badger’s solitude and (in my opinion) his closeness with, at the least, Toad’s father. So BIG points for that. Overall, I really enjoyed David Birrell’s performance! I do slightly prefer Gary Wilmot’s voice. However, having read a quote from David Birrell discussing the character, he has a really lovely handle on Badger.

Chief Weasel: Honestly, I think Neil McDermott KILLS this role in both productions. I do think he got to play around a bit more vocally in the tour, but honestly, aside from that, he’s equally good across the board.

Lesser Weasel: Dylan Mason was a good Lesser, but come on, I think it’s no secret that the fandom LOVES Joshua Gannon’s Lesser Weasel. He really brings the role to life.

Cheryl Stoat: She has so little dialogue, it’s hard to compare. Both actresses sound great!

Mrs. Otter: I think Sophia Nomvete technically has a slightly better voice, but I prefer Denise Welch’s characterization. In Sophia’s defense, though, I think the tour really mostly looked at Mrs. Otter as a genderswapped version of Otter from the book, whereas she’s more of a new character in her own right in the West End production. Otter in the book is more of a friend/peer of Ratty’s, and I think that shows through in the tour, on but the West End she was more of a mother figure.

Portia: Holly Willock’s voice is GORGEOUS, but I think her dialogue was a bit too understated. Emilie du Leslay’s Portia felt more childlike. Once again, this might be to do with Portia becoming more of her own character, rather than a gender-swapped version of Portly, who was a bit milder in temperament.

The Hedgehogs: James Gant and Jenna Boyd are both too consistently good to compare them to themselves, in my opinion. They are excellent both times.

I think that covers the main characters! But I reserve the right to add onto this tomorrow, after I’ve slept.

Thanks for the question!

#wind in the willows #witw #wind in the willows musical #witw musical #twitw

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felikatze · 3 years

Note

Just wanted to say thank you so much for all the brainworms you have been giving me and my friends for the past few hours about Ayin and all the analyses you've been doing about him.

I have been losing my mind in the middle of the night thinking about all the things you've said, turning it over like crazy and trying to compare it with the gameplay I've had of Lobotomy Corporation and Library of Ruina.

Please do more analysis and share more of your ideas! Please? Please, with cherry on top? Please, I beg of you?

Especially if you have in-depth ideas of analyses for the Sephirah and how it relates to both their own characters and Ayin and Angela.

I thank you greatly in advance!

the implication that i've infected an entire friend group with my brainworms is power that will 100% go to my head i feel amazing. what else is analysis posting except trying to inflict people with the same thoughts bouncing around your skull on repeat

i DO have shit on the sephirah but mostly netzach, because i love netzach, and i in fact found my discord ramble about him (and chesed)

i dont have things on how they relate to A and Angela specifically because I mainly kept thinking abt Reverbaration Ensemble parallels... i have so many thoughs abt Netzach and Bremen.

(but if you want me to talk about, say, a specific core supression, or floor realization... i have a lot of thoughts on floor realizations.)

First off I am so sorry that you seem to think I'm smart because that means i have the perfect opportunity to inflict you with this

okay now we can get to the serious stuff

[transcript:

containment breach:

quick ramble abt lor again but i love the ensemble receptions so much. i'm at chesed's rn, and i know he's been chill the entire game, but him just refusing to comment on jae-hoon's tragedy seems, out of context, a dick move, but also is so important for chesed to do? he recognizes that another's suffering is not related to him, that he can't do anything about it, and that this is fine. The closest i'd describe chesed in lobcorp would be "activist burnout." Due to betraying the lab from garion's pressure, chesed was so consumed by guilt, he just blamed himself for everything and became more callous because it's already his fault, right? There's nothing he can do. But in lor, he knows what his responsibilities are, and allows himself joy where he can find it. I love the ensemble receptions bcuz they are just examplary of each patron libriarian's growth and i iqbfjc (sobs)

GOD this sure is a paragraph

also have to salute netzach for carrying his scene all by himself as the musicians of bremen just (animal noises) :pray:

ykno being online i realize that i'm not quiet at all i am a complete and utter chatterbox /end]

[transcript:

containment breach:

thinking abt netzach's scene where he doesn't talk to bremen, because he can't, but recognizes this who has not only lost themself in their own art but also their own suffering

i just i love netzach so much his entire character arc is abt learning to live with depression and learning to want to live again

so he becomes unable to understand, really, why someone would sacrifice themselves for their own art

when he started out just, similar yet different from bremen, completely submerged in his own misery

musicians of bremen reminds me i still have bremen bon bons at home i should eat those. they r tasty /end]

i wanna specifically dig into this scene more because i love that scene, a lot.

Art as we get to know it in the City is irrevocably tied to violence. Puppets are made of human bodies, music is played on bones and sinews. To the artists of the City, to create art is to make someone suffer. Rewatching Netzach's story bits, Roland describes it as doing nothing but seeking stimulation and being provocative.

Furthermore, there is a direct comparison between art and alcohol. To paraphrase more, the Pianist must've been one hell of a stimulant, like getting hit by a strong booze. A performance some are still hungover from.

Netzach's main struggle was addiction because of depression, and his growing appreciation for art is a continuation of that arc. He says himself that art and alcohol are linked.

However, alcohol is a step down from hard drugs. Netzach hasn't quit, but just that step down shows he learned moderation, which makes me very proud of him.

Moderation is what the other.. let's just call them artists, lack. I said in the screencaps above, initially, Netzach was lost in his own suffering, and the musicians of bremen are lost in their art. And if art is seen as equal to suffering, that just means Netzach and Bremen are more similar than expected. (Especially considering what we see of the musicians previously; they’re always trying to chase the same high they experienced listening to the Pianist by any means necessary. The addiction parallels are not suprising.)

I rewatched most of Netzach's lor scenes, and what rlly gets me is that in his first one, he seems almost the exact same as in lobcorp. He doesn't want to work, he got dragged into this against his will, he feels as if his accomplishments are futile.

But! He eventually invites Roland for drinks. He's not drinking to forget alone anymore, he's doing it as social activity. Furthermore, the more time he spends as Patron Librarian of Arts, the more he grows to appreciate art. Art is tied to suffering, still, but it is an expression of suffering. It does not produce any. Or should not, in any case. He sure wishes it wouldn’t.

So we arrive at his Ensemble Reception. This one makes a rather interesting comparison: art as the pursuit of the light. Let me elaborate.

To quote, “Honestly, I wanna tell people to stop doing the kind of art that requires ‘em to immolate themselves and others. Although, on the other hand... I can kinda see where they’re coming from. Art narrows your vision, after all.

You stop caring about the things around you. That’s how most artists seem to act, I think. And so, you indulge in the craft, not realizing that you’re throwing yourself and your surroundings into the fire you started.”

I pose this: Netzach speaks of his experience as Giovanni. Giovanni was a researcher who, when push came to shove, willingly sacrificed himself to advance the project, in hopes of seeing the light, seeing Carmen, again.

Though he dislikes Bremen’s actions, he does not judge them for it, because he recognized that it would be hypocritical. Even so, what shows that he’s grown is that he.. doesn’t want to see people harm themselves anymore. The focus here isn’t if Bremen hurt other people, which they have, but how much of themselves they’ve given up for their performance. He condemns the act, and not the people.

“If I can see that light once more... If I have to muster up the courage to reach it, I’ll gladly do it. It’s easier said than done, though; you need a lot of fearlessness for it.

And I guess you saw the same kind of light I was so desperate to see, yeah? Even if yours was a twisted creature... [...] Though, I don’t think I can tell you off like the others. At least I can see the reason behind it.”

He even explicitly mentions the light. The funny thing is, both Giovanni and Bremen tried to reach the Seed of Light, and Carmen. It’s tragically hilarious that we know Carmen is the voice the Distortions hear.

Hell, the more I think about it, the more you can just compare the Ensemble as a whole to the Outskirts Lab crew, down to Angelica’s puppet body and Carmen’s desecrated corpse.

“And I know pretty well that we have no right to devilishly pick apart each other’s way of art. I’m not very proud of mine, really...”

Netzach just.. gets it. I can’t remember atm, but I don’t think the other Patron Librarians really draw parallels like that. I’m seeing all the parallels now and I can’t unsee them ever. Bro.

His “art,” his way of protecting the light, is still violent. But he sees that perhaps it didn’t have to be, or rather shouldn’t be. I fucking love Netzach so much. His arc just means a lot to me personally, and I’d wager a lot of people who’ve struggled with mental illness would agree.

I’m not gonna get into Netzach’s floor realization here because this post is already long enough, but like, look at the specific flashback of Angela shown in Netzach’s story bits and contrast it to his arc of learning to want to live, and. Yeah.

#Feli gets asked #lobotomy corporation #library of ruina #netzach #NETZACH MY MAN NETZACH.#long post #this took a while to make cuz i got distracted many times by playing video games #also i'm not sorry for the first bit. know it in your heart. i'm right.

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22drunkb · 3 years

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Please tell me about the Tim Curry phenomenon?

Hoist on my own petard! Okay.

So just in case what I said was unclear, when I said “Tim Curry as a phenomenon” I didn’t mean that there was some Thing That Happened, like [rummages in ancient tumblr lore] mishapocalypse or something. I just mean what Tim Curry has come to signify in popular culture for certain kinds and generations of people. I would not consider myself a Tim Curry expert, I don’t know a ton about his life and filmography, but I do experience him as that kind of icon or signifier, so all I’m going to be talking about is that (and for this reason I have determined I am not going to look anything up). (@tafadhali I’m going to need to you let me know how I did when this is all over.) So:

Tim Curry is an actor. He is probably best known for The Rocky Horror Picture Show, Clue, Muppet Treasure Island, Home Alone 2, the 90s miniseries of It, and maybe now that one clip of him that circulates online from time to time where he’s yelling about going to space and trying not to laugh. The key facts are:

Tim Curry has incredible presence and charisma. He is not an actor who “disappears into the role.” He is a very skilled performer--it’s not like he plays the same thing in every role, and if somebody else could do what he does, many more people would be doing it--but he’s the kind of actor who gets used as a shorthand to describe characters, or other actors. “A Tim Curry type.” He works in Muppet Treasure Island because he’s in no way naturalistic, and so he can play off puppets no problem. We could comparatively describe this as The Jack Black Factor.

Tim Curry has a very distinctive voice (speaking and singing) and way of delivering lines, such that his accent comes off as almost put-on or parodic without ever quite going over the top. (This is true when he’s actually putting on an accent and when he’s not.) His delivery has unusual emphases that make the lines stick with you. These qualities are equally suited to comedy and creepiness, and he reasonably often does both at the same time. So he easily becomes a kind of factory for references, a meme factory before we called things memes. We could comparatively describe this as The Christopher Walken Factor.

Tim Curry has been in a lot of movies. These movies’ quality ranges from “hilariously bad” to “not good by mainstream standards, but objectively incredible at being the kind of movie it is” to “beloved hit, but nobody would call it High Cinema.” (If Tim Curry has also been in prestige films recognized as such,* I do not disrespect them or him, but I don’t know about it! And that’s part of the Tim Curry phenomenon!) I have not come up with a comparison for this--it’s less a distinctive thing than something that becomes important in combination with the first two.

Tim Curry always does an incredible job in these movies, whatever their quality. And he always seems to be having a great time doing it. One of the top YouTube comments on that clip I linked reads, “A reviewer once said about Tim Curry: ‘For every 1-star movie he's been in, he's the reason that movie got that star.’” He delivers a specific feeling of intense talent being directed, with great pleasure, to a purpose that is, on some level, inexplicable. (No one else would say this line this way! Why is he doing that! Because he’s Tim Curry, and that’s good enough, dammit!) This creates a sensation that somehow combines “admiration” and “this is hilarious,” but in a different way than you might admire a great stand-up set. It’s on purpose without feeling deliberate. It’s cheese being executed at the level of high art. It’s ridiculous and it’s fantastic. IT’S CAMP, BABY. Put that together with the ability to walk a knife-edge between hilarious clown and scary villain (he played Pennywise, hello), in the context of what the film industry outside of Very Special Episode morality tales has been for most of his career, and you have a recipe for a queer culture icon. I give you Frank-N-Furter.

So Tim Curry at this point means a certain quality or texture of zaniness--but one that’s not maniacal or exactly cartoonish, just like, orthogonal to what’s expected or normal. You get Tim Curry for a role when you want things to feel a little too much but in the best way; when you want to sit right on the line between “this character is out of sync with reality” and “telling the audience this is a heightened reality.” This is assuming you’re a good filmmaker who knows what you’re doing. He is the best thing in some bad movies because he reliably creates this delightful sensation even when the movie doesn’t have a clear purpose for it; he can make objectively bad material fun to watch because the things that made the writing dumb or the costuming bad are campy and fun in his hands. This is kind of what I meant by an inexplicable purpose: it doesn’t need to make sense to work. This is also what I mean about being on the line between “is the character acting nuts or is this the kind of world the movie is setting up”--when it’s not what the movie is trying to do, but the movie is failing at what it is trying to do, Tim Curry suddenly makes that fun to watch because whatever he’s doing is both of quality and basically ineffable.

So this is why we live in a world where, say, Justin McElroy can build a whole bit on MBMaM around just repeatedly spitting out the words “CHEESE! PIZZA!” in a Tim Curry voice, or Tim Curry appears on The Simpsons. At this point Tim Curry is not just a man or an actor, he’s a mood. And because that mood is hard to describe, we mostly only invoke it by referring to him. But it’s a wonderful thing that has a lot of room in it to be enjoyed in different ways, whether it’s about queerness or comedy or surrealism or performance craft that isn’t smothered by the uptight standards of “naturalism” or “realism” or “subtlety.” And Clue is one of the best venues for it because it is a good movie made by people who did know what they were doing, and what they were doing was aimed exactly at creating the Tim Curry Experience: it’s clever and artful at being campy and cheesy, and its darkness and funniness are wrapped together in so many layers you can’t separate them.

BONUS:

Evidence of Tim Curry’s skill as a performer: look at him Not Being Tim Curry on SNL here with Eddie Murphy, maybe the one time I can think of that he’s in the “straight man” role. (An FYI more than a warning: The sketch is poking at racism--I think it holds up really well, but it’s deliberately pushing ~the line.)

__________________________________ *I know a lot of Film People etc. now consider Clue a genuine genius classic--for good reason! it’s incredible!--but it wasn’t received that way, and to the extent that it has gained this recognition it’s by that rubric of “succeeds at what it’s trying to do, which is more important than whether what it’s trying to do is be Citizen Kane Paddington 2.”

#the tim curry phenomenon #anonymous

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blackswaneuroparedux · 4 years

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Anonymous asked: I really enjoyed your book review of Sebastian Junger’s Homecoming. Perhaps enjoyment isn’t the right word because it brought home some hard truths. Your book review really helped me understand my older brother better when I think back on how he came home from the war in Afghanistan after serving with the Paras and had medals pinned up the yin yang. It was hard on everyone in the family, especially for him and his wife and young kids. He has found it hard going. Thanks for sharing your own thoughts as a combat veteran from that war. Even if you’re a toff you don’t come across as a typical Oxbridge poncey Rupert! As you’re a classicist and historian how did ancient soldiers deal with PTSD? Did the Greeks and Roman soldiers even suffer from it like our fighting boys and girls do? Is PTSD just a modern thing?

Part 1 of 2 (see following post)

Because this is subject very close to my heart as a combat veteran I thought very long and hard about the issues you raised. I decided to answer this question in two posts.

This is Part 1 and Part 2 is the next post.

My apologies for the length but this is subject that deserves full careful consideration.

Thank you for your lovely words and I especially find its heart warming if they touched you. I appreciate you for sharing something of the experience your ex-Para brother went through in coming home from war. I have every respect for the Parachute regiment as one of the world’s premier fighting force.

Working alongside them on missions out in Afghanistan I could see their reputation as the ‘brain shit’ of the British Army was well deserved. They’re most uncouth, sweary, and smelliest group of yobbos I’ve ever had the awful misfortune to meet. I’m kidding. The mutual respect and the ribbing went hand in hand. I doff my smurf hat to the cherry berries as ‘propah soldiers’ as they liked to say especially when they cast a glance over at the other elite regiments like HCav and the guards regiments.

Don’t worry I’ve been called a lot worse! But I am grateful you don’t lump me with the other ‘poncey’ officers. Not sure what a female Rupert is called. The fact that I was never accused of being one by any of those I served with is perhaps something I take some measure of pride. There are not as many real toff officers these days compared to the past but there are a fair few Ruperts who are clueless in leading men under their charge. I knew one or two and frankly I’m embarrassed for them and the men under their charge.

I don’t know when the term PTSD was first used in any official way. My older sister who is a doctor - specialising in neurology and all round brain box and is currently working on the front lines in the NHS wards fighting Covid alongside all our amazing NHS nurses and doctors - took time out one evening to have a discussion with me about these issues. I also talked to one or two other friends in the psychiatric field too. In consensus they agree it was around 1980 when the term PTSD came into usage. Specifically it was the third edition of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-lll) published by the American Psychiatric Association in 1980 partly because as a result of the ongoing treatment of veterans from the Vietnam War. In the modern mind, PTSD is more associated with the legacy of the Vietnam War disaster.

The importance of whether PTSD affected the ancient Greeks and Romans lies in the larger historical question of to what extent we can apply modern experience to unlock or interpret the past. In the period since PTSD was officially recognised, scholars and psychologists have noted its symptoms in descriptions of the veterans of past conflicts. It has become increasingly common in books and novels as well as articles to assume the direct relevance of present-day psychology to the reactions of those who experienced violent events in the historical past. In popular culture, especially television and film dramas, claims for the historical pedigree of PTSD are now often provided as background to the modern story, without attribution. Indeed we just take it as a given that soldier-warriors in the past suffered the same and in the same way as their modern day counterparts. We are used to the West to map the classical world upon the present but whether we can so easily map the modern world back upon the Greeks and Romans is a doubtful proposition when it comes to discussing PTSD.

Simply put, there is no definitive evidence for the existence of PTSD in the ancient world existed, and relies instead upon the assumption that either the Greeks or Romans, because they were exposed to combat so often, must have suffered psychological trauma.

There are two schools of thought regarding the possibility of PTSD featuring in the Greco-Roman world (and indeed the wider ancient world stretching back into pre-history, myth and legend) – universalism and relativism. Put simply, the universalists argue that we all carry the same ‘wetware’ in our heads, since the human brain probably hasn’t developed in evolutionary terms in the eye blink that is the two thousand years or so since the Greco-Roman Classical era. If we’re subject to PTSD now, they posit, then the Greeks and the Romans must have been equally vulnerable. The relativists, on the other hand, argue that the circumstances under which the individual has received their life conditioning – the experiences which programme the highly individual software running that identical ‘wetware’, if you will – is of critical importance to an individual’s capacity to absorb the undoubted horrors of any battlefield, ancient or modern.

Whichever school one falls down on the side of is that what seems to happen in any serious discussion of the issue of PTSD in the ancient world is to either infer it indirectly from culture (primarily, literature and poetry) or infer it from a comparative historical understanding of ancient warfare. Because the direct evidence is so scant we can only ever infer or deduce but can never be certain. So we can read into it whenever we wish.

In Greek antiquity we have of course The Illiad and the Odyssey as one of the most cited examples when we look at the character traits of both Achilles and Odysseus. From Greek tragedy those who think PTSD can be inferred often point to Sophocles’s Ajax and Euripide’s Heracles. Or they look to Aeschylus and The Oresteia. I personally think this is an over stretch. Greek writers do; the return from war was a revisited theme in tragedy and is the subject of the Odyssey and the Cyclic Nostoi.

The Greeks didn’t leave us much to ponder further. But, with rare exceptions, the works from Graeco-Roman antiquity do not discuss the mental state of those who had fought. There is silence about the interior world of the fighting man at war’s end. So we are led to ponder the question why the silence?

This silence also echoes into the Roman period of literature and history too. Indeed when we turn to the Roman world, descriptions of veterans are rare in the writings that survive from the Roman world and occur most often in fiction.

In the first poem of Ovid’s Heroides, the poet writes about a returned soldier tracing a map upon a table (Ov. Her. 1.31–5):

...upon the tabletop that has been set someone shows the fierce battles, and paints all Troy with a slender line of pure wine: ‘Here the Simois flowed; this is the Sigeian territory, here stood the lofty palace of old Priam, there the tent of Achilles...’

This scene provides an intimate glimpse of what it must have been like when a veteran returned home and told stories of his campaigns: the memories of battle brought to the meal, the crimson trail of the wine offering a rough outline of the places and battlefields he had experienced. The military characters in poems and plays show a world in which soldiers are ubiquitous, if somewhat annoying to the civilians. Plautus, for instance, in his Miles Gloriosus, portrays an officer boasting about his made-up conquests – the model for the braggart in A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum – and Juvenal complains about a centurion who stomps on his sandalled foot in the bustling Roman street.

Despite this silence, compelling works have been written that interweave vivid modern accounts of combat and its aftermath with quotes from ancient prose and poetry. At their best, these comparisons can illuminate both worlds, but at other times the concerns of the present-day author are imposed on the ancient material. But the question remains are such approaches truthful and valid in understanding PTSD in the ancient world?

So if arts and literature don’t really tell us much what about comparative examples drawn from military history itself?

Here again we are in left disappointed.

According to the Greek historian, Herodotus, in 480 B.C., at the Battle of Thermopylae, where King Leonidas and 300 Spartans took on Xerxes I and 100,000-150,000 Persian troops, two of the Spartan soldiers, Aristodemos and another named Eurytos, reported that they were suffering from an “acute inflammation of the eyes,”...Labeled tresantes, meaning “trembler,”. It is that Aristodemos later hung himself in shame. Another Spartan commander was forced to dismiss several of his troops in the Battle of Thermopylae Pass in 480 B.C, “They had no heart for the fight and were unwilling to take their share of the danger.”

Herodotus again in writing about the battle of Marathon in 490 B.C., cites an Athenian warrior who went permanently blind when the soldier standing next to him was killed, although the blinded soldier “was wounded in no part of his body.” Interestingly enough, blindness, deafness, and paralysis, among other conditions, are common forms of “conversion reactions” experienced and well-documented among soldiers today

Outside the fictional world, Roman military history tell us very little.

Appian of Alexandria (c. 95? – c. AD 165) described a legion veteran called Cestius Macedonicus who, when his town was under threat of capture by (the Emperor-to-be) Octavian, set fire to his house and burned himself within it. Plutarch’s Life of Marius speaks of Caius Marius’ behaviour who, when he found himself under severe stress towards the end of his life, suffering from night terrors, harassing dreams, excessive drinking and flashbacks to previous battles. These examples are just a few instances which seem to demonstrate that PTSD, or culturally similar phenomena, may be as old as warfare itself. But it’s worth stressing it is not definitive, just conjecture.

Of course of accounts of wars and battles were copiously written but not the hard bloody experience of the soldier. Indeed the Roman military man is described almost exclusively as a commander or in battle. Men such as Caesar who experienced war and wrote about it do not to tell us about homecoming.

It seems one of main challenges when we try to see military history through the lens of our definition of PTSD is to first understand the comparative nature of military history and what it is we are comparing ie mistaking apples for oranges.

The origin of military history was tied to the idea that if one understood ancient battle, one might fight and, more importantly, one might lead and strategise more effectively. In essence, much of the training of officers – even in the military handbooks of the Greeks and Romans – was an attempt to keep new commanders from making the same mistakes as the commanders of old. Military history is intended to be a pragmatic enterprise; in pursuit of this pragmatic goal, it has long been the norm to use comparative materials to understand the nature of ancient battle.

The 19th Century French military theorist Ardant du Picq argued for the continuity of human behaviour and assumed that the reactions of men under the threat of lethal force would be identical over the centuries: “Man does not enter battle to fight, but for victory. He does everything that he can to avoid the first and obtain the second....Now, man has a horror of death. In the bravest, a great sense of duty, which they alone are capable of understanding and living up to, is paramount. But the mass always cowers at sight of the phantom, death. Discipline is for the purpose of dominating that horror by a still greater horror, that of punishment or disgrace. But there always comes an instant when natural horror gets an upper hand over discipline, and the fighter flees”

These words offer insight to those of us who have never faced the terror of battle but at the same time assume the universality of how combat is experienced, despite changes in psychological expectations and weaponry, to name but two variables.

Another incentive for scholars and researchers is to turn to comparative material has been the growing awareness of the artificiality of how we describe war. A mere phrase such as ‘flank attack’ does not capture the bloody, grinding human struggle. Roman authors – especially those who had not fought – often wrote generic descriptions of battle. Literary battle can distort and simplify even as it tells, but if the main things are right – who won, who lost, and who the good guys are – the important ‘facts’ are covered. Even if one intends to speak the truth about battle, the assumptions and the normative language used to describe violence will affect the telling. We may note that the battle accounts in poetry become increasingly grisly during the course of the Roman Empire (perhaps owing to the growing popularity of gladiatorial games),while, in Caesar’s Gallic War, the Latin word cruor (blood) never appears and sanguis (another Latin word for blood) only appears in quoted appeals (Caes. B. Gall. 7.20, in the mouth of Vercingetorix, and 7.50, where the centurion M. Petronius urges his men to retreat). The realities of the battlefield are described in anodyne shorthand. In much the same way that the news rarely prints or televises graphic images, Caesar does not use gore, and perhaps for the same reason – to give a sense of reportorial objectivity.

Another element in the interpretive scrum is a given author’s goal in writing an account in the first place: Caesar, for example, was writing about himself, and he may have been producing something akin to a political campaign ad. Caesar makes Caesar look great and there is reason to believe that, if he was not precisely cooking the books, he did give them a little rinse to make him look more pristine. Given the many factors that complicate our ability to ‘unpack’ battle narratives, Philip Sabin has argued that the ambiguity and unreliability of the ancient sources must be supplemented by looking at the “form of the overall characteristics of Roman infantry in mortal combat”. Again the modern is used to illuminate that which is obscured by written accounts and the “the enduring psychological strains” are merely unconsciously assumed.

These legitimate uses of comparative materials have led to a sort of creep: because military historians have used observations of how men react to combat stress during battle to indicate continuity of behaviour through time, there appears to be a consequent expectation that men will also react identically after battle. This creep became a lusty stride with modern books written about the ancient world and PTSD.

After I finished my tour in Afghanistan I read many books recommended to me by family and friends as well as comrades. One of these books is well known in military circles - at least amongst the thinking officer class - as an iconic work of marrying the ancient world and the modern experience of war. I read it and I was touched deeply by this brilliant therapeutic book. It was only months later I began to re-think whether it was a true account of PTSD in the ancient world.

This insightful book is called Achilles in Vietnam by Jonathan Shay. Shay is psychiatrist in Boston, USA. He began reading The Iliad with Vietnam veterans whom he was treating. Achilles in Vietnam, is a deeply humane work and is very much concerned with promoting policies that he hoped would help diminish the frequency of post-traumatic stress. His goal was not to explain ancient poetry but to use it therapeutically by linking his patients’ pain to that of the Iliad’s great hero. His book offers a conduit between the reader and the experiences of the men that Shay counsels. In the introduction to this work he makes a nod to Homerists while also asserting the primacy of his own reading:

“I shall present the Iliad as the tragedy of Achilles. I will not glorify Vietnam combat veterans by linking them to a prestigious ‘classic’ nor attempt to justify study of the Iliad by making it sexy, exciting, modern or ‘relevant’. I respect the work of classical scholars and could not have done my work without them. Homer’s poem does not mean whatever I want it to mean. However, having honored the boundaries of meaning that scholars have pointed out, I can confidently tell you that my reading of the Iliad as an account of men in war is not a ‘meditation’ that is only tenuously rooted in the text. “

After outlining the major plot points around which he will organise his argument, he notes, “ ‘This is the story of Achilles in the Iliad, not some metaphorical translation of it”.

The trouble was and continues to be is that many in the historical and medical fields began to rush to unfounded conclusions that Shay, on the issue of PTSD in the ancient world, had demonstrated that the psychological realities of western warfare were universal and enduring. More books on similar comparative themes soon emerged and began to enshrine the truth that PTSD was indeed prevalent throughout the ancient world and one could draw comparative lessons from it.

Perhaps one of the most influential books after Shay was by Lawrence Tritle. Tritle, a veteran himself, wrote From Melos to My Lai. It’s a fascinating book to read and there are parts that certainly resonate with my own experiences and those of others I have known. In the book Tritle drew a direct parallel between the experiences of the ancient Greeks and those of modern veterans. For instance, Xenophon, in his military autobiography, presents a brief eulogy for one of his fallen commanders, Clearchus. Xenophon writes that Clearchus was ‘polemikos kai philopolemos eschatos’ (Xen. An. 2.6) – ‘warlike and a lover of war to the highest degree’.

Tritle comments:

“The question that arises is why men like Clearchus and his counterparts in Vietnam and the Western Front became so entranced with violence. The answer is to be found in the natural ‘high’ that violence induces in those exposed to it, and in the PTSD that follows this exposure. Such a modern interpretation in Clearchus’ case might seem forced, but there seems little reason to doubt that Xenophon in fact provides us with the first known historical case of PTSD in the western literary tradition.”

Arguably in the West and especially our current modern Western culture is predicated at baulking at the notion of being ‘war lovers” as immoral. But such an interpretation speaks more of our modern Christianised ambivalence towards war; to the Spartans and Athenians the term would not have had a negative connotation. ‘Philopolemos’ is, in fact, a compliment, and the list of Clearchus’ military exploits functions as a eulogy. There are points where his analysis does not adequately address the divergences between ancient and modern experiences.

For all the talk of our Western culture being rooted in Ancient Greece and Rome we are not shaped by the same ethics. Our modern ethics and our moral code is Christian. There is no such thing as a secular humanist or atheist both owe a debt to Christianity for the way they have come to be; in many respects it’s more accurate to describe such people as Christianised Humanists or Christian Atheists even if they reject the theological tenets of the religious faith because they use Christian morality as the foundation to construct their own. Many forget just how brutal these ancient societies were in every day life to the point there would be little one could find recognisable within our own modern lives.

Now we come to third point I wish to make in determining where the Greeks or Romans actually experienced PTSD. This is to do with the little understood nature of PTSD itself. As much as we know about PTSD there is still much more we don’t know. Indeed one of the most problematic and complicated issues is the continued disagreement around the diagnosis and specific triggers of the disorder which remain little understood. We have to admit there are competing theories about what causes PTSD but, in terms of experiences that make it manifest, there are essentially three possible triggers: witnessing horrific events and/or being in mortal danger and/or the act of killing – especially close kills where the reality of one’s responsibility cannot be doubted. The last of these was strongly argued in another scholarly book by D. Grossman, On Killing, the Psychological Cost of Learning to Kill in War and Society (1995).

Roman soldiers had the potential to experience all of these things. The majority of Roman combat was close combat and permitted no doubt as to the killer. The comparatively short length of the gladius encouraged aggressive fighting. Caesar recounts how his men, facing a shield wall carried by the taller Gauls, leaped up on top of the shields, grabbed the upper edges with one hand, and stabbed downwards into the faces of their opponents (Caes. B. Gall. 1.52). As for mortal danger, Stefan Chrissanthos in his informative book, Warfare in the Ancient World: From the Rise of Uruk to the Fall of Rome, 3500BC-476AD, puts it this way: “For Roman soldiers, though the weapons were more primitive, the terrors and risks of combat were just as real. They had to face javelins, stones, spears, arrows, swords, cavalry charges, and maybe worst of all, the threat of being trampled by war elephants.”

Such terrors are regularly attested. During his campaign in North Africa, Caesar, noting his men’s fear, procured a number of elephants to familiarise his troops with how best to kill the beasts (Caes. B. Afr.72). It should also be noted that it was not unusual for the reserve line to be made up of veterans because they were better able to watch the combat without losing their nerve. Held in reserve, they had to watch stoically as their comrades were injured and killed, and contemplate the awful fact that they might suffer the same fate. This was not a role for the faint of heart.

However, while the Romans certainly had the raw ingredients for combat trauma, the danger for a Roman legionary was much more localised. Mortars could not be lobbed into the Green Zone, suicide bombers did not walk into the market, and garbage piled on the street did not hide powerful explosives. The danger for a Roman soldier was largely circumscribed by his moments on the field of battle, and even here, if he was with the victorious side, the casualties were likely to be light: at Gergovia, a disaster by Caesar’s standards, he lost nearly seven hundred men (Caes. B. Gall. 7.51). In his victory over Pompey the Great at Pharsalus, his casualties numbered only two hundred (Caes. B. Civ. 3.99).

So we are left with the disturbing question: were the stressors really the same?

This is the part where I also defer to my eldest sister as a doctor and surgeon specialising in neurology and just so much smarter than myself.

My eldest sister holds the view in talking to her own American medical peers that despite similar experiences in Afghanistan and Iraq, British soldiers on average report better mental health than US soldiers.

My sister pointed out to research study done by Kings College London way back around 2015 or so that analysed 34 studies produced over a 15-year period (up to 2015) and found that overall there has been no increase in mental health issues among British personnel - with the exception of high rates of alcohol abuse among soldiers. The study was in part inspired the “significant mental health morbidity” among U.S. soldiers and reports that factors such as age and the quality of mental health programs contribute to the difference between the two nation’s servicemen and women.

She pointed out that these same studies showed that post-traumatic stress disorder afflicts roughly 2 to 5% of non-combat U.K. soldiers returning from deployment, while 7% of combat troops report PTSD. According to a General Health Questionnaire, an estimated 16 to 20% of U.K. soldiers have reported symptoms of common mental disorders, similar to the rates of the general U.K. population. In comparison, studies around the same time in 2014 showed U.S. soldiers experience PTSD at rates of 21 to 29%. The U.S. Department of Veteran Affairs estimated PTSD afflicted 11% of veterans returning from Afghanistan and 20% returning from Iraq. Major depression was reported by 14% of major soldiers according to another study commissioned by RAND corporation; roughly 7% of the general U.S. population reports similar symptoms.

It’s always tough comparing rates between countries and is not a reflection of the quality of the fighting soldier. But one finding that consistently and stubbornly refuses to go away is that over the past 20 years reported mental health problems tend to be higher among service personnel and veterans of the USA compared with the UK, Canada, Germany and Denmark.

However my sister strongly cautioned against making hasty judgements. And there could be many variable factors at play. One explanation is that American soldiers are more likely than their British counterparts to be from the reserve forces. Empirical studies showed reservists from both America and British troops were more likely to experience mental illness post-deployment. It was also worth pointing out that American soldiers also tended to be younger - being younger and inexperienced as well as untested on the battlefield, service personnel would naturally run the risk of greater and be more vulnerable to mental illness.

In contrast, the elite forces of the British army, such as your brother’s Parachute Regiment or the Royal Marines, were found to be the least affected by mental illness. It was found that in spite of elite forces experiencing some of the toughest fighting conditions, they tended to enjoy better mental health than non-elite troops. The more elite a unit is or more professional then you find that troops tend to enjoy a very deep bonds of camaraderie. As such the social cohesion of these fighting forces provides a psychological protective buffer. Not for all, but for many.

More intriguing are new avenues of discovery that might go a long way to actually understanding one of the root causes of PTSD. According to my sister, recent research carried out in the US and Europe and published in such prestigious medical journals as the New England Journal of Medicine (US) and the Lancet (UK), seems to establish a causal link between concussive injury and PTSD.

One recent study looked at US soldiers that concerned itself with the effects of concussive injuries upon troops after their return from active duty during the war in Iraq.

Of the majority of soldiers who suffered no combat injuries of any sort, 9.1 per cent exhibited symptoms consistent with PTSD. This allows a baseline for susceptibility of roughly 10% of the population. A slightly higher number (16.2%) of those who were injured in some way, but suffered no concussion, also experienced symptoms. As soon as concussive injuries were involved, however, the rates of PTSD climbed dramatically.

Although only 4.9% of the troops suffered concussions that resulted in complete loss of consciousness, 43.9% of these soldiers noted on their questionnaires that they were experiencing a range of PTSD symptoms. Of the 10.3% of the unit who suffered concussion resulting in confusion but retained consciousness, more than a quarter (27.3%) suffered symptoms. This suggests a high correlation between head trauma and the occurrence of subsequent psychological problems. The authors of the study note that ‘concern has been emerging about the possible long term effect of mild traumatic brain injury or concussion...as a result of deployment related head injuries, particularly those resulting from proximity to blast explosions’

Although these results are preliminary, if confirmed they have profound implications for anyone trying to understand the nature of warfare in the ancient world, especially the Western world.

So why does it matter?

In Roman warfare, wounds were most often inflicted by edged weapons. Romans did of course experience head trauma, but the incidence of concussive injuries would have been limited both by the types of weapons they faced and by the use of helmets. Indeed the efficacy and importance of headgear for example can be deduced from the death of the Epirrote general Pyrrhus from a roof tile during the sack of Argos. It is likely that the Romans designed their helmets with an eye to blunting the force of the blows they most often encountered. Connolly has argued that helmet design in the Republican period suggests a crouching fighting stance (see P. Connolly, ‘The Roman Fighting Technique Deduced from Armour and Weaponry’, Roman Frontier Studies (1989). However my own view is that the change in helmet design may signal instead a shift in the role of troops from performing assaults on towns and fortifications when the empire was expanding (and the blows would more often rain from above) to the defence and guarding of the frontiers.

While the evidence is clear that concussion is not the only risk factor for PTSD, it is so strongly correlated that it suggests that the incidence of PTSD may have risen sharply with the arrival of modern warfare and the technology of gunpowder, shells, and plastic explosives. Indeed, accounts of shell shock from the First World War are common, and it was in the wake of that war that those observing veterans suspected that neurological damage was being caused by exploding shells.

For soldiers of the Second World War and down to our modern day, an artillery barrage is like an invention of hell.

As one American put it in his memoirs of fighting the Japanese at Peleiu and Okinawa, “I developed a passionate hatred for shells. To be killed by a bullet seemed so clean and surgical but shells would not only tear and rip the body, they tortured one’s mind almost beyond the brink of sanity. After each shell I was wrung out, limp and exhausted. During prolonged shelling, I often had to restrain myself and fight back a wild inexorable urge to scream, to sob, and to cry. As Peleliu dragged on, I feared that if I ever lost control of myself under shell fire my mind would be shattered. To be under heavy shell fire was to me by far the most terrifying of combat experiences. Each time it left me feeling more forlorn and helpless, more fatalistic, and with less confidence that I could escape the dreadful law of averages that inexorably reduced our numbers. Fear is many-faceted and has many subtle nuances, but the terror and desperation endured under heavy shelling are by far the most unbearable” (see E.B. Sledge, With the Old Breed at Peleiu and Okinanwa, 2007).

The psychological effect of shelling seems to result from the combined effect of awaiting injury while at the same time having no power to combat it.

There is another aspect that I alluded to above which is the psychological and societal conditioning of the Roman soldier. In other words a Roman male’s social and cultural expectations of his place in the world. Feelings of helplessness and fatalism were probably a less alien experience for most Romans – even those in the upper classes. In general, the Romans inhabited a world that was significantly more brutal and uncertain than our own.

This another way of saying that the Roman and 21st century combat are very different in a variety of ways that subject the modern soldier to a good deal more stress than the legionary was ever likely to suffer. And the Roman’s societal preparation – his life before the battle – was far more robust than that we enjoy today.

Take infant mortality. In the modern developed world, our infant mortality rates are about ten per thousand. In Rome, it is estimated that this number was three hundred per thousand. Three-tenths of infants would die within the first year, and an additional fifth would not make it to the age of ten - 50% of children would not survive childhood. Anecdotal evidence supports these statistics: Cornelia, the mother of the Gracchi, gave birth to twelve children between 163 bc and 152 bc; all twelve survived their father’s death in 152 bc, but only three survived to adulthood. Marcus Aurelius and his wife, Faustina, had at least twelve children but only the future emperor Commodus survived.  

Then look at how that child grows up. The typical Roman child would be raised in a society that readily accepted ultra-violent arena entertainment, mob justice, frequent and bloody warfare as a fact of life. This was reinforced by religious and societal encouragement to see war as natural and beneficial, open butchering of food animals, a total lack of support structures for the poor and less able.

Compared to the legionary our modern soldier has been protected from such realities to a greater degree than at any other point in history, and will thus be far less well prepared for the horror of a warfare that contains far more stress factors than for a man who might fight a handful of battles in his military career, with long periods of relative calm in between, state of war notwithstanding. Modern special and elite forces training often emphasises the brutalisation and ‘rebuilding’ of the recruit in readiness for this step into darkness, but it seems likely that no such conditioning would have been needed two thousand years ago.

I would argue that we experience war very differently from the way the Romans did. Our modern identity is defined far more by our Western Christian heritage than our Western Classical roots. They are in fact world apart when it comes to ethics and morality. Consider the fact that when we talk of war and killing today we often do so through conflict between our civilian moral codes – which offer the strict injunction not to do violence to other human beings – and wartime, when men are commanded to violate such prohibitions. It is a terrible thing to try to navigate ‘Thou shalt not kill’ and the necessity of taking a life in combat.

It is sometimes the case that the qualities that make the best soldier do not make the best civilian, a point amply attested in Greek poetry by heroes such as Heracles and Odysseus.

The Romans, for their part, celebrated heroes such as Cincinnatus, who could command effectively and then leave behind the power he wielded to return to his humble plough. It is important, however, when evaluating combat and its effects in the ancient world, that we do not read our ambivalence about violence onto the Romans. They inhabited an empire whose prosperity was quite openly tied to conquest.

As M. Zimmerman writes in his academic article, “Violence in Late Antiquity Reconsidered’ (2007), “The pain of the other, seen on the distorted faces of public and private monuments, or heard in the screams of criminals in the amphitheatre, reassured Romans of their own place in the world. Violence was a pervasive presence in the public space; indeed, it was an important basis for its existence, pertaining as it did not only to victories over external enemies but also to the internal order of the state.”

Violence then was both the means and the expression of Roman power. The Roman soldier was its instrument. The Roman warrior then would have brought a different perspective to lethal violence, and would have had a far more restricted moral circle to his modern counterpart – his friends and family, clan, patron and clients, as opposed to millions of fellow citizens via the internet and social media.

Part II follows next post

#question #ask #PTSD #war #roman #greek #classical #legionary #spartan #mental health #depression #trauma #warfare #british army #mental illness #homecoming #soldiers #combat veterans #veterans

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howtosingit · 4 years

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if ur ok with it can u break down the tarlos huggggg in the lst ep after tk tells evy1 abt his addiction? bc that gd huggggggg i wanna no every thing u think abt it i live for ur love for tarlos theyre just so so cuteeeee

IF I’M OKAY WITH IT?! Anon, I feel like I have been waiting my entire life for this ask. I could literally talk about this hug for the rest of my existence. I would talk about this hug every second of every day if I could and never get tired or bored. This hug has owned my entire heart from the moment that it happened and I can never get enough of it. Brace yourself for this essay, and remember that you asked for it...

Okay, so before I get to the actual hug, I want to talk for a minute about why I love it so much and also how fantastic the scene is that comes before it. I’ll try to keep both of those brief (LOL). If you want to skip to the hug breakdown, I’ll give the sections titles.

Why I Love This Hug

So, why do I love this hug so much? Honestly, because I never in a million years thought we’d get something like it, and it was a big turning point for me.

I have not been quiet about how disappointing I think season 1 was. Too much Owen being Owen, too much Iris plot (which never interested me for even a single moment, unfortunately), not enough of the other characters - specifically the characters of color - and definitely not enough Tarlos.

Following episode 3, the show established a really frustrating pattern with Tarlos: they either never interacted with one another, or there was a moment of them at the end of an episode where they were in the same place physically but never spoke directly to one another. Frustration doesn’t even begin to describe the Tarlos talking drought between episodes 3 and 10 - and honestly? It’s bad writing. To focus on a ship for 3 episodes, giving them a lot of different nuances and conflict, and then do absolutely nothing with it? Stupid. So, going into the finale, my expectations were low. At that point, I was literally tuning in just to catch a glimpse of Carlos, with the expectation that that was all I would get. I really didn’t think I was going to watch the show after season 1.

When the finale started with a Tarlos scene, I was honestly very surprised. But, then, of course, it was a “break up” scene, and I was like... well. So much for that. See, I fully expected, based on the trend throughout the later half of the season, that that would be the only Tarlos scene we would get, and that that is how they would end season 1.

But when that camera cut to Carlos Reyes walking through the station door looking like a modern-day motherf*cking Prince Charming? I cried. I’m not ashamed to admit that. And then WHEN WE GOT THE HUG?! I can honestly still feel my heart pounding in my chest.

The finale didn’t fix everything for me; they still barely talk in their final two scenes. It’s not all perfect. But this hug, this small moment? THAT. IS. PERFECTION. (And I’m gonna go on and on about why in just a minute!)

Framing the Hug

I just want to take another moment here to chat about the entire fire station scene with TK and the team/Carlos because there’s a lot that informs why this hug is so freaking incredible. It has everything to do with the directing choices that were made - and boy were they good ones!

We all probably remember how the scene starts: extreme close-ups on TK as he sits waiting for the crew to come back. He’s anxious and possibly having a mild panic attack, and the camera is used to create that moment. Certain shots are out of focus, the shots that are focused are zoomed in to his mouth/hands/eyes, the sound is distorted, his breathing is isolated. It’s all super effective.

So the observations that I make about this brief moment are: TK is stationary, the camera is basically attacking him. And TK is alone. Pretend for a moment that the camera is a character. The camera won’t leave him alone. No one is there to help him. His anxiety grows.

(Even when the team joins him, the camera stays pretty close to him, except for one moment where it backs off but then approaches again. It continues to invade his personal space and his personal moments with his friends and his dad.)

Now, compare that to how the scene ends: TK walks away from the camera, the camera doesn’t follow him. It gives him space. His interaction with Carlos happens in the distance. If the camera is a character, TK defeated that character. He leaves it there, it no longer threatens him. I just really like that visual storytelling; that through the 4 minute scene, TK not only faces his demons, speaks his truth, and conquers his anxiety but he beats the camera and goes off to hug Carlos untethered. (He even bounces towards him, but we’ll get to that in a minute.) That doesn’t really have anything to do with the hug specifically, but I thought it was interesting anyway.

The other comparison that I want to make is a simple one, but it’s another reason why I love the hug: TK initiates it. He doesn’t initiate the group hug with his team (he actually almost says “we don’t have to do that” when Mateo moves towards him), though he obviously enjoys it. Owen initiates their hug, flinging himself at his son, and TK obviously appreciates it.

But the Carlos hug? TK approaches him, TK raises his arm to wrap around Carlos’s neck.

Okay, now to finally answer the original ask...

LET’S HUG IT OUT: THE BREAKDOWN THAT WAS ASKED FOR

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First, can I just say from his first appearance to the end of this scene, Carlos is there for 20 seconds total and I am about to write a whole-ass essay about those 20 seconds?! I’m literal trash.

Okay, so Carlos appears looking like a fucking snack. He’s changed since the bus accident, looking like someone’s hot date, and I think we know whose... Owen is basically like “well this is unexpected” and honestly, same sir. TK is adorable and noncommittal, but clearly not surprised to see Carlos there. We’ve missed a moment between them since TK was sent to the hospital and Carlos called him impressive, that’s for sure.

So when TK starts to walk towards him, the camera refocuses on Carlos and we see this adorable freaking look on his face that clearly says “how did it go?” or “all went well?” or something to that effect. I think Carlos knew what TK was doing at the station and he knew that it was a big deal for him, and I love that even before they are next to each other, he’s checking in to see how it went. He’s invested in TK’s well-being - as always - and he’s there to support him, both physically and emotionally. I COULD SCREAM.

In response to Carlos’s silent questioning, TK throws his head back and sighs. Like I said before, he seems to bounce towards Carlos, his body is pretty loose - his arms are swinging back and forth. This is a guy who just took a load off, and he’s relieved about having done so. The smile that Carlos gives him in answer says that he’s relieved too - that it went so well, that TK seems lighter. He might even be relieved that TK is being so much more open with him, clearly showing him his emotions. Their body language for this entire moment is very open, neither of them seem closed off. It truly does feel like, for the first time, they are meeting each other on equal footing, with all of their cards on the table before them. It’s such a different moment for them, certainly different than their body language during the boba date earlier in the episode.

I would be an absolute idiot if I did not pause and remark here how INCREDIBLY IMPORTANT IT IS that TK is the one that approaches Carlos. I’m not the first person to notice and say this, but Carlos “I hate being the one doing the chasing” Reyes stops just inside the door. He lets TK walk towards him. It’s such an interesting, nonverbal conversation between them. In this action, Carlos is saying “I’m here, but I’m still not going to force anything. You said you wanted space, so I’m giving it to you.” Sure, he comes to the station - but I would pay good money to bet that TK invited him there following some kind of conversation about what he was doing there - but he stays at the door. He’s cautious, but open. He wants something more with TK, but he’s not going to throw himself into it just to get hurt again. So, he waits. AND TK COMES TO HIM. TK leaves his own space and enters his. TK takes the final step. TK closes the gap. TK makes the big move, and they’re finally both right in front of each other, on the same wavelength. The find that solid ground from which they’ll build their relationship together. ISN’T IT JUST BEAUTIFUL?!

Seriously, kudos to Bradley Buecker for directing this episode with multiple levels of storytelling at play. It’s really great stuff.

OKAY, there’s a little Owen and Michelle moment, but then the camera finds Tarlos again.

TK is standing in front of Carlos, they’re completely fixated on one another, their body language is just so fucking casual and comfortable I cannot stand it. See, the other hugs were all pretty intense: the team piles on top of TK, burying him, and Owen practically throws himself at TK, it’s a fairly hard hug for a man with an injured shoulder. But this hug? NOPE.

It’s so soft. It’s so gentle. TK raises his arm like he just can’t not wrap it around Carlos’s neck, like it’s the only way to be as close as possible to him and being as close as possible to him is all he wants in that moment.

What I really love about this hug is that it feels like two people who hug not because the moment is demanding it, not because they’re reuniting after a long time apart, not because they’re in a heightened state of emotion.

These two hug like it’s just what they do, what they always want to be doing, like they don’t know how not to do it. The whole thing reads like “Hi, I’m TK and my arms belong around Carlos” and “Hi, I’m Carlos, and my arms belong around TK, what else would I be doing with them?” (It’s also the vibe I get from the club scene where they wrap their arms around each other.)

IT’S INTIMACY, Y’ALL.

Look, to be a Tarlos fan, I think you have to be willing to look at the relationship on two different levels, right? One is what they verbalize to each other, which is admittedly very little (season 2, come through). The other is the story that they tell through their body language. These two have seemingly always been on the same page physically. It just comes naturally to them, from the minute they first dance to their obviously very pleasing sex scene to the way they flirt in the bar to the club to Carlos at TK’s bedside.

Their chemistry is made clear through how they physically relate to each other, and never is that more clear than in this hug that LITERALLY LASTS 2 SECONDS BUT CONTAINS MULTITUDES.

Okay, back to it... so TK strolls towards Carlos, Carlos waits for him - they symbolism is making me scream - TK raises his arm, it’s all super casual...

And then he just kind of literally falls into Carlos’s body, and Carlos basically just catches him. HOW BEAUTIFUL IS THAT.

They don’t even speak but because they’ve had a nonverbal conversation with just those looks that I talked about, there’s just this understanding that TK needs to just collapse a little bit and he never for one second doubts that Carlos will hold him up. THAT’S JUST WHAT THEY DO.

OKAY OKAY OKAY now we’re going to break this down from head to toe.

Like, the way that their heads just rest against each other, TK pressing close - I can almost imagine that he breathes in the scent of Carlos’s shampoo, his nose is pressed right there in his curls. AND JUST IMAGINE HIS SMILE, I BET IT’S BLINDING.

I love that their heads kind of curve around each other kind of, perfectly Yin and Yang - like, from above they would totally look like that symbol.

MY FAVORITE PART OF THE ENTIRE THING: CARLOS FREAKING REYES NUZZLING INTO TYLER KENNEDY STRAND’S NECK, LIKE HE JUST SHOVES HIS FACE RIGHT IN THERE

THE NECK KISS MADE ME SCREAM SO FUCKING LOUD THE FIRST TIME I SAW IT I COULD NOT HANDLE IT

First, it’s our first kiss since episode 2.

Second, THE INTIMACY OF PRESSING A KISS TO SOMEONE’S NECK - LIKE THAT IS SUCH A SOFT PART OF YOUR BODY, THERE ARE TENDONS THERE, YOU CAN FEEL SOMEONE’S PULSE THERE - LIKE OH MY GOD

Nothing screams “I want to know every part of this man on a deep, committed level” than a fucking neck kiss, and Carlos Reyes just... he fucking does it.

Okay but he really does bury his whole face in there like he wants to keep it there forever, I have truly never seen something so soft in my entire life.

I’m so in love with them I could puke.

But like, that’s why this moment means so much to me, because I really do think that it’s a solidifying moment for both of them.

For TK, it’s a “It’s okay if I stumble or fall because this man will catch me or help me up” thing

For Carlos, it’s “he wants me, he wants this, he’s taking literal steps towards this thing between us, and he encourages me to sink into him, he wants me to do that, he really wants this”

Like, fuck.

Moving down... we gotta appreciate Carlos being mindful of TK’s shoulder, unlike literally everyone else who has hugged him. Like, he doesn’t even go anywhere near those stitches because there’s no fucking way he’s going to watch TK bleed out for the third time, nope.

And the way that Carlos just slides his arms around TK’s waist, pressing his palms into his lower back?!

I think there’s a whole like, thing, where when a person’s hands are flat and open they’re like, open and vulnerable. So there’s just something about the way that Carlos presses both of his open palms against TK’s back that feels so open and vulnerable and honest to me.

Also, the way that he literally covers as much of TK’s back with his hands as possible? He doesn’t place his hands on top of one another, he stacks them along TK’s spine - he completely covers the entirety of his lower back. That’s a really vulnerable part of the human body, and Carlos instinctively protects it. AND TK LET’S HIM.

Okay, finally, down to their feet: TK really does collapse against Carlos, throwing himself on top of him and trusting that Carlos will keep him upright. All of his weight shifts to that forward momentum, he even goes up on the toes of his right foot. Carlos plants his feet, and as TK sways into him, he wraps him in his arms and gently centers them so that they don’t tip over to the ground.

He literally re-balances them. The two of them together find a balance with one another during this TWO-SECOND HUG. They shift, they steady themselves, they sink into one another.

It’s literally symbolic of them both being completely, 100%, without question, ready for the next phase of their relationship together.

They keep each other standing, and that’s fucking true love, y’all.

I honestly cannot wait for season 2. This hug and the final scene on the hood of Carlos’s car - with TK again making the move to embrace their relationship by physically reaching into Carlos’s space for his hand and dragging it into his own space, firmly opening the door to his heart to let him inside, while also settling Carlos’s hand between his own to let him know that he’s willing to protect him and his heart too - makes me believe that we are in for some truly wonderful romance with these boys.

My heart will not stop screaming about it.

#anonymous #asks #tarlos #tk strand #carlos reyes #911 lone star #that finale hug is the very definition of love #and I have a lot of feelings about it #thank you so much for sending this ask #I loved getting to rewatch this 3-second hug about a billion times to overanalyze it #best night I've had in a long time #holy shit this is almost 3K... for a 3-second hug... I’m literally trash #brian breakdowns #brian being tarlos trash

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razorblade180 · 4 years

Text

The Real You pt6

[Warning, Parts 1-5 are really old. So their quality is eh...]

Love sucks, that’s the feeling our emotionally wrecked trio was having anyways. Each of them sat quietly while looking at an empty cake tray and devoured bowls of ice cream. They must’ve scarfed down enough sweets to make even Ruby sick, yet not even their slightly upset stomach could compare to the pain in their chest. Love sucked, but here they were, wishing for a way to grab a hold of it with both hands.

Yang sat on her couch all alone and stared at Jaune, who laid on her floor. His eyes fixated on the never ending weeping of the heavens outside. A fitting mood really. Yang still felt like letting her tears flow just a little bit. She couldn’t believe that she got cheated on, again. Technically this would be the first time but the series of events and feelings were scarily familiar to what happened with her partner that it was hard not to draw certain comparisons.

Jaune finally noticed her gaze and stared back. He could tell just from one look how much she was trying to keep herself together for everyone’s sake. He had no doubt that he had truly broken Yang’s heart and that in return made him feel utterly sick beyond belief. How could he do something so awful, sleeping with Neo? The feelings towards the girl in question only made it worse. It was one thing to give your body to someone else that you weren’t dating, but it was far worse when you were also emotionally invested. Jaune couldn’t bear to see the look of sorrow on her face. He’d turn away but Jaune Arc would not run from his mistakes. His lack of judgement got him into this so he would take all forms of punishment to show how much he ached from his decision. Yang Xiao Long deserved better.

Neo sat at the table, watching them both. The girl methodically fiddled with her empty spoon as she tried to deal with her guilt. Why was being a good person so hard? It wasn’t a foreign concept, not completely. Treat others the way you wanted to be treated, don’t let negative thoughts decide your actions, use your talents to better the world; Neo wasn’t sure that last one was possible. The girl pursued a man she loved for selfish reasons, knowing good will those moments of bliss would rot and decay in no time at all, poisoning the very person she wanted to impress.

“You’d think after all those sweets, the three of us would be on any sort of high right now?” Neo said, her head resting on her arms. She didn’t care what response they’d give her. Any words were better than silence. She knew that better than anyone. “Where do we go from here?”

“Dunno.” Yang said, “I can barely keep my own thoughts in order.”

“Share em. No use holding anything in, especially against me. I’ll take the punches, physically or verbally.”

“Okay then. I hate this, this...ache. I hate how much hurting you both are putting me through to the point I wanna scream.” Yang’s nails dug into the cushion beneath her. “Worst part of all? I hate how scared I am. It feels like I’m only a few more events away from living in this apartment with no one but my sister and possibly Weiss to visit me; when they aren’t too busy being in love. Just like…”

The blonde bruiser’s eyes shut tight. Tears managed to escape and her lip quivered fiercely. Seconds passed by before she opened her eyes and looked at her boyfriend. Was he still her boyfriend? She guessed that was to be determined later. Only one thing was at the forefront of her wary mind.

“I want to still be with you Jaune, I do. But for the life of me I can’t think of a way to even begin to go through this. Apologizing doesn’t cut it. Punishing or making some kind of deal with Neo to leave doesn’t fix anything either. I’m so furious but I hate the fact that letting you go is the last thing I want.” Yang clenched her chest tightly. It felt as if everything was pulling her apart and trying to keep her together all at once. “I love you so please, end this yourself.”

Jaune’s eyes widened in shock. “What?”

“You came over here so I can chew you out and break up right? Well if you want this to officially end then you’ll have to do it yourself because I’m dumb enough to still want you.”

“You aren’t dumb.” Neo spoke up, “And I’m the last person to be talking about being fair or discussing hypocrisy, but it’s close minded to think making Jaune shoulder that choice isn’t a form of punishment. Even a blind person could easily see that he loves you too; more than anything. More than anyone.”

It hurt but it was the truth. If it came down to it, Jaune would pick Yang in any situation and Neo would be left out to dry. His feelings for the petite girl are true, but that didn’t matter as long as he had Yang. Not that she could blame him.

“Honestly, I’m jealous of you Yang. Not just because you’re good, but because you are what I want to be. Maybe that’s why I could do what I did so easily? I was tired of feeling beneath you, the girl I wish I could be.”

Neo stood up from the table and looked at Yang’s tired red face before looking at Jaune and shaking her head. “Sorry, for wrecking what you have. We both know I’m terrible for you. If I could make a good guy like you cheat on someone like her then I’m clearly bad.”

“I’m not as good as you think. I would’ve pushed you away if I was.” Jaune sighed. This was going nowhere, fast. They were all about to keep looping this cycle of hating themselves. “Stop treating me like I’m perfect, I’m not.”

“Never said you were, it’s obvious to see though I’m making cracks in your demeanor that weren’t there before. Since I’ve already gone this far when it comes to being a shitty person, no reason for me to start considering the requests both of you have. I’m gonna do what I want, leave.”

Yang let out a groan of irritation. “Neo-”

“You have no intention to stop loving him so what other option could there possibly be? Correct me if I’m wrong but you’re not the type to share, are you?” It was faint but Neo was sure Yang could hear it, the little plea that had escaped in her voice. Neo would love nothing more than to be wrong right now. She wasn’t entirely sure of Yang’s past relationship but it had obviously done a number on the girl.

Yang could hear that twinge of hope in Neo’s voice. She could even see the twinkle in her eye. Neo was practically begging for a life line, a reason to believe that she didn’t have to commit to her claim of walking away. Sadly, Yang could only stare, and Jaune knew exactly why such a question was risky to ask.

“Sorry, I can’t say that I am. That situation is...it burned me before.” Yang said, resisting the painful memories that tried to surface.

Neo’s face went pale. Well, that was it. Her final possible tether to the life and person she wanted to be with, severed in no time flat. She did her best to sound indifferent about it.

“Oh, I see. I...wasn’t aware that there were some rough patches in that subject. Then I guess… I guess there’s nothing left to do. Jaune…”

“Neo…” He knew better than to try to change her mind or make this tougher than it already was. He didn’t have an answer for all three of them after all. It would’ve been selfish and inconsiderate to speak as if he did. Even saying goodbye felt way too...inappropriate, in a way.

Neo put on the fakest smile both Jaune and Yang had ever seen in their life. “Thanks for believing in me, both of you. Even though I flopped the moment I tried to change. It was nice, having someone take the chance anyways.”

With her feelings in the open, Neo turned towards the door and grabbed the knob. Her hand stayed on that knob, her fingers refusing to grab it as her entire body trembled. She knew they could hear her sniffle. Neo knew that she was taking entirely too long, but even with nothing left to say, leaving felt so painful. She took one final breath and then found the will to step out of the apartment, the sound of her footsteps sprinting the moment the door closed behind her.

Yang found no joy in seeing her leave, only more ache. She turned to Jaune who was still staring at the door, his eyes filled with a new kind of sorrow.

“If you’re wondering what things would’ve been like if I had been the one to pick, I would’ve chosen you. Don’t think for a second I’d willingly walk out of your life.” Jaune said, tearing up. “Even so, I would’ve felt terrible leaving Neo’s life. This might sound a little egotistical, but I can’t see her bouncing back from this. Not alone. Not without us.”

“Us?”

“I may have given her the dream of changing, but you were clearly the goal post.”

“Don’t put that on me.” Yang said weakly, “What would’ve happened if she did change? She would still love you, and I would still be worried about losing you.”

Jaune bit his bottom lip out of anxiety. Of course none of them were able to find a solution, they all had baggage and walls that they tried their best not to hit. Jaune was wary, but that might’ve been the problem. Neo never pulled her punches and this day had already been the absolute worst, so why not keep pushing? That’s the thing about baggage, you gotta unpack it eventually. Jaune only wished that it wouldn’t come back to bite him.

“I’m not Blake…”

Yang’s head jolted up. Jaune didn’t need to look at her to know Yang was staring at him with scarlet eyes that felt like they were burning a whole into the side of his face.

“Don’t say her name.”

“Why? It’s not like you haven’t been thinking about what happened with her this entire time. Yang you won’t lose m-”

“YOU DON’T THINK SHE DIDN’T SAY THE SAME THING!?” Yang said, screaming as she stood up in frustrated anger. Jaune had struck a nerve he knew was still very much was like an open wound. He finally looked at the girl, she had his undivided attention.

“You don’t believe that she didn’t reassure me that I had nothing to worry about!? That’s how it starts. They ease your fears, tell you that things are mutual, that feelings are equal; that’s not how that works! No matter how much attention she gave me, it was obvious her mind was on Sun. The looks, the talk, the stories, so I do what anybody would do and confront her about it. We talked and we talked and we talked and we talked until finally I believed that things could work out. Sharing wouldn’t be so hard if everyone really is on the same page right? All three people give the same amount they gain right!? Well that’s not how it works!!! It felt like I was fighting to find a reason to even be around them. Slowly but surely, a wall was being built but bringing up the dynamic again after so many discussions just got so…I was tired Jaune. Her words felt so rehearsed, so lifeless. Up until we have one more discussion because I just don’t think we’ve gotten it right yet. That’s when her words sounded true. When she looked at me and said ‘I can’t do this anymore’ and I knew instantly I was out of the picture. Blake had chose Sun over me a long time ago, I was just stupid enough to ignore the signs! So tell me Jaune, how the hell would this end up any different!? How could you look at me and say you won’t need me around anymore!?”

Yang’s chest rose up and down heavily as she tried to breathe. She refused to be slowly pushed out again, to have her feelings subtly get abandoned for another. She watched Jaune stare at her, his face expression giving off nothing but sorrow, or was it pity?

“Well!?” Yang sniffled, “Say something for fucks sake!”

Jaune walked closer to her. Close enough reach out and wipe the numerous tears that riddled her face. “Because my love for you isn’t fragile.”

He said nothing else. Jaune left her speechless for a moment while he walked towards the door and opened it, scaring her a little.

“Jaune what are-”

“I think a little space right now to think about today is needed. I need that space, but I will come back. Don’t ever doubt that.” Jaune opened the door. “I messed up today, I know that. But don’t you ever doubt my love for you. I swear it never runs low.”

Yang said nothing. She simply watched him close the door. The girl fell back onto her couch, she had to be minutes away from vomiting. Jaune was right about one thing, she did need some space from this situation. As well as some perspective. Yang dialed her scroll and practically begged for her sister to pick up. Thankfully, she did.

“Hey sis, what’s going on?” The cheerfulness of Ruby’s voice felt like the one sunlight on this gray day.

“Hey Ruby. Y..You free to talk?”

“Always, what’s up? You sound stuffy.”

“Oh you know…Jaune cheated on me today.”

Part 5

#rwby #yang xiao long #jaune arc #ruby rose #neo politan #rwby dragonslayer #the real you #rwby silent knight

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canyouhearthelight · 4 years

Text

The Miys, Ch. 99

Here we have the aftermath of the Warlord Bowl.

Here, we finally... FINALLY get to see Jokul as a person and not a far-off mysterious bad guy. Consciously, there was never any intent to compare Jokul to people who don’t understand how politics work: @zommbiebro isn’t even American, for one thing, and therefore neither is Jokul. However, reading it on the last pass before posting, I realized how it could be taken.

The part that isn’t relevant to the chapter: While I didn’t mean that comparison, please make sure you vote in any local elections available to you, if it doesn’t risk your life. No matter how much you feel your vote doesn’t matter, it does. If everyone who didn’t vote decided to do so, it would change the world.

In my own country, I’ll be taking time off work - because I have that ability - and taking local people to polls that ordinarily would be inaccessible to them within their district.

Back to the chapter relevant stuff: Thank you to @zommbiebro for giving me such a good character to play with, @charlylimph-blog for reading to ensure entertainment, and @baelpenrose for beta reading in every way that entails.

After a quick dinner at the first mess we came across - and true to my promise, I didn’t cook anything - Arthur, Antoine and I reconvened with Jokul in my office. As agreed, he brought only two of his own people, who sat on either side of him in a mirror to how I was bracketed by my own friends.

Unfortunately, they entered as I was mulling out loud the possibility of making hot pot for family dinner one night. Even less fortunately, the ginger who I had thrown in the gym was one of the people who walked through my door while I was debating the logistics of meat versus vegetarian options.

“She doesn’t even take us seriously!” the nasal voice complained, interrupting me.

Simultaneously, several things happened. I opened my mouth to retort, Arthur put a hand over my mouth, Antoine pushed my shoulder back into the chair.

And Jokul spoke up.

“We agreed to meet with them if Farro beat me in combat. He did, we are here, and there will be no further argument on the matter.” If anything, he sounded weary rather than angry. “She did not even request that we cease acting against her, only that we meet as equals. It is the least we can do.”

I didn’t even know forehead cramps were a thing until I gave myself one with the speed of my eyes widening. Slowly, Arthur lowered his hand so I could speak. “Right,” I coughed. “So, there are a few things I want to know.”

“Such as?”

“Why am I your target?” I blurted out. Of everything, this was the one that was weighing heaviest on me. I felt if I could understand that, I would know how to tackle the rest.

To my frustration, he fucking shrugged. “You are emblematic of everything that will destroy our chance at a new start,” he stated calmly, like he was telling me his name.

I sputtered before regaining my composure. “How? How am I doing something badly?”

“You only want to consolidate power, rule over the masses!” the red-haired toady honked at me.

The overblown statement and Jokul’s subsequent glare at his own man was a level of ridiculous I couldn’t handle at that moment. Laughing ruefully, I wiped away a tear that warned me I was close to hysterical. “I don’t want to rule over anyone, dude. If I had my preference, I would only decide what I want to eat once or twice a week for the rest of my life.”

“But you rule over the Council,” Jokul pointed out in a confused tone.

“I don’t rule anyone, buddy. I am on the Council largely against my will, and mostly because no one else who is qualified even wants my job. Trust me, I’ve tried.” Gods had I tried.

His next statement was significantly less confident. “But you took the reins of power…”

“I am a glorified event coordinator and human resources officer. I have a staff of exactly two. One is my sister, who has been in her role longer than I’ve been in mine and only listens to me when it’s convenient. The other is my assistant, who is British as hell and listens to me on about equal level with my cat.”

“The Baconists! Your assistant was part of that rebellion! You must have known and hidden it from our hosts!” I had to give him some begrudging credit. Even he didn’t sound like he believed his own words, and if the smug look from Tweedledumb and Tweedledumber on either side of him was anything to go by, that wasn’t his own theory.

Time to set the record straight, it seemed. “Okay, quick reminder: that bitch tried to kill me,” I enunciated carefully, leaning forward as I spoke. “She nearly succeeded. That wasn’t a cover up, it was her realizing that I talk to myself in the shower and listening long enough to hear me think through what was going on. As far as hiding her intent from our hosts… You’re only half right. Miys doesn’t read minds, contrary to what people think, they only read intent. That nutjob really did think she was doing the best thing for the universe by wiping humanity off the proverbial map. Nothing for Miys to pick up, she actually had what she thought were good intentions.”

“You have built yourself to be this legendary hero -”

“I didn’t build myself to be jack. Effing. Shit. If I had my preference, I would give you my position, and open a restaurant that does cooking classes.” When he opened his mouth to interject, I held up a hand to stop him. “Miys likes me because I talk to myself, even in my head, and so badly that they can still hear what I am saying when I don’t move my lips. I only survived being attacked by a crazy person because I treat the person who saved me like, you know, a person? Make sure he’s okay, give him his space when he wants it, sass him back when he wants to be sassy. It was just sheer, dumb luck, and I’m not even sure it was good luck, because voila!” I flung my hands wide at the current situation, forcing both Arthur and Antoine to duck. A quick glance at Antoine only rendered one of his eloquent shrugs. Must be handling the situation okay if he doesn’t think I need help.

I was less concerned with Arthur’s opinion, not because I didn’t care, but because I knew he would jump in when he felt it was needed, without prompting or permission.

“So you do not want to rule over us all?” Jokul asked carefully.

“I don’t even want to top one of my boyfriends consistently.”

“Sophia!” Antoine hissed with a miserable expression, while Arthur burst into a coughing fit. I wasn’t sure if the latter was trying to cover a laugh of choking.

Jokul, on the other hand, seemed to take that at face value “Then why are you in power? Explain that.”

With a heavy sigh, I tried again. “I’m not in power. Decisions are voted on by the Council. If someone brings me an idea for a class, or an architectural project, or a medical possibility, I pass it off to the Councilor who handles that and let it go from there.” Emphatically, I pointed at my own face. “Again, glorified events coordinator and HR.”

“And yet, you have your pet warlord sitting beside you. Explain that away,”Tweedledumb - the brunette on Jokul’s other side - accused.

I whipped my head to look at the subject of that statement before looking back across the table. “Arthur?” I asked, jerking a thumb in his general direction. “You do realize he’s a teacher first, right? Warlord out of need, but that ‘need’ was protecting the students in his history class when everything went to shit? Don’t get me wrong, we butted heads like you would not believe when we first met in person. But we realized halfway through what looked to be one hell of an argument that we knew each other for - fuck, like, a decade? Maybe less? - before the End. I didn’t ‘win him over.’ We just realized we’ve always been friends.” With a shrug I glanced back at Arthur, who also shrugged before nodding.

“Too convenient, Councilor.” Tweedledumb gloated. “You just happened to be friends with someone who - “

“Oh for FUCK’s sake!” Annnnd there it was. Someone had reached his limit for diplomacy and stupidity. “We met on a fanfiction site writing a crossover of two of the worst pieces of science fiction ever written and mutually infected each other! FUCK!” Crossing his arms, he started muttering to himself. “Not like finding someone to kick your asses is hard…”

After a glare at the darker-haired idiot, and with an expression that looked like he was entirely regretting his choice of people for this meeting, Jokul schooled his features before addressing me directly. “Fanfiction?” he asked in a skeptical tone.

And the dirty truth comes out, I thought with another sigh. “StarDoc and Warhammer 40K, okay? It was fun, no fandom to cheese off, nothing smutty. Just… fun.” When the nostalgia threatened to overtake me, I shook my head vigorously. “The point is, we knew each other for years Before the world went to shit, and only realized when one of my friends landed in his class and there was a data error. I don’t even like violence.” Antoine gave me a skeptical look so I clarified. “Usually.”

“And yet you are a combatant!” Jokul stated with certainty, clearly on more familiar ground.

Angrily, I scowled at Tweedle-the-ginger before leaning forward to look into Jokul’s eyes. “Look. I don’t know how it was in Canada, with your mooses and shit, but I really, really want to know: Do you honestly believe that anyone who got through the After did it without learning how to defend themselves? Even more, that any woman who made it, didn’t learn to fight dirty?”

“Not if you know how to have people defend you - “ Jokul tried before I cut him off.

“They don’t defend me because I’m helpless, let’s be clear. They defend me because I will only fight back if I know my life is on the line. But, on the same page, I will protect my friends and family from anything, without reserve, and die for them. No hesitation.” With a deep breath, I sat back rather than jumping over the table. “I have my flaws, and my sister will tell you the biggest among those is that I trust too easily. I assume the best in, literally, everyone.”

“Except smartass teacher, apparently,” Arthur said in a fake cough that fooled exactly nobody.

After making a face at my friend, I turned back to the moose in the room. “What that means is, I don’t try to defend myself until it is literally your life or mine. Or both. I don’t really care at that point, because I assume I’m not going to make it. I just want the person I’m fighting to go down with me.” Trying to imitate Charly’s most savage grin, I put on a forced-cheerful tone. “Now, tell me, Jokul. Who would rather have faced in that fight, knowing that?”

His eyes darted between Arthur and myself as he swallowed hard, mulling the implications of that. “You would kill and die for your friends’ safety and health, even if you would only protect yourself at the last moment?” Here, he scoffed. “There is nothing exceptional or even special about that. Many who were in power in the After felt the same.”

“Except I don’t want power,” I repeated in a tone that I previously reserved only for small children. “I just told you that.” In the corners of my eyes, I saw both of my friends nodding so hard I was concerned for their spines.

Before I could try to reason with Jokul any more, Arthur jumped in. “If you’re both done arguing righteousness, let me explain a few things. Jokull. First off, Soph actually doesn’t want to rule, or be on the Council. She told you this. She’s also bitched about it to me, her sister, and anyone else who will listen, at length. On top of being too trusting, her biggest flaw is actually an impulsivity problem, in general. But she’s not an autocrat.” As he gestured, I saw his eyes glaze over, his voice taking on a serene tone that was entirely too familiar. “If Soph was a real autocrat, she’d have let us have our little duel armed, with my sword and - I presume you’d have had an ax? Maybe a broadsword? You look like a broadsword guy... any rate.”

“However,” he continued, leaning forward with a thoughtful expression, like he was puzzling something out. “she made me promise not to kill you. Think about that. After you’ve been nothing but a headache and a threat to her and her family for months, she makes me promise not to kill you. I wanted to, you know.” The wistful sigh that accompanied that statement was entirely unnecessary and I was certain he only did it to irritate me. “I wanted to kill you and have your lifeless corpse thrown out of the airlock like trash, not because of the Council, not because your Viking gimmick wears out in a hurry, but because you made the mistake of threatening a friend, then slapping a student. I had no idea if you were actually going to seriously harm any of them, and I didn’t care. The threat alone was enough to make me decide I wanted you dead.” Tapping his chin briefly, he pointed at Jokul without actually looking at him. “Because you were an unknown quantity, but no matter whether or not you were actually the threat you claimed to be, your corpse would be harmless.”

Arthur shrugged before looking Jokul in the face. “That’s how warlords handled things in the After, isn’t it? When someone threatened your people, or when someone threatened mine? I didn’t negotiate. I didn’t warn. I doubt you did, either. I took them at their word, and I did unto them first. And I’d bet you did the same. ‘Peace’ was what you called it when everyone who wanted to make war on you or your people was dead. That’s what the After taught me, that’s what it taught you.” After emphasizing his point by gesturing between the two of them, he shook his head. “And that impulse, that set of lessons? That's not what humanity needs right now. Our skill set as leaders is not what humanity needs right now. If you want humanity to have a fresh start as you claim, drop the hostility, drop the self-righteousness, and actually try listening. Do you want a genuine peace with the Council?” Thoughtfully, he stroked the hilt of his sword where it laid across his lap.

I knew it was the fondness of being reunited with a long lost limb, but Jokul didn’t know that.

“Or a warlord’s peace with me?” In a creepy way, Arthur’s tone was downright perky. “I prefer a genuine one. A warlord’s idea of peace is one of the things I want to leave in the ashes of the After. That’s why it’s the Council who make the rules here - not warlords.”

With an alarmed expression, Jokul very slowly glanced at me. “Did he just threaten to kill me and shove me out an airlock?”

“No, he’s pouting because I wouldn’t let him do that,” I answered honestly. The topic had come up, for a solid fifteen seconds. I was even reasonably sure Arthur had been joking.

“I don’t - “ Arthur started indignantly before being cut off by Jokul.

“He makes a good point. Our skills as warlords are not what is needed in this new world. I let myself believe people who told me that the Council in general and you specifically wanted to hoard power and privilege over us, just like the people who led Earth to where it ended up.” He glanced nervously at Arthur, who was still stroking his sword, before forging ahead in a somewhat squeakier tone. “If someone who has had real power agrees that you and the Council are the best option, then I will at least try to see how that would work.”

Here, Antoine joined the conversation. “Militant strength and ruling by force aren’t the only forms of power. We do not want that sort of power over us anymore. The Council leads because the people on this ship largely want to follow them. That is the kind of power no one can force. It has to be earned.”

“But the Council still makes decisions without our will - “

Shaking my head, I angrily flicked open my datapad and shot a file to him like I was thumping off an insect. “No, Bjornson, we don’t. I was elected to my position - without my knowledge, might I add - by the people I represent to the Council. Every decision we make, the people on this ship get a vote with the exception of an emergency like what happened on Level One. There wasn’t time to have a vote on how to handle that.”

“Although, we have had a lot of emergencies lately, so I understand the confusion,” Arthur interjected.

Is this what hallucinations feel like? I wondered. There was no way in frozen hell Arthur just made a point in Jokul’s favor, but the calm, resigned look on his face told me that, at some point, he seemed to have made peace with having to treat Jokul Bjornson as a sentient being. I was going to pass out if I kept sighing, though. “Okay, true. But everything else - Insert Winter Holiday, the swimming area, the diving docks, food festivals, permanent low stimulation areas throughout the ship, Galactic Core education - those were voted on by the people on this ship, with an overwhelming majority in favor.”

“What about the alarms?” Jokul pointed to his own head for emphasis.

“Also voted on, believe it or not,” I confirmed. “ And most of the ship agreed that there was more benefit in not running into people who would react badly to unexpected touch than there was discomfort at the alarms going off.”

“I tested them myself, monsieur.” Antoine offered. “So I am well acquainted with the volume they are calibrated for, and I do not appreciate you disabling them. My staff have had to work around the clock to treat the damage your people have caused to others on this ship, who are terrified to leave their quarters now.”

Jokul looked a bit guilty at that, as well as his entourage. Looked like he hadn’t considered that. “Would you believe me if I told you that was originally an accident?” he admitted sheepishly. “One of the engineers thought it would be funny to shock another one in the neck with a low level electrical current, right behind the ear.” He turned his head and pointed to a small burn scar in the same place. “It took days for them to notice that the proximity alarm didn’t work anymore.”

To my shock, Antoine started swearing angrily in French, so fast even the translator couldn’t keep up. “Sophia, if I find out Charly Harper is the cause of this…”

Jokul shook his head vigorously. “I can assure you it was not Miss Harper.” His focus slid over to me, eyes wide.

Either this motherfucker just lied to keep Charly out of trouble, or she really was innocent.

“That explains why Derek and Zach couldn’t figure out how they did it,” Arthur pointed out. “You can’t hack into something that’s shorted out.”

Jokul spoke up again. “It also… may? Have caused some translation inconsistencies?”

“So the shock corrupted more files than just the alarms,” I stated in clarification.

“Several, in fact, yes…. Specifically signed languages and tonal languages.”

“That’s… that’s at least a third of the ship…” I couldn’t figure out if I wanted to sob in horror or laugh hysterically.

Jokul groaned before cradling his head in his hands. “I am aware, yes.”

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#the miys #humans are weird #humans are space orcs #apocalypse #found family #earth is space australia #hfy #aliens #science fiction #original fiction #my writing

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spaceysp · 4 years

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is bad good at pvp? im a new fan and i ran into ur blog, you seem to know a lot about badboyhalo

hashahah im sorry “you seem to know a lot about badboyhalo” made me laugh very hard thank you im flattered you think that /gen i hope everyone sees my blog and just thinks “wow they know a LOT about badboyhalo” (tbf id talk about skeppy more if there are more asks about him i love he too)

anyway, this is.. a tough question for me, im not gonna lie. inside me, there are two wolves, one that wants to laugh at bad for being terrible at video games, and one that is constantly simping for epic mlg badboyhalo gamer moments. both are almost completely skewed from the truth so imma try to be as unbiased and factual as i can.

okay, so, the places you can see bbh pvping is mainly in four groups, imo. his old videos at mcpvp, vids with skeppy (bedwars/skywars/bets or challenges), manhunt, and the dsmp. ill be talking about his performance in each of these and then maybe form a loose conclusion.

in my opinion, bad seemed to be really good at pvp in his old minecraft hunger game videos. it could be argued that he cut out games that he lost or didnt do very good in, and i have no way of proving or disproving that, but i think most of the fights we do see, he seems to be a really respectable player, and could win even 2 or 3v1s. in some banning hackers videos he’ll occasionally duel them, and could stand his ground in most cases. i think his pvp skill seems to shine most in these vids, hes really adapted to soup and 1.8 combat and it shows

however, most skeppy videos seem to be the exact opposite. skeppy can usually dominate him in skywars, bedwars, and most other ways they have 1v1d. bad still has the advantage in bow fights, but even those arent a 100% win ratio. (if he wants an assured win he goes with tic-tac-toe) most times bad manages to win against skeppy in bedwars is when hes given the opprotunity to grind enough, get the best gear then easily overpower skeppy, able to kill him over and over again, but hes famously weak against skeppys main strategy of rushing his bed because his defensive playstyle rarely works without proper materials. i think theres three reasons he seems to be worse at pvp in skeppy vids: 1. skeppy wins because its for his video so they throw 2. skeppys also really good 3. bads skill flies out the window around skeppy. honestly i think these all have an equal likelihood for being true so judge for yourself

as for manhunts, to be fair, i think anyone looks bad at pvp when compared to dream. bad is definitley more of the strategic leader then someone to stay on dreams tail to fight like sapnap is. however, especialy recently, bad seems to stay alive longer than he used to, also needing to get the hang of balancing defense and offense. i think manhunt best displays bads main strategy for pvp, he doesnt rely as much on skill as he does on catching his opponent off guard mentally. it can be called a dirty tactic, sure, but it works. as the one to come up with most traps, hiding in the end, and making dream think hes mining, he does a lot for the hunters. that other post explained it best, but i agree that he’s really good, incidentally though, direct pvp seems to be his weakness from my perspective

okay and finally, the dsmp. bad doesnt get into too many fights, but many have pointed out that he was able to hold his own in a fight against techno, and was about to kill tommy before dream came in to save him (idk what kind of gear tommy had in comparison to bad though) overall, i htink he benefits from his ability to grind and gain as many op items as possible, giving him the upper hand, almost like bedwars or manhunts, but in an entirely different context. he also can have his choice of weapon everytime, and is known to enchant his weapons to the brim

reading this back it kinda sounds like im dissing bads abilities, but in this conclusion i wanna say im not, this man got a combat disadvantage higher than dreams in a minecraft tournament, and overall i believe hes underestimated for sure. however, i also think he needs to use his environment to his advantage to be at his full potential. so yeah, take from this what you will, i still as i am writing this am at odds whether to say i think hes great or lacking, so i say form your own opinion and dont take my words at complete face value, im somehow biased in both directions

thank you for the ask, i really appreciate it!!! i hope i didnt just confuse you and this is still comprehensible!! <3<3<3

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plum-pudding-and-honey · 4 years

Text

MONTHLY RANGE : Eight & Charley

Storm Warning - 3.5/5 : the plot is not the best thing I've ever seen but it's still a good introduction story for Eight on audio and to be fair it just made me want to drop everything and hop after him. I like Charley's background but I really just can't stand her. I don't hate her, she's interesting and I totally understand that people love her but I've never really warmed up to her. I also have a problem with the "classic" format : 4 episodes of 20-30 minutes which, sure, allows the writers to give the story and the characters more development, but which I find particularly long. I just find it very hard to focus for two hours, unless the story is very compelling

Sword of Orion - 3/5 : (god this is loooong) The atmosphere was interesting, so was Deeva (although I thought her being an android was quite obvious but wtv). The other side characters were all quite boring though and I couldn't bring myself to care about them. The android/human war was also an interesting point, it's a shame it didn't get developed more than that

The Stones of Venice - 1.5/5 : Oh my God do I hate this. Two hours which felt more like six hours of whining and complaining and "Estella, my beloved, forgive me here" and in the end, I'm not even sure whether I want to kill the Duke or myself. Just... zero empathy for this guy and Estella. Pietro was a bit more interesting although fish gondoliers who have evolved to survive the sinking of the city? Really? No. (Not just because evolution doesn't happen over a hundred years. Try a million.) Churchwell was equally annoying (I mean, as a librarian, I'm all for art preservation but have some decency here man) and the cult, well I've got no opinion whatsoever on them, that's how useless they are in all of this. The only thing that kinda made this thing worthwhile was this bit of conversation between the Doctor, Charley and that gondolier guy about the Duke waiting a hundred years for Estella and how Charley points out how long it is waiting for someone to return and how Eight DID wait a hundred years before seeing Fitz again and I'm not okay about this (and this was released shortly after Escape Velocity was published so I'm definitely gonna take this as a Fitz reference fight me on this)

Minuet in Hell - 3/5 : The Doctor being imprisoned and amnesiac for 3/4 of the episode was very looong. I liked the interactions with Gideon Crane but since the viewer already knows which one is the real Doctor, I really didn't see the point of making this last for so long. Also it robbed us of more Eight/Brig time and that's a shame. And those American accents are just horrible, I couldn't understand most of what Dale and the Senator were saying. The vilains and the Psi (psy?) machine were kinda interesting (although they also sounded pretty annoying) but in two hours and a half, they really could have been developed a bit more. Same goes for Becky Lee and her supernatural hunter gig that was way underused. The Brigadier is a huge asset, let's be honest. And the EDAs are canon in the BF universe, so that's that. (yes there was a Fitz reference in The Stones of Venice, I will not shut up)

Invaders from Mars - 2/5 : I love the idea behind this episode : the panic caused by Orson Welles' reading of the War of the Worlds, a false invasion in fact hiding a real invasion. It could have been great. But it's not. First, those accents and voices, again NO. For a medium that relies only on sounds, it's really a big issue here (I mean how are you supposed to take the alien invaders seriously with those voices???). Mark Gatiss loves the Ice Warriors and we've seen with the Empress of Mars that he can write decent episodes with them so why didn't he use them here? It could have been so creepy (which, for a Halloween episode, would have been neat). Instead he gives us a cheap version of invaders, a nazi guy, Russians and an atomic bomb, and mobsters. And it's too much, it's too confusing, it's too many characters. It's a mess. The Doctor is adorable playing private detective but then he accidentally reveals his plan to the bad guys (I mean...) and the aliens are killed by the Russian guy everybody thought to be dead and his atomic bomb : no, that's bullshit. Also, bury your gays : totally gratuitous and unnecessary (what was even the point?). Yeah, huge disappointment.

The Chimes of Midnight - 6/5 : cHriStmAs wOuLdN't bE cHriStmAs wiThOuT oNe oF mY pLuM puDdiNgS (tfbgvfgtv) Finally something GOOD. Eight is at his best sassfull self, the different parts are well articulated, it's funny and creepy at the same time and the paradox surrounding Charley is well exploited. Robert Shearman even succeeded in making me care about Charley. Edith is touching, even the other characters are, and that ending is really nicely done and coherent. I also really like how Eight is depicted here, especially in his relationship to Charley (and his companions in general). He really cares about her and yet he doesn't tell her the truth, he's been lying to her ever since Storm Warning because he selfishly hopes that if he doesn't speak about it, it's all gonna go away, just like he will do later with Lucie and her auntie Pat and that's Eight in all his glory : he loves his companions but he's got this kind of superiority complex that makes him think he knows better than them and which makes him treat them like shit more often than not (and ok, Charley gets a lot of crap from him). They are all aware of that, as we are, and yet they still love him and we still love him and I don't even know why.

Seasons of Fear - 3.5/5 : The format was interesting, the change of scenery for each episode really helped to not lose interest in the story. I also liked Grayle, he's an interesting villain but the immortality thing could have been handled a bit better in my opinion, especially the losing your loved ones part. I actually liked Charley there and her varied suggestions to get rid of Grayle. The mystery around her thickens and I did not remember that ending! The Nimons were a bit unexpected but ok I guess. But I found the conclusion very disappointing, too easy.

Embrace the Darkness - 4/5 : I love the atmosphere of this one, especially the beginning : the "something touches you in the dark and you realise it's not your friend" trope is classic but the audio only aspect of the thing gives it something more (especially of you listen to it in the dark). Like the previous one, I liked the pace (it didn't feel like this thing would never end which is something worth mentioning). The fact that there aren't too many characters also helps a lot. And I can't help myself to compare it with Sword of Orion : the settings are similar, it's a huis-clos, and they're both written by Nick Briggs. I find Embrace the Darkness much better, the characters are actually likeable (and they all don't die at the end, quite the opposite) and interesting. The Cimmerians were also nicely done and I really liked how different senses are brought into focus here, how the viewer is brought closer to the characters because they can't see. Hearing becomes central then but taste and touch are also prominent (I especially liked the way the Cimmerians share their history with the Doctor and Charley). The Doctor is well-written (I love his "conversations" with Rosum) and this tendency to self pity himself every time he makes a mistake is very Eight (Orbis).

The Time of the Daleks - 2.5/5 : The first part was good. And then it got so confusing, I actually lost the plot several times because my mind kept drifting away. There are way too many comings and goings through those portals, too many side characters that weren't interesting in the least. Learman's motivations as a villain are ridiculous (she wants to kill Shakespeare to be the only one who remembers him because everyone else is too stupid to understand his works... yeah, right).

Neverland - 4.5/5 : Zagreus sits inside your head, Zagreus lives among the dead, Zagreus sees you in your bed and eats you when you're sleeping (sorry I had to put it). So … yeah, that was breath-taking. That was an amazing conclusion for Charley's arc, the neverpeople are pretty cool and Romana and Rassillon are a nice little treat. The plot is coherent and the two hours and a half passed very quickly which is always worth mentioning. About Eight and Charley, now. As I said, I'm not a fan of Charley : I find her too perfect (and I just can't stand how she speaks, I know it's kinda shallow but when her voice is the only thing you get out of her, that becomes kind of a big deal) and I really don't ship her with Eight (although I recognise that they might be romantically involved, a lot like Ten and Rose, I simply choose to not see it). That being said, I liked how she stood up to the Doctor at the beginning, how she called him out on his bullshit ("Happy Birthday, Charley! Happy Birthday, he says. Only it isn't my birthday. It isn't my birthday because I'm not supposed to have any more birthdays") and used the TARDIS against him. I also liked her comparison with Peter Pan because, yeah, that's the Doctor, she gets it. I understand why she asked him to shoot her at the end but I don't think she was fair asking him to do it because she knows, everybody knows, that he won't do it. He won't do it for someone he despises, so Charley? Nope. And yeah, her dying was the obvious solution, I get that, but that's the epitome of everything I don't like about her. Charley Pollard, always making the right decision even if it means sacrificing herself, Charley Pollard always nice and caring and clever and adventurous, and in a way she reminds me of Rose (although Rose was a jerk to Mickey) and I hate Rose. As for the Doctor... Finally he gets the consequences of his actions and yet you can't help but feel sorry for him. Because like Charley said he’s sweet and he truly thinks what he’s doing is good. And that cliff-hanger! I AM BECOME ZAGREUS! YES BABY. In conclusion, it’s a great episode, regardless of my feelings towards Charley

Zagreus - 4/5 : Let's be honest, the first time I listened to it, I hated it with all my guts (and I also fell asleep at some point in the middle), so I wasn't really looking forward to giving it another chance. But I'm glad I did. This time I really took the time to listen to it properly and knowing roughly where this was going, I loved it? I mean ok, this thing is more than three hours (not gonna lie, this was really difficult for me) and it's completely bonkers and WTF but there IS a certain coherence to the thing that I hadn't picked on the first time I listened to it. So, let's start with the obvious : Zagreus/the Doctor/Paul McGann giving us the performance of his life. He's GREAT and if I didn't already love him I would certainly after this. He's creepy and disturbing as Zagreus (he slapped Charley!!) and his voice when he's the Doctor, when he begs Charley to kill him ... yeah, I was dying inside there. By the way, I liked the parallel with Neverland and Charley begging the Doctor to kill her, except that she actually does it. The Brigadier/TARDIS was equally brilliant. I got a lot of the Doctor's Wife vibes here - except that the TARDIS is evil and HATES the companions, and her conversation with the Doctor, her fit of jealousy was brilliantly done. I also loved the bits with Five, Six and Seven (except it's not really them but it actually is) and they were hilarious when they're working together towards the end (Tweedledee, Tweedledum and Tweedle-ego). It was a nice hommage to Alice in Wonderland, coherent until the end (and let's be honest the bit with Schrodinger's cat only it's the Doctor who is in the box? Brilliant. Again.) And as an anniversary episode, it worked for me. I probably didn't get all the references but I picked up a few of them and it was nice to include the BF cast, even if it wasn't in their usual roles.

Overall opinion : This is not as bad as I remembered. I postponed relistening to these for a long time because I remembered it way worse than it actually is (in my defence, I listened to those episode some 8 years ago when my English wasn't so fluent). I still don't like the classic format because most of the episodes feel reaaaaally long and I'm not a fan of Charley. I did like her arc though, it was interesting to explore the fixed in time events and the consequences of the Doctor kicking the laws of time in the nuts, way before Ten. The resolution of this arc was also brilliant in my opinion with the anti-time and the Time Lords/Rassillon mythology. The quality is fluctuant : the Stones of Venice, Invaders from Mars and the Time of the Daleks being the bottom of the barrel while the Chimes of Midnight, Embrace the Darkness and Neverland/Zagreus are amazing. And Eight changes so much through his life : he's so hopeful and sweet and utterly optimistic, a drastic difference from the Time War series (which I just finished before listening to this) where, although his core qualities are still there, deep down, he's lost so much and been through so much crap from everyone. I don't know if any other Doctor went through that much (War Doctor excluded) tbh. His relationship to his companions is also quite unique I think, maybe I'll write something about that one day. Now for the Divergent Universe arc, which I don't remember fondly either. Let's see if I change my mind as well.

#doctor who #eight #eighth doctor #charley pollard #big finish #storm warning #sword of orion #the stones of venice #minuet in hell #invaders from mars #the chimes of midnight #seasons of fear #embrace the darkness #the time of the daleks #neverland #zagreus

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atomicpugs · 4 years

Text

The Gift

happy birthday to one smug boi~

and endless thanks to @pdrrook for this amazing game! ✧ﾟ*ヽ(◕ヮ◕ヽ)

(ao3)

⬫

Not even a tier-five gift of allure can relieve you of the torment of retail.

Despite completing your runs for the week, you’ve been inordinately busy at the perfumery. A big holiday approaches, bringing with it an irregular influx of customers. The day had flown right past you, and you feel exhausted after being on your feet all day, greeting and serving one customer right after the next.

With a tired nod, you bid Dia goodbye as she locks up the shop. She’s quiet, but returns your goodbye with a quick nod of her own before stomping away towards her car. Clearly, she’s just as tired as you are and equally ready to go home.

Unfortunately for you, you’re not heading home just yet.

As you approach Alan’s bar, you could already feel the thumping music under your feet. You stop before the doors to rub your jaw, sore from giving your best customer service smile nonstop the entire day, and you take a deep breath.

The city air is stale but it’s daisy fresh compared to the bar, and your olfactory nerves are burning and dull from sampling perfume all day. With a slight grimace, you open the doors and feel the music immediately flood your senses. You’re not at all a fan of the placement of the speakers right by the door. Alan said it was good for drawing people into the bar. You always thought it was a stupid idea.

Your eardrums are throbbing, but it’s not the worst of it. The bar is completely packed tonight with patrons. Like the music, they’re too loud and too boisterous for you right now. From the state of the sticky floor, the bar appears to have been busy for a while. You feel submerged in the smells of alcohol and sweat and other things you’d rather not think about.

A voice sounds in your mind, as warm and inviting as the day’s first cup of coffee. “Ah, cara, I’m in the back.”

You’re holding your breath as you squeeze yourself between half-drunk dancing patrons, making your way to the back of the bar. Your oldest friend－Reed, as he calls himself now－is seated at a high top, thankfully the farthest away from the blasted speakers. Normally his natural charisma attracts attention, but tonight, he sits alone. You envy his ability to maintain a dignified space from the crowd.

“Evening, carina,” Reed calls out, espresso in hand. An odd choice for a bar, but it doesn’t surprise you one bit. You simply nod in return.

His brow lifts as he takes stock of your appearance. “You look beat.”

“Uh huh,” you reply bluntly, eager to get to business.

Earlier that day, Reed had dropped by the shop, but you were so busy, you barely gave him a second glance. So he scribbled a cryptic note for you: Meet me at Alan’s after work. He wouldn’t make such an effort if it wasn’t important.

You don’t take a seat, choosing instead to stand close to Reed as casually as you can to hear him over the booming music.

“So?” You ready yourself for anything.

For his part, however, Reed is calm, relaxed even, as he finishes his espresso. He dabs his lips with a napkin. It’s either very, very good news… or possibly the worst.

Reed’s eyes center on you, their previous warmth draining away as quickly as he drained his espresso.

You feel your heart drop. This is bad.

“Fuck, what happened?” Your heart beats almost as fast as the music banging in your ears. His brows furrow as a distinct look of disappointment shadows over his features. Oddly, though, his scent remains unchanged. The dissonance confuses you.

His eyes burn into you, and he finally answers.

“You completely forgot my birthday yesterday.”

Oh. Oh no.

Your heart sinks further. This is really bad.

Shit. How the hell did you forget? You've never forgotten his birthday. Never. After all these years, you’d learned that Reed took these things seriously, so you always made an effort to celebrate it with him.

The knots in your stomach tighten. Time to grovel.

“Reed, I－”

Then it hits you.

“Wait…” you whisper.

You’re incredulous.

“I did not forget your birthday!” you exclaim. “Your birthday is months from now!”

In an instant, Reed’s bitter frown suddenly melts into a pout. A fucking pout.

“I wasn’t talking about my real birthday.” He’s whining.

No way.

Is he really referring to the completely, absolutely fake birthdate on his phony papers? Is he really that petty enough to be upset at you for missing it?

Of course he is. This is Reed.

The realization hits you like a bulldozer, and Reed has the nerve to knowingly grin at you. You’re pissed, but a tiny involuntary ripple of guilt runs through your brow and instantly he looks more smug, victorious even. The shithead.

You snarl. “You’re a fucking brat.”

“And you owe me a gift,” he declares and slowly eyes you up and down. “Seeing as you’re empty-handed.”

Reed pouts but a quiver of a grin remains.

“Okay, alright already!” You throw your hands up, nearly knocking over someone’s beer nearby, but you couldn’t care less. You want this over and done with so you can finally go home. If you hadn’t been friends for so long, you would’ve been out the door by now.

In the most caustic singsong voice you can muster, you ask, “Reed, what would you like for your birthday?”

Your irritation clearly fuels him. Reed smirks widely, tapping his chin and making an exaggerated show of deep thought.

“Hm...”

The constant thumping in your ears halts as the music changes. This new song is a much, much slower tempo, it’s melody practically delicate in comparison to the previous one.

Nonchalantly, Reed leaps from his barstool. “I love this song.”

You don’t recognize it, but the change is a welcome respite for your ears. Suddenly, Reed grabs your hand and leads you to the center of the bar where the other patrons are coupling up to dance.

In a swift and graceful movement, Reed whips you around and pulls you close. You let out a haggard breath as if you were holding it this whole time. With him so close, the scent of the bar promptly dissipates, leaving only Reed. His sweet, smoky scent fills your senses. It is so familiar to you now that your body immediately relaxes in the comfort of it. The fight in you fades. The warmth of him is welcome amidst the chaos of the bar.

His hand grips yours tightly, but you feel his other hand graze your waist in surprisingly careful manner. Absentmindedly, you rest your forehead on Reed’s shoulder. For just a moment, he stiffens, then immediately relaxes and leads you in a slow dance. You let out a long, drawn-out breath into his jacket.

Reed switches the conversation to your mind. “Long day today?”

With a sigh, you nod wordlessly. As you inhale, you immediately detect something astringent coloring Reed’s scent. Bitterness and worry echo in the aftertaste.

“Look, I’m sorry for scaring you,” he says, sincerely.

“Sure you are, asshole.” You can’t help but bite back still. To this, Reed chuckles so deeply, you can feel it vibrating through you.

“I am,” he whispers, despite speaking telepathically. His tone turns serious. “You know, you’re working too hard.”

You’re unsure how to respond. “I guess.”

“You are working too hard.”

Reed’s words haunt you. Without thinking, you lean harder into this shoulder, and he instinctively holds you closer. No one knows better than him what little choice you have in the matter.

“You don’t need to worry about me so much,” you say, with some finality to your words.

You feel his grip on your waist tighten just a bit, his thumb tracing you slowly.

His voice echoes heavily in your mind. “I will always worry about you.”

When the two of you are speaking like this, it’s easy to drown out the sounds of the bar. For a spell, you’re both silent, swaying to the music and basking in the comfort of each other’s presence.

You feel safe, almost perfectly at ease. A foreign feeling, these days.

Reed breaks the silence, his chin brushing against your hair. “You know, I still remember the first gift you ever gave me.”

“I bet,” you attempt to snark, but your voice is timid. Reed remembers it more clearly than you do. A small smile curves on your lips as the memory of it gradually comes back to you.

Strangely, Reed releases you, and though your heart should know better, it instantly sinks, craving his embrace. The feeling stuns you. You look up, and Reed is gazing at you with a curiously unfamiliar expression. It’s intense, his amber eyes are burning into you. The two of you are still, almost frozen.

Reed wants to say something. Something important, you know that for sure. It’s his hesitation that alarms you. His full lips part, and he takes a deep breath.

But the song comes to an end. Heavy beats of the next track immediately invade your senses.

You almost dread letting him go. But when you look down, you find that Reed is still holding your hand, though limply this time.

“So for my gift,” Reed’s voice calls out in your mind, full of mischief. His signature smirk returns, quickly replacing whatever was there before.

“Gift?”

“Technically,” he shrugs, his smirk widening. “I never answered your question.”

“Wait, what?” you gawk.

“You owe me a birthday gift. The dance was a nice bonus though.”

Reed laughs. It’s exuberant but rings hollow.

“Are you fu－”

He pulls on your hand, leading you towards the exit. “But first, dinner. Dancing with someone so pretty really works up the appetite.”

“Oh, for the love of…” you mutter, unable to roll your eyes any harder.

“I’m thinking that one place by the square!” he giggles.

“I can’t afford that place, Reed!” you haggle as he continues to lead you towards the exit. The music gets louder as you get closer to the speakers. Earlier you struggled to navigate through the crowd, but Reed cuts through it effortlessly.

His laugh cuts through the crowd just as easily. “It’s on me, of course! Can’t discuss the important matter of my birthday gift on an empty stomach.”

Of all the things, Reed is an excellent negotiator. He knows you well enough to see that you’re starving before you’re even aware of it. You’re wracking your brain on what you could possibly give the guy. The infamous Reed, with his bank account much deeper than yours, typically wants for nothing.

“Reed!” you try to shout over the music, out loud this time. “What else could you possibly want?”

Without looking back, Reed pushes the doors open, and you feel the cold air pour in from outside. He squeezes your hand, and you hear him mutter something out loud instead of in your mind.

But your hearing is overwhelmed by those damn speakers.

⬫

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