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phatm0th · 8 months

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Archie the Painslut

18+

heyy so i recently started the show The Great on hulu and even though i haven’t finished it yet (not even on season three yet) i really wanted to write about Archie. This was meant to be much shorter but i kept coming up with new ideas and it snowballed into this.

this is a plus size reader fic because im plus size and i say there aren’t enough of those out there. this is like, the second fic ive ever shared with the first one being on ao3. (i’ll post this one on ao3 soon) i feel like it could’ve been better but im still quite happy with the results. hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it!

tags: plus size!reader, priest kink, femdom, overstimulation, oral sex, nuns, riding, slapping, choking

You were enjoying your gig as a nun in the empress’s court so far. A month prior, Russia’s new ruler sent out a pamphlet encouraging women to join the church. Other parts of the world required quite a bit of work for a woman to become a nun, but this was Russia. You jumped at the opportunity, not wanting to be married off to one of the men in your village. All you had was a brief interview with Catherine The Great herself and secured your position as a nun. You truly enjoyed it, too. Food was nice, you had made a few friends, and it was quite a simple job. Celibacy got a little difficult, but self pleasure always helped. There was one thing though, one man, rather, that annoyed you to your core.

Well, most men of the court annoyed you, always either undressing you with their eyes or making jokes about your size. This particular man annoyed you in another way, though. Archie, the patriarch of Russia, wanted absolutely nothing to do with you. He regularly interacted with other members of the clergy, but you might as well have been invisible to him. He seemed pretty high strung the first time you met him. He offered you a curt, “Hello, pleasure to serve the lord with you,” or something, and not much else. When you passed in the halls, he looked straight ahead. If there was a risk of brushing up against you, he would walk in the opposite direction. There were plenty of people in the court that didn’t interact with you and you didn’t give a shit. The truth was, you really, really wanted him.

One night, at a party, you saw your friend, Marial, drinking and speaking with someone you couldn’t see. She saw you walking towards her and beckoned you forward, smiling. “There’s my favorite nun! Are you enjoying yourself?” she greeted. You nodded, slightly tipsy. Then you noticed, directly to Marial’s left was a stone cold sober Archie. “Oh. Hello Archie,” you mumbled. He stood up abruptly, “Hello. Must go,” he said, then quickly walked off. You sighed heavily, and plopped down onto the spot he was sitting. “What’s his fucking problem with me? You know, he’s barely said a word to me since I got here!” you slurred. Marial smirked and asked, “Is it not obvious?” She paused and stared at you as if waiting for you to give her your best guess. You lifted your shoulders in confusion. “He wants to fuck you!” she said with a laugh. “Very funny jape, Marial,” you lightly elbowed her. Her face became as serious as you had ever seen it. “I’m serious! And it is quite fucking obvious,” she gestured with her hand holding a drink to Archie, stood in a dark corner by himself, staring at you intensely. You locked eyes for a brief moment then he left his corner, disappearing into the crowd of drunk nobles.

Marial confided one other thing in you regarding Archie before the party ended. That being, he was very easy to tempt. He was slipping into his “old ways”, she said. And the only way he prevented himself from fucking his way through 70% of the court was self-flagellation. With that information, you hatched a plan.

Your plan commenced the very next morning and you woke much earlier than usual, hoping to catch him before the court grounds filled with people. On some mornings, Archie would have his too small breakfast in the garden on a bench. You managed to get your hands on an especially juicy peach, and you followed Archie to his place in the garden, careful to not be discovered. You waited a few moments for him to get comfortable and take a few bites of his food. “Beautiful day, Archie!” you said as you walked towards him. He choked on a mouthful of slightly burnt and very under-seasoned eggs. He swallowed thickly, trying to regain his composure. “Yes. As all things made by God are. Must you be so… energetic?” the irritation in his voice was apparent, but you didn’t miss the way his eyes drank you in, looking up and down your curvaceous form. You brought one arm up under your breasts, lifting them in a way you hoped was subtle but still seductive. You rested the other arm on top of that and brought the juicy peach to your lips.

“Do you like peaches, Archie?”

Before he could reply, you took a large bite of it, sighing in satisfaction as if it was the best peach you’d ever eaten. (it was) A bit of juice from it ran down your chin and onto your large breasts, staining your habit. Archie averted his eyes from your body, focused entirely on his food. You tossed the peach aside. “Oh, I have to do something about the mess I made,” you said, feigning concern. “Enjoy your morning!” You walked off, swaying your hips much more than necessary.

Phase two of your plan was to occur that afternoon. You watched Archie’s every move for the second time that day, and found yourself lying in wait like a predator hunting its prey. You stuck your head out of an empty room watching Archie walk down the hallway with one of his notebooks in hand. You waited until he got close enough and rushed right into him, “accidentally” knocking his notebook out of his hand. Several sheets of paper spilled out, one landing right under an end table next to the both of you. “I’m so sorry, Archie! Let me get that for you!” You got down on your hands and knees and arched your back, sticking your ass out as you reached under the table. You collected all the papers that had fallen around his feet and picked those up too, then presented them to him, still on your knees and staring up at him through your eyelashes. He shuddered quite violently and let out a harsh breath. Without a word, he snatched the papers from you and quickly walked off.

The third and final phase of your plan was that same evening. Catherine had planned a celebratory dinner for one successful month of introducing nuns in her court. You got there as early as possible, securing your seat right next to Archie. Before dinner began, Archie said a prayer to bless the food and you looked up at him from your seat, squeezing your thick thighs together. It was both meant to tease him and provide yourself with some much needed relief. You weren’t entirely sure if your plan would even work, but just the thought of finally fucking him was enough to make you wet and needy. He noticed and began stumbling over his words, clearing his throat. He managed to get through it though, and sat back down. A few minutes into the dinner, you rubbed your leg against Archie, lifting his robes slightly. He stopped eating and looked at you with a pathetic look in his eyes. He opened his mouth shakily but before he could say anything you stood up quickly and excused yourself from the table. Nobody seemed to give a fuck as everyone continued eating and having their hushed conversations. The only one that seemed to notice you spoke at all was Marial, giving you a knowing look.

You made your way to a completely empty room pretending to look busy with a vase of flowers. You were counting on Archie following you into it, but after a few minutes of waiting, you were beginning to believe he wouldn’t show. Maybe you should’ve explicitly said what you wanted. Maybe he just wasn’t attracted to you. Maybe he just really wanted to stay celibate. As your mind wandered, you didn’t notice the door close behind you.

You felt his presence when he was just a few inches behind you. His hands rested on your shoulders then slowly moved them to your tits as he started kneading them through your habit. “I want to fuck you,” he whispered harshly. Any other man would’ve gotten stabbed right in his cock for such a bold move but a wave of heat overtook you as you felt his breath hot against your ear. He sank his long fingers into your thick waist and gripped you roughly. You hoped it would bruise.

“Fucking finally, Archie.” You grabbed his forearms and ground your wide hips back onto his clothed, impossibly hard cock.

He started licking your ear and panting like a fucking dog. But before you could really get started you heard the empress call his name, likely wondering why he had disappeared from the dinner.

His perfect hands stopped groping you and he gasped as if waking from a trance. “This cannot happen!” he hissed, quickly prying himself from you. “Disgusting!” Before you could reply, he left you in the empty room. You weren’t sure if he was disgusted with himself or with you.

The next day was slow. You slept past breakfast and when you finally emerged from the bedroom you shared with another nun, the first thing you heard was some guard joking about you finally going on a diet. Any other day you would’ve had a comeback. Or a slap. Nothing today, though. You couldn’t even give him a dirty look. You just walked off.

You roamed the grounds, trying to find something to keep yourself busy but you to no avail. Archie found you disgusting. You faced rejection before but nothing ever stung this badly. Maybe it was because you had your hopes up this time? Marial herself told you how he felt about you, and she knew him better than anyone else did. Marial saw you walking alone, eyes downcast. She looked concerned as she walked towards you. You noticed and quickly walked off randomly turning corners of the palace until you believed you lost her.

You stood still, trying to catch your breath when you heard something strange. A shaky groan, muffled by the door you were standing in front of. Archie’s door. You held your breath and listened hard, thinking it might’ve been a groan of pain. He panted heavily, and let out a strained exhale of your name. You acted on impulse and discreetly opened the door.

There sat Archie at his desk, chair turned to the side so he could stretch out his legs. Cock in one hand, and a peach with one bite taken out of it in the other. He didn’t even notice you when he brought the peach to his mouth, licking into it as if it were a wet cunt. You thought he must’ve swiped it right after you tossed it yesterday.

A wave of heat overtook you and you slammed the door behind you and locked it. “I thought you found me disgusting,” you said, voice even. Archie jumped violently, but notably did not let go of himself. He looked at you guiltily and gave his cock a tight squeeze. His chest heaved as he worked his mouth, trying to speak. “It - it was not you I was disgusted with. It was me. I should not give in to my urges so easily, but every time I am around you I cannot control myself!” his voice rose on that last sentence as he broke away from your gaze, staring at the floor.

“Archie…” You didn’t know what to say. You decided instead that words wouldn’t be very effective anyway and decided to walk towards him. Your breasts heaved as you tried to even your breathing. You had never been this horny before, not even yesterday when you had Archie pressed against you. Before you realized it, you were looming directly above him, watching him subtly pulse his fist on his cock. Archie said, “As the patriarch, I really should not-“ SMACK. He let out a startled noise as your hand made a quickly brightening red mark on his face.

He looked up at you, panting, mouth agape as he wrenched his hand away from his cock. He dug his fingertips into the arms of his chair and furrowed his brow. You were worried you had taken it too far before he shot up out of his seat and pushed you backwards against the nearest wall. He gave you no time to speak - not that you were complaining - as he pressed his lips against yours. His tongue wormed its way into your mouth and you savored the taste of each other. You felt one of his long legs jam its way in between your thick thighs. He ground his leg onto your clothed pussy, feeling your wetness through three layers of clothing. His hands roamed every inch of you he could reach without breaking away from the kiss, as if he was trying to commit your shape to memory. You buried a fist in his long hair, yanking his head away from yours. He moaned harshly and dropped to his knees rather violently. His hands caressed your calves as he inched his nose closer and closer to your heat. He buried his face between your thighs, almost suffocating himself as he sniffed you through the thick fabric of your habit.

You pushed his head back and lifted the hem of the habit to your mouth, unwilling to wait another second. He gasped harshly and shook as he finally got a full view of what he had been fantasizing about for weeks. He lunged forward and sank his fingers into your plush thighs, trying to pull them apart so he could have his fill. He kissed your mons first, savoring the feel of the hair against his lips. He pushed his head even further, licking and biting at your already wet inner thighs like a man starved. You supposed he was starved in that regard. As much as you enjoyed his exploration of your lower half, he wasn’t licking where you needed it the most, and you were starting to get desperate. You decided to take matters into your own hands - there’d be time for his perverted licking and sniffing another day. “Archie!” you said with the fabric still clenched between your teeth. You roughly grabbed his hair and angled his head exactly where you wanted it. His mouth was right against your clit and he immediately put it to good use, licking one slow stripe along the sensitive bundle of nerves.

You heaved a breath of relief as he finally, finally started giving you what you needed. Archie moaned as he sucked your clit, the vibrations only doubling your pleasure. “It feels so good to finally give in, right Archie?” He pulled back to reply but you roughly shoved his face back where it belonged. He made a sound between a gasp and a whimper before going right back to servicing you. He moved his tongue from your clit to your pussy. His nose bumped your clit each time he moved his head, making you feel better than you thought possible. Your hips bucked, and you curled your fingers in his hair once again, trying to ground yourself.

After a bit of tonguefucking you, he replaced his tongue with one of his long, perfect fingers, and his mouth took its rightful place against your clit yet again. Pleasure shot through you like lightning as you felt his finger brush up against something you hadn’t known was there before. His assault on your gspot in combination with his relentless sucking of your clit made you dizzy almost. The sight of him almost made you cum. On his knees, one hand wrapped around his long cock and the other pleasuring you. His eyes were closed in bliss as he devoured you. You gripped his hair, forcing his head still as you ground your hips into his face. His eyes shot open and met yours. They were watery, and dilated. He somehow looked completely serene, but enraptured at the same time.

You had seen that look only once before. You followed him into the woods one day and watched him eat a berry. You watched him talk to God, watched him partake in the purest, most sacred form of worship he knew.

That was it. Once the realization dawned on you, you were cumming all over his hand and face before you knew it. You were loud and shaky, the hem of the robes shoved in your mouth did very little to muffle your voice. You pulled his hair so hard he was sure to have a headache in a few hours. He let out a few short grunts himself, eyes rolled into the back of his head and the hand on his cock finally stilled.

You let go of his hair and managed to relax the tense muscles in your body. He stood up on shaky legs, eyes wide as he watched you collect yourself. When your vision finally cleared you saw that he was still hard. “What the fuck?” you asked, panting. “I still want to fuck you. It took a great deal of effort to not cum just then but I managed to stave it off. I wanted to save it for something special.” You were still buzzing with oversensitivity, but you couldn’t deny that you wanted to fuck him too.

You both made your way into his more than humble bedroom and you were finally able to take off your now dirty clothes. You faced each other, just admiring each other’s bodies for a few moments. You were finally able to take a good look at his cock. It was long and leaky, protruding around 7.5 inches from his skinny frame. Archie himself looked almost frightening. His head was tilted slightly downward, pupils blown, chest heaving from excitement. (?) He wore a wide grin as he drank you in, eyes lingering on your tits. You almost wanted to ask him if he was okay, but then he embraced you, jamming his tongue in your mouth and groping you yet again. He broke the kiss just as fast as he started it, saying, “I want you on top. Please.”

Archie was much taller than you, but you weren’t sure how strong he was. What if you hurt him?

Oh. Right.

You lightly pushed his chest, encouraging him to get on his bed. He quickly sat on the bed and you followed, climbing into his lap. You stood on your knees, slightly towering over him as you leaned down to kiss him again. “Sit,” he all but demanded. You could not deny him. And you were eager to see his reaction to your weight on top of him.

You sat in his lap, finally resting your weight on top of him in the way he’d been so eager for since he first laid eyes on you. Well, not quite. He wanted you on his face, but he was too eager to fuck you, so this would have to do. He placed his hands on your ass, kneading the cheeks apart, admiring your softness. You moaned and ground down onto his cock impatiently. Archie wouldn’t budge, too focused on kissing you and feeling you up. You lifted your hips, much to his chagrin, to guide his cock inside your eager cunt yourself. He let out a harsh exhale as if he had been punched in the gut. You breathed shakily, surprised at yourself for taking all of him at once like that.

Archie buried his face into your neck, whimpering. You didn’t move just yet, trying to adjust to the stretch of him. You occasionally clenched, liking the effect it had on a desperate Archie. You were ready to move after a bit, and you lifted your hips just once to test the waters, pulling him out almost completely before slamming back down onto his lap. You leaned back so you could get a good look at his face as you began grinding yourself on his cock. He was biting his bottom lip so hard he drew a bit of blood. His eyes rolled back in his head as shaky, high-pitched noises escaped him.

“Archie,” you said, an idea forming. He didn’t notice. “Archie.” you said again. Your hips stilled, and that seemed to rouse him from whatever high he was chasing, but then you slapped him. Hard. To make sure he was paying attention. You felt him throb inside you. “What?” he asked, confused as to why you had stopped moving, but grateful for the slap. “Do you want me to hurt you?” you asked, hand still lingering on his cheek. He throbbed again. “Yes. I will not last long.” Neither would you. You slapped him again, enjoying it almost as much as he was. “Lay down then,” you said as you rose off him.

He guided himself back into your wet heat as he laid flat on his back. His hands made their way to your lower back as you immediately began riding him again. You wanted to slap him again but decided instead to curl your fingers into his hair, pulling his head back onto the under-stuffed pillow it rested on. “Ooooh,” he moaned weakly, enjoying the dull burn in his scalp. “Open your mouth,” you demanded. He obeyed, sticking his tongue out for good measure. You spat in his mouth and he swallowed gratefully. You moved both of your hands to his chest and scraped your nails across it. “Yes!” Archie shouted. You pinched his nipples roughly, twisting and flicking them. Archie’s legs shook and he dug his nails into your lower back as he moaned. You liked the sting of it more than you thought you would, and your orgasm was approaching quickly.

You decided you wanted him to cum first. You rose your hips and slammed them down harder than necessary, feeling his balls and thighs slap against your ass loudly. He gasped, startled by the change in pace. “Close!” he shouted. Your right hand shot to his neck, closing off his airflow as you moved at a punishing pace. All Archie could manage like this was “c- c- c-“ You assumed he was trying to say “cumming,” as his entire body became stiff. You felt him pulse inside you a few times, each pulse followed by a spurt of cum.

Your hand around his neck loosened. You stopped moving your hips. He gasped for breath, savoring every bit of air that made it into his lungs. After he was breathing normally, you angled your hips so that his cock would hit your gspot on each stroke, and began riding him again at your relentless pace. The air he had just gotten back was knocked out of his lungs as he gasped from oversensitivity. You watched him writhe, unsure if he wanted to get away from you or drive himself even deeper. High, undignified noises left his mouth as you overstimulated him. Your orgasm hit you suddenly, and began grinding into him again, enjoying the feel of his pubic bone grinding against your clit. He laughed madly as he watched you take your pleasure from him, uncaring of his pain.

“Fuck,” you whimpered as you collapsed next to him. You were both sweaty and in need of baths, but that could wait until later. You stared at the ceiling, wondering what to do next in regard to Archie. You turned to face him and saw that he was staring at you intensely as if he saw God himself, and all his infinite love and wisdom, in you.

#the great hulu #the great #priest kink #plus size reader #fat reader #smut #archie the great #fanfic #body worship

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misguidedlavender · 1 year

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happy birthday, toontown rewritten.

time to get sappy!

on a warm, sunny day, on august 20th, 2013, i booted up my familys ancient windows vista PC to redeem my 1 month membership card for toontown online. after going to the main website, as id done a thousand times before, there, in small white lettering, on a bold red background, i read the most earth shattering words that could have ever shaken my small teenage self. attention, toons! toontown online will be closing on september 19, 2013. i, along with many other kids and adults, felt our souls be crushed. i ran to toonbook to see if anyone else had seen it already. the heartbreak was palpable. our precious game, our fun little paradise, our home away from home, was going away in just a months time.

i remember playing nearly every day from that point on, doing everything i possibly could, holding hard and fast to what little time i had left before toontown shut down for good. i remember the communitys desperate pleas to disney to not close the game in the form of many change.org petitions. i remember the fiery anger at the original blog post, stating that disney wanted to divert resources towards club penguin (which was quickly edited out, of course). but so it goes, in the normal course of business, the cries of hundreds of thousands of children went ignored.

on the morning of september 19th, 2013, i woke up early to gather in toon valley of toontown central to bid farewell. my goodbye was not even remotely clean or graceful. i was booted out maybe an hour or so before the game officially shuttered at noon. and that was it. no fanfare or final words. there was silence, and there was sadness.

but in the midst of our collective grief, whispers began to spread around toonbook. did you hear? this guy on mmo central forums says hes gonna revive the game. no way, thats not possible, the games dead, obviously. but in a few days time, a proof of concept was revealed. from the cynicism, a different tune emerged. the sound of hope.

toontown wasnt coming back. it was being rewritten.

in the many years ive played this game and been a part of its community, ive made so many precious memories and friends that have become core parts of my soul. it has served as an endless fuel for my creativity and introduced me to so many incredible and colorful people. heck, i married the guy i met through this game. ttr was there throughout my most formative years. even in my darkest moments, i never strayed too far from the trolley. i would be such a vastly different person without ttr. i will never not be grateful for all the opportunities, memories, love, and happiness that ive experienced because of this game.

with all the warmth i can afford, happy 10th birthday toontown rewritten. against all odds, you have survived—no, lived—a full ten years powered only by the love of community who refused to let their home disappear. your persistence in the most unlikely of circumstances is emblematic of why its worth it to keep striving. in the face of despair, what most would see as a stop sign, you saw as a giant green light. you radiate an infectious passion that makes me smile even when i dont want to. you are a happy respite in a world that is difficult, dark, gray, and full of cogs. you taught me that, no matter how old i am, silliness and fun arent something to grow out of, but essential to our existence.

geez, im getting a little misty eyed. i should stop here. thank you for everything ttr. heres to another decade of happiness.

#toontown #toontown rewritten #toonblr #toontown online #toontag

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natsmagi · 6 months

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hello !! yet another different anon, but just wanted to share this while we’re on the topic of self-criticism - hopefully this doesn’t come off as patronizing, it’s just smth i’ve found helps me as an artist and hopefully it’ll help u :D

i think it’s rlly important to view old art more from the perspective of the feelings u had making it rather than the actual content of the art itself. sure, ur artistic skills have improved a lot over the years, and maybe when ur looking back at ur older work u see a lot of flaws in it - weird anatomy, bad lighting, articles of clothing that don’t make sense, etc (not saying ur old art has any of these i’m just listing examples i’ve had in my own lol) - but u had fun making it !! it’s a drawing of something u loved and still love, and it served its purpose as an outlet to express that love. when people go back and like those old drawings, they’re not seeing it for its flaws - they’re seeing it for the love it represents, a love they probably feel themselves. while it’s good to critique ur own work to some extent for the sake of improvement, people liking ur old stuff is far from cringe-worthy! it’s just someone enjoying something u once enjoyed too, like an internet happiness hand-me-down :)

again, this sort of mindset has rlly helped me personally - i don’t feel as nervous about drawing or posting, bc im just having fun !! it’s ok if it’s kind of janky or has weird details, it was made with love and people can see and appreciate that. nobody ever stops improving or seeing flaws in their work, so its best to focus more on the joy it gave u and push urself towards improvement with the promise of even more joy rather than forcing urself to improve under the threat of feeling ashamed of ur creations

hopefully all of this makes sense i kind of have the shakes rn lol. sorry for the super long ask, i just dont rlly know how to explain all of this in a short way-

hope u are having a fantastic day full of pretty girls !!!!

omg no worries at all!! your message read as very sweet so please dont stress urself out over how u came across!!

AND I DEFINITELY AGREE!! tbh its a mindset i tend to have, but i think where ive lacked is definitely in applying the "im just doing it for fun" logic to past me. i tend to be someone who very much lives in the present and have a bit of a disconnect both from the past and the future, and this can cause me to totally disregard everything about my past self and past work LOL. so honestly having all this put into words has kinda been an "OHH RIGHT" moment for me KASJHFJAHSDKJ

theres also the factor of my audience being bigger now........ im not really someone who likes having alot of eyes on me for various reasons, which sometimes causes me to waver a bit AKJSHFKJH THOUGH ITS NOT THAT BAD. i think most of my shyness comes from having artists i really admire now see my art and im like "FUCK IC ANT HAVE IT LOOK BAD WHAT IF THEY SEE" which can cause me to overthink things But also i tend to forget that those people even follow me 80% of the time. tbh all of my "insecurities" in regards to my art are purely circumstantial and only really present themselves if im in a flustered state, but a large portion of the time im just chilling KJAHSFJKHK

i do also wanna say tho that i think the viewing all art as coming from a place of love sentiment is very sweet........ esp bc in the beginning one of the compliments i got the most was along the lines of "your love for the characters really shines through!!" so to think that, in spite of potential quality, that love is still visibly present makes me very happy.......... Perhaps if u have genuine love for what u do itll shine through no matter what

#Big fan of that “art” thing. Hope we keep it up #ask

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russilton · 1 year

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I understand the point you're trying to make about George and homophobic comments but can you stop likening the very real oppression that Lewis is the victim of to some ignorant twitter comments on a white driver with a girlfriend?! Lewis is literally attacked in real-life by the kkk fanbase of that vile sport, ex champions throw around violently racist and homophobic slurs towards him without any pushback, stewards publicly wish for him to burn in his car (yes this has happened more than once), his literal championship was stolen to make space for their "great white hope" (in their words), other drivers have victim-blamed Lewis for years of racist abuse. This is the level of oppression that Lewis has dealt with in the sport, don't ever compare his situation to anyone else. I know you won't post this because white queers hate addressing their racism but you need to stop talking about Lewis if you insist on using him as a prop for your ship. You remind me of Barca fans who claim Gavi is oppressed due to sports heckling while a whole stadium chants racist abuse to Vini. In the wake of the discourse centering the racist abuse that black athletes face in Europe, it's asinine to compare a black athlete's situation with a white one. On that note, I have yet to see you speak up on the racism and homophobia that Lewis is subjected to, but you're always prepared to paint your cishet white fav as oppressed.

I spent a very long time trying to figure out how to answer this ask, most of the day if I'm honest, because while I’m always willing to learn, I also think some of the things you’ve said here just aren’t true, and the fact that I’ve made you feel that they are means I need to be clearer with what I’m expressing.

At no point did I ever, ever, ever intend for it to sound like I was saying what George is dealing with currently is anywhere close to what Lewis deals with on a daily basis. And I don’t think that’s what I said at all, but if it came off that way, it’s something I want to change.

For the sake of transparency, I've made an edit to the original post to clarify my point. I understand now it might have come away belittling to seem like I was equating a more isolated incident to something larger and much more complex, and I'm sorry for that, it was just the only incident I could come to at the time.

I’m not looking for anyone to come to my defence here, because I’d rather speak for myself, nor do I want to make it sound like I've never made mistakes. I've made plenty, on here included, and i've done my level best to change and listen. But if you believe I have never spoken about the racism Lewis faces, have you been around that long?

I talk about it often, and as blatantly as I can while also making clear that as a white guy, I’m not the voice that should be listened to, and that it’s better for me to promote POC speakers or link to them instead. I'm sorry you if it appears like I'm not doing it enough, Ive been trying to listen instead of speak, which is what i've been told to do in the past on here by other anons. When asks have crossed the topic, I've been blunt about the systemic racism in f1, and why it serves F1 to suppress Lewis' voice. But again, there is a limit to what I have said myself, because I don't think its right to make myself the centre focus, when it should be more informed voices.

The only reason it may seem like I do more speaking myself when it comes to homophobia around Lewis AND George, is that it's something I HAVE experienced firsthand, and can more effectively talk about. The vitriol Lewis faces for self expression and the homophobic stereotypes that pour out with it are things I've been open about before, and Lewis' own changing views on gender and gendered clothing are something I'm deeply proud of him for.

But i also need to say I want to be able to talk about multiple issues at once without it seemingly like one is standing over the other, or should detract attention. It's both true that Lewis faces abuse that the officials surrounding F1 and even Mercedes itself will sweep under the rug or belittle, AND that the torrent of Homophobic abuse George is facing needs to be addressed no matter his sexuality or relationship status due to the effect it'll have on his fans.

I care less about how George feels as someone who isn't routinely oppressed and able to easily access support, and more about how formula one continues to absolve fans of extremely bigoted behaviour under the umbrella of calling them a bad outliers rather than addressing the root issues of the sports own willing ignorance and allowance of hateful behaviours from stewards, marshals, team staff and even other drivers. It's not about how the drivers feel, but how minority fans are pushed out in favour of the toxic cesspool f1 has happily encouraged the growth of in order to rake in their money, rather than address. There is not a single f1 comment section on any team, or official social page i would willingly step into, because It is never anything but filled with the worst voices that f1 just.. ignores. Until they're booing Max Verstappen on track, and we're all demanded to be nicer to him, even as he continues to stoke the kinds of fans that have called me every slur in the book and told me to off myself. There is a reason I only interact with F1 on tumblr of all places, it is legitimately the only site I feel safe to do so.

I was a Lewis fan before I was a George fan, and I think I will always find a closer home in him than I will with any other driver. No driver has stood up quite as vocally for issues both close to home for me and issues the world over. No other driver has stuck his neck out the same way or made me feel quite as allowed into a traditionally cis het white space. I only became a motorsport fan because Lewis made me feel like there was a space for people like me.

#asks #anonymous #wank/rants #tw: racism #tw: homophobia #mark rambles #i think im going to turn anons back off again soon #i love being able to talk to everyone but this has been #detrimental to my mental health and is forcing me to lean too much on friends #and that's not fair for them #I’m afraid I can’t comment on the football comparisons #the only football I actively keep up with is ted lasso #I don’t know who gavi or Barca are

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dballzposting · 11 months

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confession: i read dballzposting like its the daily newspaper biweekly. Like wow....... trunks really does sorta need a different kind of fatha figure (cloth mother) in his life... gohan and goten are both kinda rly fcked in the head just a little bit but they have such drastically different approaches to finding peace andd enlightenment or watever.. yamcha is SO milfy.... this is all true no falsehoods hsve been spoken here

I would never have thought about yajirobe like dat.... bear w me cuz im a little disorganized rn but when i think about him hes like. everything being human is all about. he lived as he pleased, authenticly. a vagabond that truly does not need to gaf. He's a survivor, and Everything he did was out of survival, for himself and later for others. Of course he was a little self-serving and dishonest at times, but he did what he knew he was capable of and he did that very well. Yajirobe's got being human really figured out.

Then he meets thar cat and he LICKS HIM!!!!!

anyways peace and love on earth forever and ever 💋 💯 have a good night dballzposting

WOAH ...

SO LEGITEMATE.

#RESPECT.

You really do read da slop and glean the most beauty out of it .. you have a beautoful mind and i am honored ..

I especially like this part: "gohan and goten are both kinda rly fcked in the head just a little bit but they have such drastically different approaches to finding peace andd enlightenment or watever" That is so true and addressed so plainly .. I dont think i ever said that but ive probably implied it bc it's on my mind a lot .. But that's your synthesis ... Beautoful stuff ..

I don't know what you mean by you "would never have thought about yajirobe like dat" becasue judging by what you have written here you nailed it. Like I obviiously think that becasue you're borrowing words from my own posts so yeah like i agree... but thats what i mean. I especially like this part: "but he did what he knew he was capable of and he did that very well. Yajirobe's got being human really figured out." HE DOES DO WHAT HE DOES WELL AND NO MORE .... HE'S GOT IT ALL FIGURED OUT <3

Our supposed disagreement presumably lies in the following line about him LICKING THAT DAMN CAT !!! But it's not a disagreemnt actually (not that you seem to care much about disagreeing with it anyway BTW youre so real for that) and I can explain.

That notion came from THIS HILARIOUS POST that was so awesome and that i loved so much becasue it floored me so profoundly and was so funny ...

It made me think a lot about whether he actually licks that cat or not ... I NEVER would have thought of that before ... but if something is really funny then I'll believe it no problem. But i had/have a lot of conflicting ideas about it.

Then came the discovery that in TFS's DBZ abridged they had Yajirobe and Korin be gay married and yknow love wins <3 but again I never would have thought of it like thag.

So I think that we are on the same page <3

My formal professional Yajirobe Opinion is that: he consistently refers to Korin as "karin-sama" in the japanese dub and that honorific I think is a constant reminder of the discrepancy between the two's status and furthermore Yajirobe is not capable of romance so i dont think tht he could gay marry the cat sorry .. But i have a lot of thoughts about what I just said. A story is worth telling if you want to tell it and when you borrow character already pre-established in something in order to tell it, well it's a bit of a situation becasue now you have to conform to the original author's writing of the characters otherwise what's the point of borrowing them ... I think ... And that's always been the line for me: whether it's feasibly in-character or not .. otherwise it feels weird and makes me a bit sick (PERSONAL FEELINGS NOT A JUDGEMENT) . .. If you can make something seem in-character or CONVINCE YOURSELF THAT IT IS then a story passes. Otherwise I'd prefer that one be honest about their intentions and admit outright something like "yeah this is out of character but I'm projecting and have a vested interest in telling these sorts of events" or something. And that's totally fine like i dare not cast taboo onto the indomitable human spirit

The UNIVERSAL EXCEPTION however has always been IF IT'S FUNNY THEN IT LITERALLY WORKS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Every Time!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Partly due to the way that often funny things are funny becasue theyre true or true-adjacent. BUT NOT ALWAYS !!!!

You didnt ask for this ramble. What is my point

My point is that I definitely think that it is insane to portray romance between Yajirobe and Korin, but intimacy less than that is honestly agreeable and passable because it's either funny or pleasant to see.

That being said: A.) I Love Insanity B.) I WANT EVERYONE TO FOLLOW THEIR HEART'S CALL!! NEVER DENY YOUR HEART YOUR CAREFUL ATTENTION!! NEVER JUDGE IT!!!!!!! PLEASE!!!!!!!!! C.) I Really Strongly Admire That Tumblr User (Linked Earlier) for Following Their Heart Despite Their Obvious Implicit Insecurities And For Drawing Yajirobe x Korin Stuff I Loved That So Much and I think that they're so Strong and On The Right Path D.) Love Wins <3

I mean if he gay married that cat then that would be sooo funny like NO one knew (least of all him) that his life would end up this way but Korin is a crazy bitch and let this happen so now we're here. And that's beautful <3

To borrow your words:

PEACE AND LOVE ON EARTH FOREVER AND EVER !!!!💋 💯

Thank You All

#dballz posting #dballz asks #yajirobeposting

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adayinflash · 2 months

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Grant Us Salvation from the End We So Resist

TWs: death, war, and implied disordered eating, self harm, and suicide

(I'm mentally exhausted today and don't have it in me to write a piece, so this is a piece I wrote before I started posting to this blog. I wrote it under the same restrictions as my normal pieces here while I was testing to see if writing a flash piece every day (most days) was feasible. Hopefully I won't have to do this too often, I'd much rather keep this generative and new)

(also sorry for the Rough TWs, please take care of yourself as you're reading because I remember this being hard for me to write)

I. Pestilence.

We fought for weeks. Against the intruders that entered our system, corrupted those we held dear. With every passing moment a hundred of our number fell, and a myriad of theirs rose from the corpses of our own. The infection had made it through our throat and lungs by the time it was detected, and those came the all too fragile battleground for the war we faced. Pulling out all the stops, increasing the supply lines for our troops and all the logistical support they could ever need, breaking dams to flush away the enemy under floodwaters, raising our internal temperature in the hopes that they would perish before we would. Every day sending out calls for reinforcements, which only ever came when our pleas became so loud and desperate that they were apparent to those on the outside. For you we stood strong, and when the dust settled and the battlefields turned raw and sore, we took no rest and set about cleaning up the aftermath.

II. War

When a rift opens up in our lines many of our own are lost to that void. Those on the edges often find themselves rent asunder, the remains trying to pull their innards back in with the last bit of will they retain. The tunnels which serve as our thoroughfares, transporting the goods and supplies for a society turn into a death march, a line to be cast out into nothingness, where, without the support of a system, none can survive. But some will manage to hold on, and in sacrificing themselves they can form a bridge across the chasm, from which we can rebuild, in time for a gash to be opened once more, to reveal us to the outside world. On this front we fight, so that we may continue to function, no matter what the world throws at us. But when the source of the wound is not external, and becomes a pattern, we find the lines pushed back, a losing battle, until all we can do is pray that our objections are no longer sought after and are taken as the protests they are intended to be.

III. Famine

Cannibalism is a preferable choice to the alternative. Our civilization is a hungry one, one that burns fuel day in and day out, an ever-burning pyre that can never be allowed to sputter, let alone dim. This fuel is what allows us to fight, recover, reproduce, live. So why, then, is it that we find ourselves under the boot of rationing so often? Why is it that our efforts to stoke the flames serve only to drain our already dwindling resources? Why has our supply chain been cut? But in spite of our ebbing resources, the fire must burn. And what else to pitch to the flames than the greatest users of heat. Though the fire dimming on its own would be disastrous, it is allowable if the consumers become the consumed. But such a practice is in no way sustainable. And if the flames continue to go unfed, they will rage until they engulf us all, until they need to burn no further.

IV. Death

The one curse we have yet to face. And the one we can never recover from. As great as the pain inflicted by the lesser curses may be, the marks they leave behind fade with time. We remember every enemy we destroy, so that they will never break past even the most preliminary of our defenses in the future. The bodies that tie together voids and rifts are reabsorbed, their materials brought back into the fold and reallocated to where they may be of use. The fire, if fed well, slowly and properly, will build back up to its former glory. But if our memory is wiped, the bodies pile up too high, and the flames are snuffed, there is nothing more we can do. The battle in which we took our pride, found our purpose, lived, will be over, the last survivors struggling to piece anything together in the wreckage until they finally succumb and join the corpses they wander among.

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mewyue · 5 years

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red thread —

you promised that we will always find eachother. i did. i found you.

listen on spotify or itunes

#uwmaseries #until we meet again #deanpharm #kpop playlist #playlist #mewyuedit #this is the most self serving post ive ever made

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ectonurites · 3 years

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can anybody please explain the appeal of tim drake because ive been into the batfamily for a while now and tbh im really confused on why people like his character so much compared to the other robins. like they all have their own thing going on and he just... doesnt?

Have you read his Robin solo? Because if not and you want to try to like him but just don’t understand why people do, that’s what I’d recommend. That and like, Young Justice 1998.

Because Tim definitely... does have his own thing going on. Maybe not in the same way as the others, but like, there’s a reason he has a 183 issue long solo comic that ran for like 16 years: he was fun to read about!

But I will give some more specific thoughts on the subject as a Tim Drake Appreciator™ (this got long im sorry)

The appeal of Tim (especially early on Tim) is kinda the fact that he’s this more normal kid. For a while that is his ‘thing’. He was basically designed to be a self-insert (he definitely became more than that along the way, but from the start he was meant to be relatable) in a different way than how Dick and Jason had been before him.

Like the role of Robin from the start was this way to create a character young readers could identify with more, could see themselves in more. And Dick and Jason did that, but they still had this element to their lives and stories that was more... unattainable for the average reader. Dick was a circus prodigy, Jason was either also a circus prodigy if we remember pre-crisis or if we go with his post-crisis story he’s this street-wise orphaned kid who had a really tough life but still went on to be a hero anyways. Obviously those lives are relatable for some people, but those’re definitely not as broadly recognized as common upbringings especially not by DC trying to market to the ‘average’ kid/young teen.

But the creation of Tim changed the game a bit. Dick and Jason were these aspirations a kid could look to like ‘wow I want to be cool like that!’ but Tim was a Robin designed for kids to look at and go ‘wow, his problems and civilian life are just like mine AND he’s a hero, I want to be cool like that!’, ya know? Tim was... just a clever kid with an average life who managed to connect some dots and had enough drive to want to fix things he saw were a problem, he didn’t have the same kind of heightened drama backstory the others did. The Robins that came after Tim definitely didn’t have this idea of relatability in mind the same way either. Unfortunately Steph’s time as Robin was much more of a marketing ploy than an actual like... decision to make her Robin, so it’s hard to really fit her into this conversation. But Damian from the start was first of all initially created not to be Robin but just as the son of Talia and Bruce back in the 80’s, but when he was later reimagined into the character that would become Robin he had the whole ‘raised by and is the heir to the league of assassins and is the son of batman’ thing going on still. He just was not supposed to be relatable that same way, he was a character designed with different things in mind.

I really think it was more just DC’s 90′s era younger-audience comics in general that tried to push that relatability thing (like in YJ how Cissie even after quitting the team stays a major character as a civilian throughout, and the civilian aspect that’s super present in Bart’s 90s solo too, etc), but later in the 2000’s that idea was definitely pushed to the side in favor of... putting in even more dramatic superhero-y stuff.

And the other thing that’s... such a more normal thing but it actually made him unique here, was that Tim’s dad was still alive until like 2004 (so 15 years into Tim being around as a character). This gave Tim a lot more typical ‘family school girlfriends normal life etc’ problems on top of/in contrast with his superhero problems. These just manifested in very different ways than they could with the other Robins because of that unique situation with a living civilian parent who doesn’t know about hero stuff (until he did find out which lead to that whole Unmasked thing, but there was only the brief time around War Games & Identity Crisis where Jack knew Tim was actively Robin and he was... still alive) Tim also had his life at school expanded way more than most other Robins, like, he had such an extended supporting cast of civilian friends which is a really interesting thing to read about (and the fact that he hasn’t had that stuff since the New 52 I think really hurts his character)

And then related to that loss of his dad... Personally another thing about Tim that really interests me is how a lot of things were more... his choice. if that makes sense. A lot of characters in the Batfamily were struck with tragedy/extreme trauma before they became heroes and that’s what spurred them into this life of becoming heroes. Tim’s situation wasn’t like that at all! When he first got involved in everything during Lonely Place of Dying, the only tragedy he’d experienced was watching Dick’s tragedy happen. Which sure yes traumatic obviously, but that’s not the same as how pretty much all the other Bats had gone through these very personal losses or other sorts of very first-hand personal traumas that served as motivators. Tim didn’t start to experience those things until after he got involved in the hero life, and aside from his Mom’s death which was more of just an unrelated incident (that technically happened before he was officially Robin but it was during his time training to become Robin), pretty much all these other tragedies and things... would not have happened or been experienced by him had he not become Robin.

That’s not me placing blame on him or anything like that, because god no that’s not how that works, but it’s very interesting because from his point of view he definitely feels that guilt because he knows him being Robin played a role in a lot of it (Thinking specifically about in Adventure Comics #3 when Kon even says “I know what guilt does to you” to him like it’s... it’s a thing with him!). His dad was murdered because he was Robin. He only met Steph and started dating her through being Robin, and thus he would not have experienced the loss of his girlfriend dying like that had he not been Robin. Tim met both Conner and Bart through being Robin, and would not have had a personal connection to them when they died otherwise. The whole Bruce’s death thing after Final Crisis, like. I could go on honestly, that was only talking about losses not even his own experiences nearly getting killed, but yeah, all these personal tragedies were experienced by him specifically because he chose to bring himself into this life, which I think in turn plays into how throughout his comics you see him go from having this really optimistic view on things and being really hopeful to seeing him at that low point he reaches by the time of Red Robin. (thinking about that one post that points out how Tim started out in the 90′s as an optimist and Steph a cynic and by the time they were Red Robin and Batgirl in 2009 they had switched outlooks...)

I also think that him having had such a great team book with the original Young Justice can help contribute to people liking him. His friendships with the rest of the core four and that team in general are really compelling. (and that’s something like again when looking at the other Robins, while Dick had the Titans ofc, Jason never really found footing with a team outside of like one mission with the Titans and then We All Know How Damian’s Teen Titans Stuff Went. Steph also only ever really worked with a team outside the batfam on very brief occasions) and even though I’m not as big of a fan of the 2003 Teen Titans run that came after YJ, people who read Young Justice and also that could follow and be attached to those same characters over a pretty decently long period of time.

Idk man, I don’t really have an ultimate point here i’m just rambling. I can definitely understand not seeing the appeal to him right away (honestly i’ve been into Batfam since like 2013/2014 and Tim did not become one of my faves until 2020) especially if like... idk when you say ‘into the batfamily’ that can mean a lot of different things. If you’re reading more like the bigger events with the batfam sure Tim can kinda fade into the bg a bit, if you’re more talking about fanon the fanon version of him is prettyyyyy uhhhhh not really the same as how he was in pre New 52 canon, if you’re mainly reading New 52 era Batfam stuff then that Tim I also don’t understand the appeal of bc thats Not My Boy, if you’re interested in a different member primarily and only familiar with Tim when he shows up in things focused on that other character then it’s easy to not really understand the appeal right away bc he’s more there to support that character rather than shine in his own right.

I think it’s also worth mentioning he’s just not everybody’s cup of tea, and that’s totally fine. Like, these are fictional characters and sometimes you just will vibe with a character and sometimes you won’t! idk if this helped at all or even made sense. but yeah. I just think he’s neat 😌

#Anonymous

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quokkacore · 3 years

Text

𝔯𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔪𝔟𝔢𝔯 𝔪𝔢 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔠𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰 [nct collab call]

take a look inside the chapters of this history book and read of several events spanning across all of human civilization. read about people from all walks of life: great heroes, legendary foes, daring outlaws, ordinary people. read about the rise and fall of empires, conspiring courts, the rise and fall of empires, forbidden alliances and romances. in fact, dear reader, don’t just read. learn from the past, because if we don’t, we are doomed to repeat it.

𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖊𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉

in lieu of hitting 500 followers, i’ve decided to announce this collaboration!! i’ve always loved history so why not? some of these eras are specific to certain cultures and places, but others are a lot broader. at the end of the day, they’re your stories. also if you saw me post this on accident the first time... no you didn’t <3

𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖘𝖎𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

this is a historical au collaboration, but any genre is allowed as long as your story is set in your chosen era! however, smut is not allowed for jisung or if you, the writer, are underage.

all works must be member x reader. love triangles and the like are allowed, but the main male character must be the member you chose.

eras and members are chosen on a first come, first served basis. please message me if you want to participate! if your main blog isn’t your writing blog, please be sure to tell me your writing blog so i can add it to this list correctly :)

you must have discord, since i will be sending all writers working on this collaboration a discord server link. there, i will send announcements and we can all give each other feedback!

tag any triggering content. if you’re not sure, ask in the discord server!

research is definitely encouraged as you will be writing about historical eras, some with specific cultural significance! please be respectful of any cultures or traditions you write about.

in the same vein, don’t romanticize any historical events or figures that are controversial, or have had negative cultural impact (ie, 9/11, the crusades, colonialism). again, if you’re not sure, ask in the discord server!

minimum word count is 2k. your words cannot be blurbs or timestamps.

please inform me if: you’re changing your url, you’re going on hiatus, or if you need to leave the collaboration.

the deadline is currently november 2021, but it is very flexible and can be pushed back even further should several writers ask!

after you’re added, i would really appreciate it if you reblogged this post to boost its reach :D

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖎𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖝

moon taeil -

johnny suh - @aquamoonchaii - the joseon dynasty

lee taeyong - @moondustaeil - the victorian era

nakamoto yuta -

qian kun -

kim doyoung - me! - the renaissance

lee ten - @sleepylixie - the 1940s

jung jaehyun - @doderyscoffee - the rococo era

dong sicheng - @loonacitys - the regency

kim jungwoo - @smileyjaeminies - ancient greece

wong yukhei -

mark lee - @lamaiejeno - the 1920s

xiao dejun -

wong kunhang - @zephyr-abyss - the golden age of piracy

huang renjun - @seulgiswhoreee - the 1930s

lee jeno - @jenoentry - the roman empire

osaki shotaro -

lee donghyuck -

na jaemin - @jaehyyns - the 1960s

liu yangyang - @lovelyutas - the late middle ages

zhong chenle - @softcrescendo - the tang dynasty

jung sungchan -

park jisung - @heejinnien - the three kingdoms period

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖚𝖓𝖎𝖙𝖘

listed below are historical eras to choose from, a brief description of them (except anything past the 1900s as they’re pretty self explanatory), and a few examples of media or cultural phenomena you could use as inspiration if you can’t think of anything! media will be in italics, cultural phenomena will not.

ancient greece (800 BCE—32 BCE): a civilization based in the mediterranean, known for its extensive mythology and advancements in math, art, western philosophy and government. inspiration: the odyssey, hercules, the iliad, percy jackson.

the han dynasty (206 BCE—220): known for its long reign and achievements, it was the second imperial dynasty of china. it is highly regarded as an age of peace and prosperity that allowed china to grow into a major world power. inspiration: painted skin, the virtuous queen of han, the king’s woman

roman empire (27 BCE—476): in its time, this was one of the most powerful empires in the “known world” as a result of its political prowess and military power. it spanned from england, to the mediterranean, to parts of the middle east. inspiration: the heroes of olympus, pompeii, gladiator

the tang dynasty (618—906): regarded by many as china’s golden age of arts and culture, the tang dynasty allowed aristocratic life to flourish. poetry, art, and education prospered. inspiration: house of flying daggers, the empress of china

the viking age (793—1066): time period in scandinavian europe during which vikings conquered parts of north america and england. inspiration: vikings, how to train your dragon trilogy

the three kingdoms period (892—936): period in korean history in which the korean peninsula was split into three kingdoms, all wanting to conquer one another: goguryeo, silla and baekje. inspiration: the blade and petal, hwarang

feudal japan (1185—1602): period of civil unrest in japan, during which the political world was unstable, and power fluctuated between the shogunate and the royal court. it can be separated into two main eras: the kamakura period, and the sengoku period. inspiration: samurai, inuyasha, hakuouki

the late middle ages (1250—1450): a relatively brutal period, known for its numerous wars and civil unrest, throughout europe and asia. inspiration: the princess bride, robin hood, marco polo

joseon dynasty (1392—1897): the last and longest ruling confucian monarchy in korean history. inspiration: 100 days my prince, mr. sunshine, rookie historian goo hae-ryung

the renaissance (1450—1600): period based in europe (mainly italy) which was known for its advances in art, technology and science. inspiration: shakespeare in love, romeo and juliet, ever after

the golden age of piracy (1650—1730): during which maritime piracy across the world grew more and more prominent due to large shipments of cargo making their way to places like the caribbean, west africa, north america and europe. inspiration: pirates of the caribbean, treasure island

the rococo era (1737—1770): art movement in europe which glamorized grandeur and luxury, revolving around heaven, angels, love and lavishness. inspiration: barry lyndon, marie antoinette, a little chaos

the age of revolutions (1765—1849): a period in which a shift occurred in the western world, and monarchical institutions were overthrown in places like latin america, north america, and france. inspirations: les miserables, hamilton

the regency (1795—1837): british time period surrounding the time before, during, and after which prince george of england iv ruled as prince regent after his father was deemed unfit, during which time aristocracy flourished. inspiration: pride and prejudice, emma, bridgerton

victorian era (1837—1901): period spanning the rule of queen victoria of england, during which the industrial revolution occurred and urbanization became widespread. inspiration: the young victoria, the phantom of the opera, penny dreadful

the old west (1860—1890): period in american history during which many made the dangerous decision of migrating west of the Mississippi river, in search of gold, new land, and money. inspiration: jane got a gun, the good the bad and the ugly

the 1900s: moulin rouge!, finding neverland

the 1910s: downton abbey, my fair lady, anastasia

the 1920s: the great gatsby, boardwalk empire, silent films

the 1930s: bonnie and clyde, the handmaiden, the beginning of hollywood’s golden age

the 1940s: casablanca, the godfather, the notebook

the 1950s: swing kids, grease, dead poets society

the 1960s: american graffiti, the british invasion, summer of love

the 1970s: the lovely bones, mindhunter, the birth of punk music

the 1980s: atomic blonde, stranger things, the americans

#nct smut #nct fluff #nct angst #nct au #nct scenarios #nct x reader #kpop x reader #kpop scenarios #kpop angst #kpop fluff

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maccreadysimp · 3 years

Text

breaking down this anti-ian article bc it bothers me ( from the child of a bipolar mother and a male teen with same sex attraction ) while also providing valid reasons ian sucks ( from someone who likes ian )

ive had this drafted for a while so i dont think i cover anything from season 11

tw for i^cest and r^pe

he was with a married man

in this point it points out that he was with kash and he continued his relationship with kash even after linda put cameras in the store

“Ian didn't seem to care about how wrong his affair with Kash was or how much it could hurt Kash's wife Linda, whom he saw at the store regularly. “

that is a quote from that part.

ian gallagher was fifteen in season one, kash was an older man who bought him gifts and payed attention to ian ,, that was not on ian , none of that was ian fault because he was a child

ian wasnt open with lip

“ Ian didn't tell Lip about his preferences and forced Lip to figure it out on his own. Lip was instantly accepting of his brother's truth and even offered to help him figure out any confusion he might be harboring, so it's really strange that Ian wasn't just upfront with his closest confidant from the start.”

no , lip wasnt forced to figure it out on his own and he also wasn’t instantly accepting.

in this point it mentions that ‘they’re extremely close ( bestfriends and brothers ) so its strange ian didnt tell him’

like point 1 , ian is a fifteen year old boy, growing up on the southside , and thoughout the show it has mentioned multiple times that the southside isnt that accepting

back to lip -- lip wasnt accepting, sure he was fine but ‘helping your younger brother figure it out’ by having a (female) classmate give him a blowjob isnt helping

he secretly dated his best friends brother

“Most friends have an unspoken rule about not dating each other's siblings, but Ian broke this rule by secretly entering into a relationship with Mandy's closeted brother Mickey.”

the only thing i have to say about this is , he was still with kash and mickey was a boy in his age group who was gay , growing up in the southside ian probably thought he was the token gay so of course hes going to chase after mickey

he stood by as kash attacked mickey

“Ian didn't do anything to stop Kash from shooting his new lover, and didn't even tell the police about his boss' over-the-top display of jealous action so proper justice could be served.”

okay. because two men he had fallen for had gotten into a fight, there was a gun involved and he panicked, in the end after mickey got shot he went to him

now to address the quote, he didnt say anything to the police because he probably knew that that would bring shame onto kash and his family, along with mickey and his family who are very homophobic

oh yeah and it was like 2011 and cops suck and THEY LIVE ON THE SOUTHSIDE

he and lip tried framing terry milkovich

oh the homophobic and racist dad of his boyfriend and bestfriend who tried to kill him and r*ped his daughter ?

yeah , shit man , that was real bad they shouldn’t have done that /s

he dated jimmy-steves married father

“Ian didn't bother telling Jimmy the truth about his father and didn't end his relationship with Lloyd upon finding out that he had a secret wife and family, either.”

at this point ian is probably sixteen but that doesnt matter bc i wont even address that

he met him at a club and then used his relationship with ned to make mickey jealous which was one of the reasons he kept seeing him, he didnt tell jimmy-steve about the relationship or his father bc he shouldnt find out from him he should find out from his father , again like kash, ned was an older man who payed attention to ian and ned later did develop feelings feelings for ian

he stole lips identity to enlist in the army

he enlisted because he didnt know what to do with himself, its implied/stated that the army timeline was the start of his bipolar

“While impersonating Lip, Ian had tried to steal a helicopter and then proceeded to go AWOL.”

this is because of the bipolar he suffers from, it is referenced later in the series after he gets back and hes manic

ian refused to accept being bipolar

of course he didnt accept it, it is made very clear that his family thinks lowly of monica so of course if hes the lucky duck to get what his siblings demonize her for, of course he’ll not want to be it

“He refused to take medications that could alter his personality or mood.”

okay. this is why im making this whole post, this goes along with part 15 ( or so idk ) ,,

my mother , my dear mother, who is bipolar and doesnt take her meds because they are mood altering , my mom doesnt take med because she told me once that they make her feel like shit, she told me that a little after i was born she started taking them but realized she felt nothing, she felt nothing for my dad or for i ( making her numb )

she told me anti deppresents dont help either because when shes on them and manic it pushes her past productive and into angry

my dad told me that when my mom was on bi polar medication she would seem angry most of the time

he wasnt faitful to mickey

“Ian's bipolar disorder made him very reckless and impulsive and led him to be unfaithful.”

lets break that down.

ians. bipolar. disorder.

this plot point i actually didnt like, mainly bc ian never addresses it so ill give the article a point. but then i take away 2 because they have more of a problem with his bipolar messing with him rather than the fact he never apologized and they never worked it out

ian stole yevgeny

before i start quoting i should mention because his boyfriend, who has supported and helped him is suddenly telling him he needs help, he was helping raise yev so he’ll see yev as his own

“Ian failed to recognize just how crazy he was acting...”

cuting you off right there , he was in a bipolar state, he wasnt ‘crazy’ and isnt ‘crazy’

he cant even keep count of his number of partners

just slutshaming i see

he helped throw frank off a bridge

“His relationship with Frank was understandably never the same after that, as Frank struggled to get over this act of betrayal and cruelty.”

‘was never the same after that’ frank never liked ian, ian was probably his least favorite and that point is very apparent

also , it wasnt just ian , his siblings and his boyfriend caleb

he left a healthy relationship to be with mickey

he fell in love with mickey at 15 , mickey was a comfort and always someone to fall back on, when mickey was taken away and no longer in the picture his heart still obviously was with mickey and when mickey came back he didnt know what to do

he told mickey he had a boyfriend but because mickey has been such a constant in his life he finally has back of course he couldnt resist

he liked trevor, i could tell he did but trevor wasnt the one he watched get r^ped by a russian prostitute, he wasnt the one ian was secretly dating bc it would be a death wish other wise, he wasnt the one there when ian was manic or depressive ( at the start )

he tried blackmailing an old client for money

“Instead of raising the money in an honest manner, Ian chose to visit an old client from his time working at the Fairy Tail and blackmail him into funding the shelter.”

because he felt indebted to trevor and wanted to make it up to him, it would have taken longer to do it in ‘an honest manner’ when his sister would have gotten it instead, he knew how much gay youths like he once was needed a safe place

“He grew up wanting to be nothing like his father, but this whole money-making scheme was straight out of the Frank playbook”

because thats all he knows, he grew up with that ‘playbook’ so of course hes going to take a page out of it, he is nothing like frank , franks money making schemes are selfish and for his own greed while ian wanted the money to help build a safe space for lgbt youth

he let fame inflate his ego

of course he did, hes a southside kid who was destined to fail

also it is very apparent that during the gay jesus era he went off his medication which didnt help

“Before long, he just completely forgot about his ex and focused solely on being a deity”

as much as yes, he did let it mess with his head, he was trying to still help lgbt youth and was going against anti gay churchs , in the end it didnt work out for him because he was off his meds and went over board

he stopped taking his meds

see previous point and ‘ian refused to accept being bipolar’

he actually wanted to stay in prison

because he was doing good in there

ian was helping others and was spreading awareness about lgbt with in the prison , and as him and jail scenes go , we can see people were listening to him and he was trying to make it safe sane and consensual

he let down his army of followers

“Ian admitted that most of his actions were completely irrational and the mere results of his bipolar disorder.”

he didnt want to, we can see this, because he knew he would let down everyone, his family were the only ones to ever ground him and they knew it would be the best option for his own mental health

during the gallavich wedding we can see that a lot of his supporters still have his back because they must know how hard it was for him to put all of that success on something he can’t control

he constantly wasted his potential

this is actually the only point in this article i actually agree with , so only 1/20 i agree with

his relationship with mickey wasn’t actually great

“Mickey spent the first several years of their relationship denying his feelings for Ian.”

he was raised by a homophobic and racist father who he knew would react the way he did when terry had caught the two that one day

“Even after he finally embraced his true self, Ian's bipolar disorder kept them from becoming truly happy together.”

yes but mickey was there for him the entire time and helped him through it, he told him he loved him which was really big for him and did his best to care for him

“They couldn't seem to remain faithful to each other for more than a few weeks.”

back to the point about ians bipolar but for mickey he wanted monogamy , now that scene in s11 may say otherwise but it is very clear that he wants a monogamous relationship with ian and ian ( after getting help ) wants one too, and in the later seasons they are monogamous

“When Mickey asked Ian to run away to Mexico with him, Ian refused.”

he wanted to, it’s obvious, but ian has his family and didnt want to abandon them again, i think part of him knew he would see mickey again because they always find eachother, he gave mickey all of his money and wanted mickey to have a good life

“Their relationship was simply never healthy.”

no it wasnt, but thats why the ship is great in its own way, the gay closet kid raised by a homophobic man is obviously going to have a lot of baggage , and ian who is bipolar and struggling with himself will also have a lot of baggage , but in the end they love eachother and that really shows in season five and season seven specifically

that is all lol ,,, this is long sorry

now, i am not a ian apologist , i love ian but hes a dumbass sometimes

actual valid reasons ian sucks

genuinely believes frank is worse than terry

yes frank was definitely abusive but terry is definitely worse ,,

mentally/physically/sexually abusive , the whole nine yards

terry hired a prostitute to r^pe his son , threatened to kill him and ian on multiple occasions , r^ped his daughter who ended up pregnant and is actively racist

frank on the other hand will make gay jokes but in the end doesnt give enough of a shit , he has attacked his children on multiple occasions but not to the brutality that terry has ( this isnt me excusing it )

sorry ian , terry is worse

never apologized

he never apologized for all the shit he put mickey and his family through, never apologized to mickey for cheating on him , never apologized for all the manic and depressive episodes mickey endured with him

never apologized for walking away when he couldn’t handle it, in hall of shame mickey actually acknowledges this saying ‘its youre whole MO’

debbies sexuality

he has constantly made statements saying debbie isnt gay and that bothers me because , why does it care ? as a gay man and as a gay man who soent time with a lot of lgbt youth wouldnt he support his sister even if shes just ‘experimenting’?

in the recent season he doesnt seem to care and doesn’t say anything but it still bothers me

mickey only getting like 80% of his heart

okay look , i get what ian means when he says this , everyones hes been with has made him who he is but fucking hell dude ,, shut up , thats your husband , thats the love of your life you shouldnt be saying shit like that , especially to him

and then this man had the audacity to say mickey probably feels the same about past flings when he knows that ian is the only one hes probably ever been with/serious about

obviously there is probably more but those are the main ones that come to mind

—

before anyone brings up the trans or bi thing im going to explain my thought process for him

like ive probably mentioned multiple times he grew up southside and obviously only ever grew up with lgb and not t ,, trevor did inform him a lot and ian became supre accepting of everyone,, sexual preference isnt transphobic but i do think he approached the matter badly

now the bi thing , legit all i think is that he doesnt hate bisexual people its just that the man he really liked slept with a woman and never expressed any heterosexual attraction so it probably just suprised him and pissed him off because caleb did cheat on ian

—

if you read this far HOLY SHIT THANKS LOL ,, im not adding things that i think are pro about ian this was just me breaking down that article and giving my two cents :)

feel free to message me and talk to me or send me articles like this about any other character/relationship and i will totally break that one down too lol

thanks for letting me rant

#mine #shameless #ian gallgher #gallavich #mickey milkovich #text post

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mari-beau · 3 years

Text

GIVE ME A REASON: PART FIVE -A Rogue One fanfic

I honestly don’t know this was going to take the detour it did, but hey, that’s fine. Anyway, Jyn is very confused about her attachment to Cassian, and his own messy feelings.

Also on AO3

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Title: Give Me A Reason: Part Five

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Characters: Jyn Erso POV, Cassian Andor

Pairing: Cassian/Jyn (mostly pre-ship?)

Spoilers: Rogue One; Episode IV A New Hope

Setting: Post-Rogue One AU (Cassian & Jyn live); Also during/post A New Hope

Warnings: Implied Bi!Cassian; References to Naked Times in the Shower; Characters being hot messes and confused about Feelings

Words: 3,226

Story Summary: Jyn’s entire universe has been turned on its head, so maybe she’s clinging a little too hard to the one thing she feels certain of (strangely enough) as she tries to figure out her place in the galaxy. And maybe she’s being a little overprotective of a wounded captain.

Also can be found on AO3.

The energy level in the large mess hall was an incongruous mix of highs and lows. Quite a number of people were congregated at various tables, but it wasn’t at capacity. Some groups were chattering away, with a happiness and lightness Jyn honestly couldn’t recall witnessing in anyone in a long, long time, on any planet or moon. But there were other groups, and individuals, that were quiet, lethargic, mostly just nursing cups of restorative drinks and pushing bland food around their plates. Hungover.

Jyn supposed that made sense. Either way, no one was really in a down mood. They were either still excited about the Great Victory, or suffering the consequences from being too excited about it the previous night.

Why did she feel like Cassian and herself were the mopiest pair in the entire mess hall? Yes, it was really gratifying to know that their suicide mission hadn’t been entirely in vain. They had more than succeeded, the plans had been transmitted to the rebels, and the rebels had used them to destroy the Death Star. But still… The feeling of loss weighed heavily on Jyn. And she sensed it was yet another burden laid on Cassian’s shoulders. In a vulnerable, pained moment, he’d told her that maybe it would’ve been better if she’d left him on Scarif when they’d miraculously been spared from the blastwave. And perhaps near the end there (what should’ve been the end), he’d embraced the release from his conscience as hard as he’d embraced her.

She understood. She’d felt the peace there on that beach, as well.

The thing was, she still felt it, with him. Even when filled with other confusing emotions, some of which he was the cause of, she still felt… content… even happy? Was this what happy felt like?

Well, no, maybe not this, not still half-mourning a father she’d lost decades ago but then lost again, mourning the loss of the friends she’d made in just a matter of a day but who had been truer than any others in her life, coming to terms with the guilt of leading so many on a suicide mission, which she then survived.

And Cassian had survived.

“I’ll get the food,” Jyn said after they’d found a table tucked in a corner and Cassian claimed the seat that allowed him to put his back to the wall. (Of course). Jyn would’ve chosen it herself, but she didn’t protest that she would be forced to sit with her back to the entire mess hall. He was rubbing at his leg. The memory of the surgical scars running down his hip and thigh, barely a week old, a fresh pink against olive skin, popped abruptly into her mind. She shoved them aside. “Is there anything specific you want?”

“No.” He was smiling even as he shook his head. “Beggars can’t be choosers. I’m not picky.”

“Me, neither.” Force, sometimes they were so much the same, their lives filled with the same sort of deprivation, that it hurt. It hurt to think of the little boy Cassian had been, not having a favorite food, because having food at all was something to be grateful for. Something Jyn had known herself, still knew, and would never unlearn her associated habits of eating too much (if given the opportunity) and too fast.

“I’ll be right back,” she said and headed towards the serving line.

A couple people stared as she added more than two helpings of everything to her tray, but she thought it was more out of shock over the disproportionate amount of food to her size than anger that she was maybe taking more than her share. By the time she’d collected enough to feed an entire unit of Wookies and headed back to Cassian, two humans in non-uniforms (which wasn’t uncommon for the rebels) had sat down at the table.

They were the type of people who took up more space than they needed. An amateurish attempt at intimidating others through establishing dominance. Jyn had learned to be more wary of those who drew no attention, who lurked in the shadows, who had unassuming appearances disguising a lethality the brazen could never hope to possess.

So it was really just instinct that had her assessing gaze passing over the two trying-too-hard-to-have-swagger rebels to the slight man sitting quietly in the corner. He was a killer, undeniably. But not by choice. And Jyn knew something she thought most didn’t remotely suspect; Cassian Andor was soft deep down inside. And every terrible thing he’d done tortured him. Which made him even more dangerous, especially to Jyn, who she feared may be the only one to have ever seen his vulnerability, his humanity. To everyone else, he was just some Rebel super-spy-assassin, a good little soldier.

He’d locked eyes with her, but neither of his companions had seemed to notice, instead going on about some miraculous feats of badassery during some mission or other.

“You’re in my seat,” Jyn said, interrupting the bigger of the pair mid-sentence.

The man who was easily twice her size froze, puffing himself up when he looked at her, not that he needed to with that bulk of muscle, but his first instinct was obviously to meet her firm tone with aggression. She knew the response of those who’d survived on the streets well. And even if this was no seedy back alley or dive, this was her territory. And she wasn’t going to be the one to back down.

“Am I?” Big man said.

Before Jyn could respond, Cassian’s quiet voice cut in.

“You are.”

The big man looked at the wounded captain and his entire demeanor changed. Apparently, the soldier knew Cassian for the dangerous creature he was.

After a brief moment in which the expression on Cassian’s face gave nothing away, Big Man’s attention returned to Jyn.

“Uh, sorry,” he said, vacating the chair. Setting the heavily-laden tray down, Jyn plopped into the spot opposite Casian as the big guy lumbered off to find another chair, seemingly to rejoin them. Ugh.

Jyn slid the tray across the table in front of Cassian, then dragged her chair to sit directly beside him. There was no way to lift any of the dishes off the tray without losing some of the impressive pile of food. They could share.

She reached across Cassian and grabbed some sort of bread roll and- oh, force, he smelled good, like the cleanser from the shower and freshly washed skin that was silky smooth except for the scars and- she shoved the roll in her mouth before she did something embarrassing like hop onto his lap and bury her face in his neck.

The very large rebel’s companion had remained at the table, and was staring. Yes, at Jyn, but also at Cassian, at the pair of them, at the pile of food she’d torn into but Casian was contemplating eating with an actual utensil like some sort of civilized person. And the man’s gaze dropped, but Jyn knew it wasn’t to assess her attributes, none were visible beneath the loose-fitting clothes she was wearing, Cassian’s clothes. Oh. Right.

“You must be Jyn Erso,” he said and held out a hand, which was surprisingly clean, so Jyn shoved the last bite of roll into her mouth and shook it. Firm but not too firm, and his dark brown eyes were surprisingly soft as they met her gaze, a little guarded and very curious. This one was obviously the more intelligent of the pair.

“That I am,” she said after swallowing the large piece of bread that threatened to lodge in her throat. “And you are…?”

“Oh,” he laughed self-consciously. He had a nice, easy going smile. “Sorry. Yeah. I’m Tarrek Zin.” His large friend returned with a chair. “And this is Utto.”

The giant known as Utto nodded, grunted in response, before sitting down in the chair that was obviously ill-equipped to handle his bulk. A man of even less words than the spy.

“And you’re… friends of Cassian?” she asked, trying not to appear too interested. Who were these people? Cassian didn’t have friends. Not that she’d known him all that long, but she was pretty certain the man was a resolute loner. Aside from K-2SO, who was lost to him now.

“Yes,” Tarrek said at the same time Cassian said, “No.”

She withheld her laughter because Tarrek Zin seemed genuinely a little hurt by the terse captain’s response.

“We’ve worked together before,” Cassian gave as further explanation. “They’re…”

“Freelance,” Tarrek said.

Cassian gave a little snort of laughter. “That’s one way to put it.” He took a larger bite of the mystery protein.

“Oh, what does that mean?” Now, Jyn was intrigued. They were an odd sort to find on a military base, even amongst the ragtag collection of rebels that formed the Alliance. They were both human, Jyn thought, although there could be a bit of something else in the big man, who was surprisingly not unattractive for a bruiser type, with thick brown hair and a symmetrical face with a square jaw and only a small crescent scar on one cheek. The smaller man was by no means small, taller than Cassian, well built with flawless brown skin and a friendly, appealing face with just a hint of scruff neatly trimmed into a goatee. And a charmer’s grin, which he turned on Jyn.

“We find things.”

Again, that ironic little half-laugh from Cassian, who finally looked up from the pile of food.

“They steal things,” he said, pointing his fork at them. “Don’t let Tarrek try to pretty it up. They’re nothing more than thieves.”

“So’s your girl, from what I hear,” Tarrek said. “Didn’t you all find her in Wobani, serving time for forgery and assault amongst many other crimes?”

“She’s not my girl,” Cassian said, not denying her criminal record. And Jyn would be lying if she claimed the denial that she was his girl didn’t hurt a little. Even though it shouldn’t. She wasn’t a possession. And neither was Cassian, so she could stop feeling possessive of him, as well, really-

“Then you’re a free agent?” Tarrek flashed that charming grin of his again, with an edge of mischievousness. And a bit of something else in his eyes as he lookd at Cassian. “Because with the Empire scrambling after the destruction of their favorite new toy, no one’s going to notice if some stray things get found. We could use your skills on at least a dozen different jobs I can think of…” Tarrek shot a brief glance to Jyn before returning his attention to Cassian. “And Not Your Girl for that matter.”

“I think I’ve made it very clear I will not be going on any jobs with you,” Cassian said. “Even if the Alliance thought we’d need someone with your skillset again for some reason, I’d find someone else.”

Oh, wow. That seemed a little harsh, even from the jaded captain. The hurt on Tarrek’s face was blatant, and he looked away. Jyn couldn’t help but think there was some sort of complicated history at play.

“May I…?” Utto asked, indicating the crispy poultry leg sitting near the edge of the tray, the big man oblivious to the undercurrents of the conversation.

“Uh… be my guest,” Jyn said and large, burly fingers snatched it right up. Unsurprisingly, the whole drumstick fit in the man’s mouth. He ate even faster than Jyn, chewing a bit then pulling the bare bone out, picked absolutely clean in less time than it took Cassian to cut another bite off the brick of vegetable-thing or whatever it was. Food. That’s all Jyn needed to know.

“Well, we better get going if we want to get a good seat at the ceremony, seeing as we’re not guests of honor,” Tarrek said, seeming to have recovered from the hurt feelings enough to tease. Cassian made a displeased noise but said nothing as Tarrek got to his feet and locked eyes with the rebel captain. Some sort of weird exchange passed between them, that seemed almost- “The offer always stands if you change your mind.”

“I won’t,” Cassian said, then went back to studiously eating.

Tarrek rolled his eyes but then gave Jyn a broad grin, leaning over to whisper loudly, “You think about it, too, Jyn Erso. Maybe you can convince the captain here not to throw his life away for the rebellion.”

Jyn just gave him a nod, disconcerted about the man’s extremely accurate knowledge of Cassian. Or maybe his unwavering loyalty was just that obvious.

“Let’s get out of here,” Tarrek said to his large companion, who appeared about Wookie-size when he stood up, only beefier.

Utto lingered a moment as his friend walked away, and Cassian frowned at him, that furrow forming between his brows. Jyn’s curiosity was also piqued as the moment stretched out awkwardly long, Utto’s fierce blue-grey gaze scouring Cassian’s face.

Cassian broke first, dropping his fork onto the tray with a clatter and sighing loudly.

“You have something you want to say, Utto?” he asked.

“You hurt Tarrek,” he said. “Don’t change your mind about joining us. Unless you mean it.”

“Understood,” Cassian said. “Is that all?”

“Yeah. That’s it.”

Utto glanced at Jyn, then gave Cassian another assessing look before grunting and shaking his head, then stalked off after his partner.

Cassian returned his attention to the food in front of him, like nothing had happened at all.

“What was that?” Jyn asked, her mind racing, trying to put everything she’d just witnessed into some sort of context.

“Nothing,” Cassian said. “Just two of many I’ve pissed off.”

“But they’re angry because they want you.” Jyn was pretty sure about what she’d just witnessed, albeit confusing.

“The Alliance used them to break into an Imperial facility. We were after intelligence stored there. Tarrek and Utto made out like the bandits they are by stealing the tech stored there and selling it on the black market. It was their most lucrative job ever. They still pick up odd smuggling tasks for the rebellion, but they want me to help them with more heist like that again.”

His face was closed off, but Jyn needed to know if she was right, needed for Cassian to continue to let her in, needed his trust and confidence.

“I get that,” she said, “but they want you… like physically. At least, Tarrek does.”

Cassian met her gaze, slowly closed his eyes, sighed and shook his head.

“I never should’ve kissed him.”

“Oh.” Well, that explained both the heat and the chill in Tarrek’s gaze when he looked at Cassian. Apparently, it hadn’t been just one-sided. And maybe she’d been reading Cassian’s looks, the way he touched her, all wrong. Maybe the intimacy they’d shared in the shower, naked but not uncomfortable, washing one another with tender caresses, had only held sexual undertones on her side. Maybe he wasn’t attracted to her in the same way she was to him. Maybe he- “You er… kiss males?”

“Sometimes,” he shrugged. “When it’s necessary to complete a mission.” He licked his lips. “Sometimes just because I want to.”

Jyn stared at the pile of green puree of what she hoped was a vegetable of some sort, trying to swallow down the stupid feelings clashing inside of her; jealousy and possessiveness, hurt, and even a little bit of titillation contemplating Cassian’s sexual history.

Long fingers skimmed the back of her hand and curled around hers, squeezing gently until she met those rich, dark eyes of his.

“Sometimes I kiss females, too.” He held her gaze so she resisted the urge to stare at his mouth.

“When it’s necessary to complete a mission?”

“And just because I want to.”

Did he want to? Jyn felt like he did, thought everything in the way he looked at her indicated a deep affection and need for her. But at the same time, she knew he wouldn’t, not here in a public place, not when he hadn’t even kissed her when they were alone. Not even when they were naked, standing under the spray of water, his hands buried in her hair, rinsing out the cleanser, her hands wrapped around his waist, helping to support his weight, her skin prickling with the closeness of his body, the caress of his fingers on her scalp, the feeling of his-

“We should get moving,” he said, releasing her hand to push his chair back and stand, looking only a little unsteady on his feet. “We need to find you some clothes that fit.”

“Why?” Jyn said, standing as well and brushing her hand over the front of the loose shirt. At least Cassian wasn’t an extremely large man, or else his clothes would fall right off her. As it was, she’d had to roll up the sleeves of his shirt and tuck as much as possible into the fatigues that she’d belted to cinch in at the waist, which would’ve been entirely hopeless if he wasn’t a lean man. She’d also had to roll up the hems to her ankles. She had no other option than the infirmary shoes. Okay, she looked ridiculous. But she didn’t care. The clothes smelled like Cassian and made her feel perpetually wrapped up in him.

“It’s not exactly fit for being presented to a princess.”

Cassian reached to pick up the tray, which Jyn felt a little bit of guilt for not having completely cleaned of its contents and wasting food, but there had been unforeseen interruptions. She grabbed it before he could, doubting his ability to walk and carry a laden tray a few days after major surgeries and with bones still healing. But had he said,

“Princess?! What princess?”

“Princess Leia will be hosting the ceremony.”

“Oh.” Jyn headed across the mess hall to bus the remains of their meal, perhaps moving a little too quickly for her wounded companion, a sort of panicky nervousness fluttering in her stomach as their potentially being the center of attention approached. It would be brief if they were, she tried to tell herself. The last time she’d been the center of the Alliance’s attention hadn’t gone well. Had, in point of fact, ended in a rogue suicide mission.

“You’ll be fine. She’s Bail Organa’s daughter. Sensible woman. Fierce.”

Jyn shoved the tray into the reclamation unit a little harder than necessary. “And how do you know her?”

Cassian laughed, light and genuine.

“I don’t know her, not personally.” His hand went to her shoulder, seemingly to guide her but she knew the request inherent in it and snaked her arm around his waist to let him lean a little of his weight on her. “Let’s see if we can track down your missing clothes.”

Jyn didn’t care if they couldn’t. Let the princess see her in Cassian’s clothes, let everyone think they were together. Because whether or not he kissed her, whether or not it was romantic, Cassian Andor was hers. Even if he sent her away and she never saw him again while she lived, he would always be hers.

Force, she needed to get a handle on this possessiveness. Because it owned her. He owned her.

His palm came to rest on the back of her neck as they left the mess and headed towards the storage and supply wing of the base. His thumb stroked along her nape and she leaned into him, relaxed as a Savarian cat being petted.

Dank farrik, did she ever belong to him.

#fic: give me a reason #Rogue One #fanfiction #rebelcaptain #Cassian x Jyn #Cassian Andor #Jyn Erso #my fic

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primasveraas-writing · 4 years

Text

And In Darkness, I Stand- Chapter 4

Kallus' leg is never quite the same after Bahryn. But then again, neither is he.

1 2 3 4 5

4. Yavin IV

“Captain Kallus.”

Kallus turns the best he can, gripping the handle of his cane as he does. Zeb is making his way over, his tall frame parting the flow of traffic in the hall.

“Kal,” Zeb amends with a smile, brushing a hand against the small of Kallus’ back. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Kallus nods, and grimaces. “I don't suppose I can use my position to get out of physical therapy?”

“No. I’ll still carry you there myself if I have to.”

Heat flames across Kallus’ cheek, but there’s nothing he can say to defend himself. His daily routine has been centered around his recovery for weeks, despite his protestations. On his first day back, he reported to Command for an extra few hours rather than going to the medbay, which caused a small uproar among the likes of Hera and Zeb. The resulting situation was a lecture from Zeb and the entire medical staff, as well as a warning from Command as to where his priorities should lie.

But aside from the initial excitement, Kallus has settled in quite well. He has his own post and a small command to his name. He’s been forgiven by the Rebels in an official capacity, and has learned when to ignore the snide comments made by his less-forgiving compatriots. For the most part, his job is normal and steady- he’s in the company of fellow spies most of the time, but everyone on Yavin is well acquainted with danger, regardless of their roles within the Rebellion. He nearly fits in.

It would be better if he were not so limited by his physical ability. He cannot stand on his leg unsupported, so he has been using a cane constantly, save for a few small excursions across his quarters, which, so far, have been painful and short-lived.

Suddenly, Kallus is bad at keeping himself out of trouble, between his efforts to heal and his apparently lacking self-care habits. This is yet another change he attributes to rebel influence, but he rather likes it, even if he is adjusting to this new life slowly.

“You’re improving and you’re not going to stop now,” Zeb growls. He may as well be threatening Kallus, who minds this fact very little. His hand tightens on his cane.

“I know,” Kallus breathes, and drops his gaze. His next step forward is slightly unsteady, but he’s overly aware of Zeb watching him closely and that his friend is fully prepared to catch him should he trip.

Kallus hasn’t fallen in weeks. He can make it all the way across base without needing to rest now. The medics say the fracture is largely healed, and he thinks he must have made some kind of progress over the last few weeks.

“Are you coming with me?” Kallus tries not to sound too hopeful or excited; Zeb usually accompanies him to the medcenter for checkups and therapy, if only to ensure that Kallus himself actually attends.

“Of course.” Zeb glances at him. “‘Til you say you don’t want me there.”

“I do,” Kallus affirms, too quickly, and tries to discern if he’s blushing again. His face still feels hot.

They make their way down to the medcenter, where the staff greets him and Zeb both by name. The journey takes longer than he’d like, and Kallus tries not to count how many people pass him. It’s mid-afternoon by then, and his leg has started to twinge, although he turns away from Zeb and bites the inside of his cheek to get through the moments of pain.

Zeb steadies him as he strips off his jacket and boots, clutching Kallus’ left elbow. Kallus shoots him a grateful smile. He wobbles on one leg, unsteady, and he knows he will not fall.

“Ready?”

It’s not Zeb who asks, but a nurse. Cida Amada, who was one of the first people he got to know during his stay in the medcenter. She barely looks old enough to have such responsibility, with her shy smiles and soft tones, but she and Kallus took a liking to each other. They made each other cry, he lost in frustration and agony, and she hurt after discovering his tendency to yell and swear when in crippling pain. Yet once he had apologized, their relationship improved, and Amada became his primary caretaker, which most predominantly includes cajoling him into showing up for his appointments.

She and Zeb seem to adore each other for this fact. Kallus can only pretend he hates it so much.

He nods, his mouth suddenly dry, and she reaches out to take his hand. He lets her, and Cida smiles at him, not meeting his eyes for more than a few seconds.

“It’ll feel better later even if it’s uncomfortable right now, Alexsandr. How have the last few rotations been?”

She is gentle and kind. Forgiving, too, which is the strangest of offerings he’s even been gifted in his life. Kallus mostly expected to be dead by now, rather than guided through a half-stocked medbay by a medic exclusively trained by war doctors. Cida genuinely likes him, too, which is odd. Both Hera and Zeb had to assure him of this fact, though Kallus is sure she wouldn’t be capable of pretending otherwise. He first had doubts about the girl’s abilities as a liar since she apologized for taking a blood sample from him. She is too good to lie, which, he supposes, is why he’s a former Imperial-turned-spy, and she is a rebel war doctor.

Cida stretches his legs and guides him through a few exercises that should be simple but prove exceedingly difficult for Kallus. He has to touch his toes. Climb stairs. Walk 2 meters with support on either side. He grits his teeth and sweats through it, mumbling curses that Cida and Zeb pretend not to hear when he inevitably falters.

His hands shake for an hour afterward. Kallus showers and lies on his bunk, exhausted.

His leg feels better than it did before.

Had he stayed with the Empire, Kallus would have received higher quality medical care.

He might not be stuck with a limp and a cane.

First, he would have needed to swallow his damned pride and ask for treatment, and then the initial break would not have affected him for the rest of his life. The Imperial meddroids would have returned him to normal in a matter of days, if not weeks, and Thrawn would have never rebroken the leg, even if Kallus had pursued life as Fulcrum. The Empire is equipped with better resources and better training.

But he didn’t ask for help, not upon his return from Bahryn nor any of the painful days after. Konstantine didn’t even look up at him. If anyone noticed he was uncomfortable or weaker, they politely looked away and saved that topic of discussion for when his back was turned. Kallus was alone in caring for himself, and it was thus unimportant to everyone in the Empire, including him. He adopted the same attitude regarding his own health.

Hera had caught him when he collapsed, after Atollon. Cida cried when he cried because she hated seeing him in pain. Zeb has been there for him in more ways than he can count.

Sometimes, Zeb calls him Alex. He hasn’t had that nickname since he was a little boy- his parents never bothered with it and he had few friends by the time he entered the Imperial Academy.

Zeb is the only one, in his entire life, who has called him Kal.

That’s yet another thing they share. Kallus has gleamed that Zeb never fully revealed the truth of what happened on Bahryn, even to the rest of the Ghost crew.

He does not know what would be enough to repay the Rebels. They have so little, yet they give to him, in time and effort and supplies and trust. It would be more just if these things were diverted to another, not to a formal Imperial, but they will not let him refuse their generosity.

Kallus would give his life for these people. For Zeb and the Spectres, certainly, but for those he does not know, too. For the ones who hurl dirty looks and harsh words at him in the mess and hallways, for Cida, for the other Fulcrums, for every rebel on Yavin and the galaxy beyond.

His life would not be enough, when they are the very people who have given it back to him. Kallus’ life is marred and stained and broken. He can offer the rebels service and secrets and loyalty, and he will do all he can to see them to victory.

He wonders about that, too. He would be more confident about winning the war were he still an Imperial agent. He is a man of facts and logic, and he knows that the odds are against the rebels to prevail over the Empire.

But he believes in the rebels. Kallus believes in their cause and their people. That alone has carried them further than Kallus ever predicted.

He would give his life for them without thinking. He gives his hope and keeps his doubt and his cynicism, heavy as they are, so that they do not burden those like Pica and Leia Organa and Ezra Bridger.

Even as a rebel, being a spy still demands a certain mindset of coldness and hardness. Kallus is learning mercy, and he is learning how mercy does and doesn’t fit into his role. Draven has told him more than once that they serve the cause of the Rebellion, not its people.

Kallus is not sure he agrees. Draven has the end of the war in sight, and that is what grants Kallus peace of mind while the familiarity of Draven’s words nags at him.

Draven has also told Kallus that he is still useful, despite his leg. The General had looked at Kallus with pity while he had said it. Kallus will prove him wrong, and his heart sings with a small amount of pride with the knowledge of the difference he has made already under and to Draven’s command.

Kallus is trying to be good in his new role. He is also trying to become someone worthy of the friendship and care that the rebels have shown him.

He wants to be accepted by them. He wants to be their friend.

“Alexsandr!”

The use of his full first name startles him, nearly as much as the alarm in Zeb’s voice does. Zeb is staring at him from across the hangar, Hera by his size. The droid, Chopper, makes some obscene noise that Kallus can only assume is scolding.

The trio is at his side quickly, and Kallus grunts as he loads the shipment onto the shuttle.

“I can do that,” Hera says. She sounds mildly scandalized, and she takes the box from his hands. Chopper wags his mechanical arm at Kallus, and emits a horrifying cackle at the indignation on his face.

“No cane?” Zeb sounds surprised, but Kallus has had a good few days. He’s permitted not to use it for short amounts of time, given that his leg doesn’t start hurting. He and Cida are hoping that this will become the norm, that he will only need his cane some days. Kallus has floated the idea of field missions once or twice already, but he’ll push for more unsupervised walking first.

“Not for a while.” It’s nearly strange not to have the cane in his hand, but he’s been making good use of his free hands for a while. Then: “General, I assure you I am very capable of doing that.”

Kallus tries to take the next box from Hera, who passes to Zeb. In turn, he holds the box over their heads, then sets it in the shuttle.

“You could hurt yourself,” Hera chides. “Let us help you.”

“Lifting a few crates will hardly send me into critical condition,” Kallus protests, but the words are weakened when Hera glares at him. Chopper laughs again. “My leg is injured, not my arms.”

“No extra weight,” Zeb reminds him, taking another box from Hera. “Don’t strain yourself.”

“It’s just-”

“We’re happy to help,” Hera interrupts. She exchanges a look with Zeb, and Kallus bites back a retort. He’s perfectly capable.

The next time he sees Cida, Kallus is sure to mention lightening the restrictions on his carrying weight. She’s willing to negotiate, at the very least, and they argue until it’s agreed that Kallus can lift, but not carry, a few kilos. He’s sure to complain very little for the rest of the session, and the nurse sends him away with a smile at the end of the day.

She tells him he’s making progress; a statement constantly echoed by Zeb. Physical therapy becomes easier and less frequent; he’s fully adjusted to using his cane, although he has started to go many days without it. At first, it’s painful- he can only endure the day without his cane if he stays in Command, but then weeks pass and he can move around base on his own. He’s outfitted with temporary mechanical braces, and he goes on his first field mission as a rebel.

The days are not bad, and the initial mission goes smoothly, as do all the ones after that.

When night falls after he returns, Kallus can barely stand, and the pain reduces him mostly immobile.

Cida worms this fact out of him after he spends two rotations chasing down a rogue informant. He had been late to see her, and stiff and quiet during their appointment.

“You’ll make it worse,” she warns him. His leg has been swelling, too. “Too much at once will only hurt you.”

“I’m useful out there,” Kallus insists, staring at his injured leg. It would be a waste if he remained on base all the time. “If I can get stronger, then I can fight.”

Cida sighs, her eyes full of worry. Kallus looks away, his heart poisoned with guilt. “If you keep doing this, you may last a few months or a cycle. After that, you could spend the rest of your life walking with pain and assistance.”

He nods once. That’s as much time as he needs, regardless of what follows.

Kallus has greater potential than what his leg allows. He could be one of the best ground fighters on base, if his body worked right.

“Does your leg hurt?”

Kallus grunts. “My leg always hurts.” He shifts, moving his lower body as little as possible, but Zeb moves into his full view a moment later.

“You shoulda said something on way back-”

“I’m fine, Zeb.”

“Your cane-”

“It hurts with or without the cane,” Kallus snaps, then averts his eyes. Zeb’s ears flatten, and Kallus’ stomach flips.

“Are you gonna use it now?” Zeb asks quietly. They still don’t look at each other.

Kallus reaches for the offending object and thumps it against the ground. “Yes,” he mutters. That’s the only reason he got here, in some dirty corner of the base. The cane saw him back from the medbay and into the spot where he had chosen to sulk.

Apparently, the covert location wasn’t quite private enough. That, or Zeb knows him too well, because he seems to have sought Kallus out with ease. But here he is, sitting on the floor with Kallus and watching the rest of the Rebellion walk by, totally oblivious to their discussion.

“Today is a bad day,” Kallus says. That’s how he measures time- in good days and bad ones. “I’ve been having a lot of those, recently.”

“You’ve been working hard.”

“I want to go back to normal,” Kallus mutters, rolling his eyes. “I’m sick of being weak. I’m tired.” He smiles at Zeb, his lips thin and pursed. “I’m done.”

“Alex.” Zeb is imploring.”How could you think you’re weak?”

“Because I can’t walk down the damned hallway!” Kallus scoffs. “Because I have gone through all this suffering and I am not better! And all I wish is that it would end!”

“That makes you weak, does it?”

“It doesn’t make me strong, Garazeb. Not the way you think I am.”

The Lasat next to him snorts. “Kal, I have seen you walk through hell and back-”

“That doesn’t make-”

“- I know how strong you are,” Zeb finishes, talking over him. “Do you trust me?”

Kallus blanches, his heart pounding. “Of course.”

“Then believe me when I say you’re strong.”

“I’ve never seen it that way.”

The words are nearly inaudible. It’s a shamefaced confession, and Zeb stares at him with wide eyes, taking both of Alexsandr’s hands in his.

“Just because I survived doesn’t mean I’m a martyr, Zeb. Or some inspiration to look up to.”

“That’s half of one of the many reasons I care for you,” Zeb whispers, his voice so, so low. “Not because you’ve managed to survive, but because of how determined you are. It’s the stupid face you make when you’re concentrating and the way your voice gets all high when you tell me about how fine and capable you are.” Zeb chuckles, and Kallus is very acutely aware that Zeb is sitting so close to him that their thighs are touching. “You’ve always been so damn stubborn.”

“You like that about me?” Some alarmed voice in Alexsandr’s head warns him that this is barely tangential to the topic at hand.

“Yeah.” Zeb’s ears twitch, and he drops his eyes from Kallus’ wondrous stare. “Even if it pisses me off.”

“I know it does.”

“Yeah,” Zeb growls, then he deflates as he sighs. “I’ve always known that about you. Even when you were trying to kill me.” He gestures to Kallus, to his brace and cane. “Seeing you recover is another way you’re proving this to me. Your absurd relentlessness. And your strength.” He glowers at Kallus when he says the last word, as if daring him to object. “You’ve always had that.”

“Someone better would have handled it with grace.”

“Maybe.” Zeb shrugs. “You’re tough, not a saint.”

“Thank you, Garazeb.”

Zeb rolls his eyes, shoving against Kallus’ shoulder gently. “Whatever.” He clears his throat. “Maybe all this made you stronger. I don’t care if you get back to normal, or whatever you’ve dreamed up for yourself. I only want you to be happy with where you were.”

“And go to physical therapy.”

“I don’t want you to be in pain.”

“Right.”

Zeb grins. “By the way, if you didn’t want the hurt from your serious injury to go away, then you’re twice as big of an idiot as I thought you were. I have no idea what else you expected.”

“I expected for it to last a few weeks. Not the rest of my life.”

“There’s nothing wrong with wishing for that.” Zeb looks up at the trees, and Kallus thinks of a burning world, razed to the ground by the Empire. Zeb didn’t come away from Lasan unscathed, he knows. “Whatever happens though, here you are, Kal. Even if all you’ve done is survive.”

Alexsandr reaches out for Zeb’s hand, and his friend takes it. Zeb’s words are muddled with affection and friendship and respect. The person Zeb describes sounds like someone Kallus can appreciate. Somebody with an iron will and a conviction for the right kind of things. Somebody worthy of love

That night, Kallus cannot rest. He wanders the halls, on a dreadfully familiar path- the one Zeb takes him on when Kallus has to stretch out his leg. His feet carry him into the cool night air, his cane thumping against the stone after every uneven step.

Kallus searches for privacy, but he cannot make it far outside the base. There are still lights blinking from the hangars and a quiet bustle of nightlife shows that the base is still busy, but Kallus staggers along as far as he can and settles on a log under the cover of some trees.

“Can’t sleep?”

Alexsandr jumps, then he squints in the dark. Some 30 feet away is Kanan Jarrus, sitting on the forest floor with his legs folded beneath him. He appears to be meditating; his shoulder pauldrons and mask are off, and he sounds relaxed.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” Kallus calls. He fumbles with his cane and readies himself to stand; he’s still slightly out of breath and now he has nowhere to go.

“No.” Kanan stands instead and approaches Kallus, nimbly stepping over branches and rocks. Kallus stares up at the blind Jedi, then averts his gaze when Kanan takes a seat next to him.

They sit together in silence. Kallus doesn’t mind the company very much; he fiddles with his hands and does his best to ignore the aching in his leg.

“It’s lonely, isn’t it?” Kanan says finally. He turns to Kallus expectantly.

Kallus gives a nervous chuckle. “What is?”

“Healing.” Kanan opens his hands as if he’s referring to the whole jungle, instead. “Even with the people who love you at your side.”

Kallus opens his mouth to protest- he’s not sure who loves him, even if a few people come to mind- but the depth of Kanan’s words hit him a moment later.

“I don’t-” Kallus struggles for the right words. “I don’t believe I’m alone.”

Kanan nods slowly. “I had Hera with me every step of the way. She’s the most understanding, caring person I know.” Then, Kanan shrugs. “But it was impossible for her to understand what it was like, no matter how hard she tried. It was lonely.”

“Yes,” Kallus says slowly, exhaling. “Even- even-”

“Zeb doesn’t understand?” He can hear the humor in Kanan’s voice, although Kallus cannot piece together why Kanan would be amused. “I think that’d be impossible unless he’d been through it, too.”

“Do you know anyone who did?”

Kanan shakes his head. “Not quite.” He smiles, and again, Kallus can’t comprehend why. “I had to find solace in other places.”

“Do you think you’re on the other side?”

“Of recovery?” Kallus inclines his head. “Yes. It’s different now.” Kanan’s smile becomes wistful. “But there’s no going back.”

“You made it through.”

“I did. And you will too. In time.”

“I want it to be over.” The confession falls from Kallus’ lips before he can help it. “I’m so tired of being in pain.”

“I know.”

“I don’t think it will ever pass.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Then…” Kallus sighs. “Then I move forward with it, anyway.”

There’s no other choice. He will stay with the rebels until the end, and he will do so however he can. He could lose his leg tonight or he could wake up entirely healed tomorrow morning. Either way, there will be little change to his plans.

“I thought you’d say that.” Kanan rests his hand on Kallus’ knee. “It gets easier.”

“I know.” It has already. Maybe Zeb is right. Maybe he is strong because of what he has survived, and maybe there’s truth to Kanan’s words, too.

“I think you’ll find someone who makes it less lonely. I believe you’ll find yourself on the other side.”

Kallus bows his head in acknowledgment, suddenly exhausted. “Zeb will be yours again, once we get back from Lothal.” Kanan’s seriousness disappears, and Kallus knows the moment has passed. He can’t help that the corners of his lips are quirking up, and Kanan seems to both know and enjoy this fact.

“You leave soon?” The thought is bittersweet; the Lothal rebels returning home again, and Zeb will leave his side.

“Three rotations.” Kanan answers. His tone has become heavy again, but the Jedi does not sound afraid.

“I wish you luck.”

The earliest sign of civilization is a healed femur.

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blackswaneuroparedux · 3 years

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Vivant, il a manqué le monde ; mort, il le possède.

- François René de Chateaubriand (1768-1848), Vie de Napoléon, livres XIX à XXIV des Mémoires d’outre-tombe (posthume)

Of course we don’t have any photograph or film of Napoleon’s death on 5 May 1821 on Saint Hélène. But we do have the next best thing: a painting. Charles de Steuben depiction of Napoleon's deathbed and his faithful entourage that served as witnesses to his dying moments became the one of the most important paintings of the post-Napoleonic era but then faded from modern memory.

I first came across it by accident when I was in my teens at my Swiss boarding school. There were times I found myself with school friends going away on hiking trips around the high Alpine chain of the Allgäu Alps and we would drive through Lake Constance to get there, or we would hike around the Lake itself through the Bodensee-Rundwanderweg.

Perched high above Lake Constance and nestled in large parklands, stood Schloss Arenenberg which overlooks the lower part of Lake Constance. At first, it appears a relatively modest country house. But this was no usual pretty looking house. Arenenberg was owned by well-heeled families before it was sold to Hortense de Beauharnais, the adopted daughter and sister-in-law of the French Emperor himself, Napoleon Bonaparte. She had it rebuilt in the French Empire style and lived there from 1817 with her son Louis Napoleon, later Emperor Napoleon III, who is said to have spoken the Thurgau dialect in addition to French. This elegantly furnished castle then was once the residence of the last emperor of France.

The alterations made first by Queen Hortense and later by Empress Eugénie have been carefully preserved and the house still bears the marks of both women. Queen Hortense's drawing room is perfectly preserved and visitors can still admire her magnificent library (all marked with the Empress' cipher) containing over one thousand books. Likewise, in the room where the queen died, every object has been maintained in its original condition: pieces of furniture and personal belongings are gathered here to evoke her memory in a very touching manner. As for Empress Eugénie's rooms, they too have been very carefully preserved. Her private drawing room is a perfect illustration of the Second Empire style with sculptures by Carpeaux and portraits of the imperial family by Winterhalter.

After 1873, the Empress and the Imperial Prince brought the palace back to life by making regular summer visits, which they continued until 1878. However, on the tragic death of her son in 1879, Eugénie found it difficult to return to a place so full of painful memories. And so in 1906 she donated the estate to the canton of Thurgovie as a testimony of her gratitude for the region's faithful hospitality towards the Napoleon family. And in accordance with the Empress' wishes, the residence was turned into a museum devoted to Napoleon.

In what is now the Napoleonic Museum, the original furnishings have been preserved, and the palace gardens had been fully restored. This in itself might be worth a visit for the view over Lake Constance which is stunning. For Napoleonic era buffs though its the incredible art collection which is its real treasure. It houses an important art collection including works by the First-Empire artists Chinard Canova, Gros, Robert Lefèvre, Gérard, Isabey and Girodet-Trioson, and by the Second-Empire painters and sculptors Alfred de Dreux, Winterhalter, Carpeaux, Meissonier, Hébert, Flandrin, Detaille, Nieuwerkerke and Giraud.

But what caught my eye was this painting, ‘La Mort de Napoléon’ by Charles de Steuben. I didn’t know anything about it or the artist for that matter, but one of my more erudite school friends who, being French, was into Napoleonic stuff in a huge way, and she explained it all to me. Of course I knew a fair bit about Napoleon growing up because my grandfather and father, being military men themselves, were Napoleonic warfare buffs and it rubbed off onto me. I just knew about Napoleon the military genius. I never thought about him once he was beaten at Waterloo in 1815. So I never really engaged with Napoleon the man. And yet here I was staring at his last breath of mortality caught forever in time through art. Not for the first time I had mixed feelings about Napoleon Bonaparte, both the man and the myth (built up around him since his death).

On 5 May, 1821, at 5.49pm in Longwood House on the remote island of St Helena, in the words of the famed French man of letters, François-René de Chateaubriand, ‘the mightiest breath of life which ever animated human clay’ came no more. To the British, Dutch, and Prussian coalition who had exiled Naopleon Bonaparte there in 1815, he was a despot, but to France, he was seen as a devotee of the Enlightenment.

In the decade following his demise, Napoleon’s image underwent a transformation in France. The monarchy had been restored, but by the late 1820s, it was growing unpopular. King Charles X was seen as a threat to the civil liberties established during the Napoleonic era. This mistrust revived Napoleon’s reputation and put him in a more heroic light.

Fascination with the French leader’s death led Charles de Steuben, a German-born Romantic painter living in Paris, to immortalise the momentous event. Steuben’s painting depicts the moment of Napoleon’s death and seeks to capture the sense of awe in the room at the death of a man whose legendary career had begun in the French Revolution. It was this, ultimate moment that Steuben wished to immortalise in a painting which has since become what could almost be described as the official version of the scene.

There is no question that Steuben’s painting became the most famous and most iconic depiction of Napoleon’s death in art history. In another painting, executed during the years 1825-1830, Steuben was to give a realistic view of the emperor dictating his memoirs to general Gourgaud. This same realism also pervades his version of Napoleon’s death, and it is totally unlike Horace Vernet’s, Le songe de Bertrand ou L’Apothéose de Napoléon (Bertrand’s Dream or the apotheosis of Napoleon) which, although painted in the same year, is an allegorical celebration of the emperor’s martyrdom and as such the first stone in the edifice of the Napoleonic legend.

And what a legend Napoleon’s life was turned into for time immemorial. Napoleon declared himself France’s First Consul in 1799 and then emperor in 1804. For the next decade, he led France against a series of European coalitions during the Napoleonic Wars and expanded his empire throughout much of continental Europe before his defeat in 1814. He was exiled to the Mediterranean island of Elba, but he escaped and briefly reasserted control over France before a crushing final defeat at the Battle of Waterloo in 1815.

Napoleon’s military prowess earned him the fear of his enemies, but his civil reforms in France brought him the respect of his people. The Napoleonic Code, introduced in 1804, replaced the existing patchwork of French laws with a unified national system built on the principles of the Enlightenment: universal male suffrage, property rights, equality (for men), and religious freedom. Even in his final exile on St. Helena, Napoleon proved a magnetic presence. Passengers of ships docked to resupply would hurry to meet the great general. He developed strong personal bonds with the coterie who had accompanied him into exile. Although some speculate that he was murdered, most agree that Napoleon’s death in 1821, at the age of 51, was the result of stomach cancer.

By contrast, Charles de Steuben was born in 1788, his youth and artistic training coinciding with Napoleon’s rise to power. He was the son of the Duke of Württemberg officer Carl Hans Ernst von Steuben. At the age of twelve he moved with his father, who entered Russian service as a captain, to Saint Petersburg, where he studied drawing at the Art Academy classes as a guest student. Thanks his father's social contacts in the court of the Tsar, in the summer of 1802 he accompanied the young Grand Duchess Maria Pavlovna of Russia (1786–1859) and granddaughter of Frederick II Eugene, Duke of Württemberg, to the Thuringian cultural city of Weimar, where the Tsar's daughter two years later married Charles Frederick, Grand Duke of Saxe-Weimar-Eisenach (1783–1853). Steuben, then fourteen years old, was a Page at the ducal court, a position for which the career prospects would be in the military or administration. The poet Friedrich Schiller was a family friend who at once recognised De Steuben's artistic talent and instilled in him his political ideal of free self-determination regardless of courtly constraints.

At the behest of Pierre Fontaine in 1828 de Steuben painted La Clémence de Henri IV après la Bataille d'Ivry, depicting a victorious Henry IV of France at the Battle of Ivry. De Steuben's Bataille de Poitiers, en octobre 732, painted between 1834 and 1837, shows the triumphant Charles Martel at the Battle of Tours, also known as the Battle of Poitiers. He painted Jeanne la folle around the same time and he was commissioned by Louis Philippe to paint a series of portraits of past Kings of France.

Life in the French capital was a repeated source of internal conflict for Steuben. The allure of bohemian Paris and his military-dominated upbringing made him a wanderer between worlds. As an official commitment to his adopted country he became a French citizen in 1823. However, the irregularity of his income as a freelance artist was in contrast to his sense of duty and social responsibility. To secure his family financially, he took a job as an art teacher at École Polytechnique, where he briefly trained Gustave Courbet. In 1840 he was awarded a gold medal at the Salon de Paris for his highly acclaimed paintings.

The love of classical painting was a lifelong passion of Steuben. He was a close friend to Eugène Delacroix, the leader of the French Romantic school of painting, whom he portrayed several times. Steuben was also part of this artistic movement, which replaced classicism in French painting. "The painter of the Revolution," as Jacques-Louis David was called by his students, joined art with politics in his works. The subjects of his historical paintings supported historical change. He painted mainly in sharp colour contrasts, heavy solid contours and clear outlines. The severity of this style led many contemporary artists - including Prud'hon - to a romanticised counter movement. They preferred the shadowy softness and gentle colour gradations of Italian Renaissance painters such as Leonardo da Vinci and Antonio da Correggio, whose works they studied intensively. Steuben, who had begun his training with David, felt the school was becoming increasingly rigid and dogmatic. Critics praised his deliberate compositions, excellent brush stroke and impressive colour effects. But some of his critics felt that his pursuit of dramatic design of rich people also showed, at times, a pronounced tendency toward the histrionic.

The portrayal of key moments in Napoleon’s dramatic military career would feature among some of Steuben’s best known works. But it is this death scene that Steuben is most remembered for.

Using his high-level contacts among figures in Napoleon’s circle, Steuben interviewed and sketched many of the people who had been present when Napoleon died at Longwood House on St. Helena. He wanted to attempt o give the most accurate representation of the scene possible. Indeed, the painter interviewed the companions of Napoleon’s captivity on their return to France and had them pose for their portraits. Only the Abbé Vignali, captain Crokat and the doctor Arnott were painted from memory. The Grand maréchal Bertrand made sketches of the plan of the room, noting the positions of the different pieces of furniture and people in the room. All the protagonists within the painting brought together some of their souvenirs and in posing for the painter, each person can be seen contributing to a work of collective memory, very much with posterity in mind.

Painstakingly researched, Steuben painted a carefully composed scene of hushed grief. Notable among the figures are Gen. Henri Bertrand, who loyally followed Napoleon into exile; Bertrand’s wife, Fanny; and their children, of whom Napoleon had become very fond.

The best known version of “La Mort de Napoléon” was completed in 1828. French writer Stendhal considered it “a masterpiece of expression.” In 1830 the installation of a more liberal monarchy in France further boosted admiration of Napoleon, who suddenly became a wildly popular figure in theatre, art, and music. This fervour led to the diffusion of Steuben’s deathbed scene in the form of engravings throughout Europe in the 1830s. As Napoleon’s stock arose within French culture and arts, so did Steuben’s depiction of Napoleon’s death. It became a grandeur of vision that permeated Steuben’s masterpiece of historical reconstruction.

Initially forming part of the collection of the Colonel de Chambrure, the painting was put up for auction in Paris, on 9 March 1830, with other Napoleonic works, notably Horace Vernet’s Les Adieux de Fontainebleau (The Fontainebleau adieux) and Steuben’s Retour de l’île d’Elbe (The return from the island of Elba). The catalogue noted that the painting had already been viewed in the colonel’s collection by “three thousand connoisseurs” – which alone would have made it a success -, but its renown was to be further amplified by the production of the famous engraving. The diffusion of this engraving by Jean-Pierre-Marie Jazet (1830-1831, held at the Musée de Malmaison), reprinted and copied countless times throughout the 19th century, made the scene a classic in popular imagery, on a level of popularity with paintings such as Millet’s Angelus.

A / Grand Marshal Henri-Gatien Bertrand. Utterly loyal servant of Napoleon’s to the last. His memoirs of the exile on St Helena were not published until 1849. Only the year 1821 has ever been translated into English.

B / General Charles Tristan de Montholon. Courtier and companion of Napoleon’s exile. Montholon managed to ease Bertrand out and become Napoleon’s closest companion at the end, highly rewarded in Napoleon’s will, which Montholon helped write. Montholon’s untrustworthy memoirs were published in 1846/47.

C / Doctor Francesco Antommarchi. Corsican anatomy specialist. Sent by Napoleon’s mother from Rome to St Helena to be Napoleon’s personal physician on the expulsion of Barry O’Meara. Napoleon disliked and distrusted Antommarchi. Antommarchi’s untrustworthy memoirs were very influential and published in 1825.

D / Angelo Paolo Vignali, Abbé. Corsican assistant-chaplain, sent by Madame Mère from Rome to St Helena in 1819.

E / Countess Françoise Elisabeth “Fanny” Bertrand and her children: Napoléon (F), who carried the censer at Napoleon’s funeral; Hortense (G); Henry (H); and Arthur (I), youngest by six years of all the Bertrand children and born on the island. She was wife of the Grand Marshal, very unwilling participant in the exile on St Helena. Her relations with Napoleon were difficult since she refused to live at Longwood. She spoke fluent English. Was however very loyal to Napoleon.

J / Louis Marchand. Napoleon’s valet from 1814 on and one of his closest servants. As Napoleon noted in his will, “The service he [Marchand] rendered were those of a friend”.

K / “Ali”, Louis Étienne Saint-Denis. Known as “the Mamluk Ali”, one of Napoleon’s longest-serving and intimate servants; He became Librarian at Longwood and was an indefatigable copyist of imperial manuscripts.

L / Ali’s English (Catholic) wife, Mary ‘Betsy’ Hall. She was sent out from England by UK relatives of the Countess Bertrand to be governess/nursemaid to the Bertrand children. Married Ali aged 23 in October 1819.

M / Jean Abra(ha)m Noverraz. From the Vaud region in Switzerland. Very tall and imposing figure that Napoleon called his “Helvetic bear”. He was himself ill during Napoleon’s illness.

N / Noverraz’s wife, Joséphine née Brulé. They married in married in July 1819, and she was the Countess Montholon’s lady’s maid. Noverraz and Saint-Denis had a fist fight for the hand of Joséphine.

O / Jean Baptiste Alexandre Pierron. The cook, dessert specialist, long in Napoleon’s service and who had accompanied Napoleon to Elba.

P /Jacques Chandelier. Iincorrectly identified on the picture as Santini who had left the island in 1817. A cook, from the service of Pauline Bonaparte, Napoleon’s sister, who arrived on St Helena with the group from Rome in 1819.

Q /Jacques Coursot. Butler, from the service of Madame Mère, Napoleon’s mother, he arrived on St Helena with the group from Rome in 1819.

R / Doctor Francis Burton. Irish surgeon in the 66th regiment who had arrived on St Helena only on 31st March 1821. He is renowned for having made Napoleon’s death mask (with ensign John Ward and Antommarchi).

S/ Doctor Archibald Arnott. Surgeon in the 20th regiment. Brought in to tend to Napoleon in extremis on 1 April 1821.

T/ Captain William Crokat. A Scot, orderly officer at Longwood for less than a month, having replaced Engelbert Lutyens on 15 April. He received the honour of carrying the news of Napoleon’s death back to London and also the reward, namely, a promotion and £500, privileges of which Lutyens was deliberately deprived by the governor.

#charles de steuben #art #painting #napoleon #bonaparte #st helena #life #death #chateaubriand #french #france #emperor #artist #aesthetics #war #politics #society #culture #arts #personal

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sapphicambitions · 4 years

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Okay so I finished watching black sails a few days ago and I’ve spent the last few days reading other metas and posts and interviews about Flint & Silver to gather my thoughts (thots, if you will) and these are the conclusions I have come to:

John Silver and James Flint have the most interesting and well written dynamic ives ever seen between two characters. I am endlessly fascinated by their relationship. Because it’s so unique and complex and I can’t think of any other relationship between two men on screen that even gets close to being on their level, that level of intimacy and their DIALOGUE????? especially in season four????? there is no daylight between us???? i have made myself transparent to you????? you already know me in all the ways that’s relevant???? fuck me up dude!!!!!

All of that being said, I don’t like… ship them. At least not in the conventional way of shipping. I don’t see them as boyfriends or husbands or even as romantically involved. Like I said I LOVE their dynamic and I am fascinated with the complexities of it, and I really and truly think that they loved each other deeply, but to me the idea of them being like in an explicit, canon relationship sort of... cheapens it?

Especially if we’re talking about seasons 1-3 flint & silver. To me, saying that they were romantically involved during that time period sort of misses the point of their build up. Because they didn’t even really like each other then. They were necessary evils in each other’s stories. ESPECIALLY in seasons 1 & 2, they weren’t friends! They were work place acquaintances who needed each other to survive. And remember Silver’s whole season three arc of “I think flint controls the weather”???? Lmaooo the idea that they were romantically involved at that time, to me, almost does a disservice to their characters and the journey that they took to get to where they were in the fourth season.

Because I don’t think that they truly started to even be friends until that night around the fire. When Silver asked in who’s name they were fighting the war and Flint told the truth about his past. When Flint made himself transparent and vulnerable to Silver, and they openly discussed their partnership. When they came to a mutual understanding of each other, when they felt the possibility of the future together, that is when they really and truly emotionally connected and became more than work place acquaintances, became even more than just casual friends.

But I still don’t think that they were like, together together in season four.

Do I think there were extremely high levels of homoeroticism? also-fucking-lutely. But I don’t think they were romantically involved. For many reasons.

I think that the last two episodes of the series do not work if they did not love each other. The last two episodes are not effective if there is not something deeper there, if there isn’t something to lose when they fall apart. Like when Billy and Silver fall apart? I was like aww they were friends. :( and that’s it. When Silver and Flint fell apart? I sobbed my fucking eyes out. Would I have been as destroyed by Silver’s betrayal if I didn’t truly believe that these two men had a deep and profound relationship, that they needed each other and completed each other? Lmao no! No I wouldn’t have. If Flint didn’t love Silver, he wouldn’t have taught him sword fighting, he wouldn’t have shot Dooley, he wouldn’t have looked so deeply crushed when Silver raised the gun. Because the look on his face? When that happens? That is heartbreak, pure and simple.

BUT. I ALSO think that the last two episodes of the series do not work if that love is explicit and defined. I do not think it works if Silver is fully aware of that love. Because I don’t think he is. I think he has found himself closer and closer to Flint, committing himself to Flint, becoming the other half of Flint, and….. doesn’t quite realize how homoerotic it is lmao. Because he has Madi! And Silver has never really had someone to be close to before, so I honestly don’t believe that Silver was aware how how Homo(TM) the whole thing was with Flint, at least not consciously, at least not out loud. And I say this because there is a very important moment in the finale that doesn’t work if their relationship is defined and official or romantic in any way.

It’s when Flint says “This will all have been for nothing. We will have been for nothing. Defined by their histories. Distorted to fit into their narrative. Until all that is left of us are the monsters in the stories they tell their children,” That is his last card to play. That, to me, is the THESIS of the series, that moment is what they have been building up to for four seasons, that is Flint’s driving force as a person. And Silver says: “I don’t care,”

That moment is reliant on Silver not understanding the queer implications behind what Flint said. That moment is reliant on Silver being a man who has never experienced the life ruining homophobia that Flint has experienced. That moment is reliant on Silver genuinely not caring, it is reliant on the complete disconnect from Flint in that moment, and if the two of them had been in a defined relationship at the moment, I wouldn’t have bought it. And it is heartbreaking and tragic because Silver DOESN’T get it. He doesn’t! He does not know what it means to fear how the world will see you for who you fundamentally are, fear how mothers will tell their children about you, fear how your story will be told, and I do not buy that moment if Silver is aware of his own queerness. Maybe other characters in other stories, I might, but Silver, self serving and self saving Silver, to not care? He has to genuinely NOT care.

I’ve mentioned before in other posts that watching Silver and Flint’s story play out is a lot like watching Romeo and Juliet, that you know that their story will end in tragedy, but you watch it unfold anyway. But there’s another reason I think they parallel the star crossed lovers. And I think the moral of Romeo & Juliet (it’s my favorite play step up and fight me) is not that the young lovers were stupid and reckless, but the moral is that they might have lived if not for the outside forces trying to drive them apart. Romeo and Juliet is about how the toxic and warring world in which they lived wasn’t sustainable for their love, that they were driven to their deaths by parents who didn’t realize the harm they were inflicting upon their children.

I digress but the POINT being that it is outside forces that drove the two of them apart. (Get Wreked, Billy) The toxic and warring world in which they lived wasn’t sustainable for their partnership. You can see it best in 4x09 when the flashbacks of the two of them alone on the beach are funny and tender and vulnerable and open between the two of them, and present day where Silver’s trying to get Flint a little bit KILLED and you can see how much things have changed between them since that day on the beach.

How might have things changed in another direction if they hadn’t been driven apart? Because like I said earlier, Silver and Flint’s relationship was a JOURNEY, it didn’t happen overnight. And I can’t help but feel like they were only at the beginning of their relationship when they fell apart and that is another tragedy, the what if? of it all. How might their relationship have changed and gotten even deeper if they hadn’t been pushed apart? What hadn’t been explored between them, what was still left unsaid when Silver raised his gun at Flint? So that’s ANOTHER reason I don’t think they were like ~together~ because there is tragedy is losing something you don’t have, that you might have had. Losing something that you don’t know what it could have become and that breaks my heart because it feels like they had only JUST begun and then they were ending in the most heartbreaking and tragic way.

Also to be honest, the main reason that I love Them is because I’m a slut for tragedy, and knowing that something is going to have a sad ending but rooting for them anyway. Romeo and Juliet, the Hunchback of Notre Dame musical, Hadestown, the Song of Achilles, They Both Die at The End, even rewatching Brokeback Mountain, you get it. Tell me that they aren’t going to make it in the end and then let me watch them fall in love anyway. Let me watch them grow to love each other knowing that they’re going to end in tragedy. I should be sobbing on the floor by the end of it, I WANT to be sobbing on the floor by the end of it. That’s my shit. It is literally my favorite type of story. fuck me UP

So those are my Thots (TM) about Flint & Silver. They have one of the most well written relationships I’ve ever seen on screen and I am endlessly fascinated by them. I don’t like romantically ship them because I think it’s too complicated to reduce their relationship to “they’re dating“ when it is their journey from reluctant work place acquaintances to “It’s hard to know where one began and the other ended” that is so incredible. But I do think there is a deep and profound love between them and the finale doesn’t WORK unless they love each other, but it also has to be somewhat unspoken for it to work, too. Because I don’t think Silver was aware of his own queerness and I think he has to actively not understand the queerness of Flint’s fight in order to do what he does otherwise I wouldn’t buy it. And I think that they were only at the beginning of their partnership, and I wonder where it could have gone if they hadn’t been ripped apart. Theirs is a tragedy of losing someone you love and losing something that isn’t easily defined, losing something that could have been. And their tragedy does not work if they didn’t have something to lose.

#lesbianlaynie #laynie's thots #silverflint #black sails #larose watches black sails #bs meta #black sails meta #john silver #james flint #long john silver #captain flint #laynie's essays #flintsilver #for alex to read

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robotnuts · 4 years

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Alpha is very Burnt Out Church. Like... Constantly burnt out. Its been pointed out by the others, under plenty circumstances, that Epsilon does not act like Church / Alpha did. He was either more whipped, or he blew up more spectacularly. Alpha is more Objective, Epsilon is more Personal. Alpha took things, no matter how ridiculous, at face value. While Epsilon is more prone to reason his way out. Alpha was more willing to let Tex do her own thing... Epsilon was not.

you have the incredible power to say exactly what ive been thinking about for days. here’s my fix

warning: im about to speak with authority even though i function by throwing spaghetti at the wall. if anything about this is wrong or egregiously off please tell me so i can eat the proper crow

epsilon had to have sacrificed himself for tex so she could escape the memory unit, and have the chance to become her own person completely outside of church in order to complete his predetermined arc.

(i love epsilon, love him and carolina, and in an rvb rewrite i would not be able to bring myself to do this and i come up with an alternate ending- this is just in the terms of, what the director laid out as his character arc, and how rvb TRIED to do progressive iterations of the director’s story, and then massively dropped the ball with the ending)

You see, I never had the chance to serve in battle, nor did fate provide me the opportunity to sacrifice myself for humanity as it did for so many others in the Great War. Someone extremely dear to me was lost very early in my life. My mind has always plagued me with the question, if the choice had been placed in my hands, could I have saved her? The memory of her has haunted me my entire life, and moreso in these last few years than I could ever have imagined. But given the events of these past few weeks, I feel confident that had I been given the chance, I would have made those sacrifices myself. Had I only the chance.

and no version of himself ever did make the sacrifice to save her. the director doesn’t really deserve the term sacrifice applied to him, but he did sacrifice everyone around him. he sacrificed his daughter, his military organization, countless lives, literally everything, in order to chase after allison. this is obviously the darkest, worst version.

alpha did sacrifice himself for tex- it’s more explicit in the deleted scene where wash convinces him to go by bringing up tex specifically and finding out about her, *which i can’t find a link to but if anyone has it please send it to me.) but he didn’t save her. they died together, which is tragic and as you said, they never figured out the truth. but in a way, they didn’t need to. alphabeta is a much stronger relationship than epsichex because they like, know each other as their own people and church doesn’t know who allison was. it is tragic they neveer learned who they were, but it makes sense for the second iteration.

and then epsilon.... regresses. he sacrifices HER. yes it is him giving up on chasing the memory like the director did, but the director’s biggest crime isn’t just refusing to give up on a memory, it’s what it did to tex. how it stripped her of all agency and made her fucking miserable. this is so explicit in epsitex’s actions. she resents being made, but if she’s gonna exist, she’s going to do it on her own terms. beta came along for the ride, she made herself. epsitex didn’t.

and then epsilon makes her last words to him “i love you” and kills her.

(also... epsitex is made from epsilon’s memories of tex. the fact that epsitex always fails is just as much his fault for not seeing her as anything else as it is the director’s.)

there are only two ways to complete epsilon’s character arc well, because no matter what he needs to let tex LEAVE. not die, just exist as a person outside of him. you can interpret i forget you as that, but it isn’t her fucking choice to stop existing. just because she didnt ask to be made doesn’t mean he should have the power to execute her. she needs to be allowed to exist without him, figure out who she is. and, if you wanted to wrap up the narrative of church becoming a better person through iterations, him actually finally making the sacrifice and SAVING tex would be the final permutation.��

i used to think this was the best option but through writing this post, i think epsilon saying fuck you to the director spiritually by refusing to give him the heroic sacrifice he always wanted is the best, most satisfying option. and them being strong enough to leave the memory unit together (which would have to be established as impossible) would be a nice parallel with beta being strong enough to make her own person. and it would make the end of s10 hit so much harder, because epsilon didn’t just do better than him, but completely subverted what the director wanted for him.

outside of killing tex, i think epsilon is a super good character and exploring his relationship differences with the bgc vs alpha is something i’m super interested in (and something that @leonardalphachurch has done great meta on). not to mention, single mindedly focusing on tex instead of everyone else is another one of the director’s flaws that epsilon can overcome! he needed to put some serious work into his friendships that we never got from s12 or 13, sadly. and him self isolating with carolina can be an accidental repeat of the singlemindednesss cycle because he wasn’t focused on tex, and him realizing he cares about tucker and caboose and needs to show it better and stop pretending that him not showing emotional vulnerability makes him more like alpha and could be like a character moment or something.

and then tex can go explore the universe off screen for 3 seasons before coming back to chorus in s13 on her own to kick some ass. also the flashback montage episode of her hijinks and exploits that we missed like s15e6, please god give it to me.

#rvb #journal entry #files #oh my god don't look at my original takes im so much better at regurgitating other people's #this is so scary #along with rose's takes i also used epsilontuckers to cobble this together #iim not smart #DOING META MAKES ME SO PRETENTIOUS IIM SORRY #the-mercurial-star-o-vesper #long post #asks #ALSO ALL THE CHURCHES SHOULD HAVE BEEN WOMEN AND CHEX SHOULD HAVE BEEN LESBIANS.

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