#we should be angry and outraged at the injustice and not look away

[shattered-pieces]

If we could somehow do some sort of massive performance art thay gets attention to Ukraine and tells Congress we can't wait any longer

[arcadianambivalence]

Les Mis Letters - 1.2.7 - The Interior of Despair

Today’s chapter is one of my favorites because it contains some really powerful lines that encapsulate the point Hugo is trying to make. Once again, he cuts right to the heart in the opening sentences:

Let us try to say it.

It is necessary that society should look at these things, because it is itself which creates them.

Let us try to say it, indeed.

If the sweetness and goodness of the Bishop lulled any reader into a sense of comfort in Being Right, this chapter knocks the reader flat on their back. It’s a challenge to the audience, as part of the society that condemns men like Valjean, to have empathy and to question the system they’ve accepted as fact:

Then he asked himself-

Whether he had been the only one in fault in his fatal history. Whether it was not a serious thing, that he, a laborer, out of work, that he, an industrious man, should have lacked bread. And whether the fault once committed and confessed, the chastisement had not been ferocious and disproportioned. Whether there had not been more abuse on the part of the law, in respect to the penalty, than there had been on the part of the culprit in respect to his fault.

If Valjean, supposedly “an ignorant man,” could examine his role in society and the justice system, then surely the reader (who must not be ignorant) should be capable of self-analysis.

Whether this penalty, complicated by successive aggravations for attempts at escape, had not ended in becoming a sort of outrage perpetrated by the stronger upon the feebler, a crime of society against the individual, a crime which was being committed afresh every day, a crime which had lasted nineteen years.

[...] He asked himself whether human society could have the right to force its members to suffer equally in one case for its own unreasonable lack of foresight, and in the other case for its pitiless foresight.

Having seen how poverty and desperation drove him to act in the previous chapter, the way he was completely ignored by society until he committed a crime, then chucked into slave labor in the galleys without a thought, this chapter should break your heart. 

Like Valjean, we are taken on a journey of emotions, from awknowledging his guilt to questioning what role society had to do with his situation to fury at the justice system for such an extreme punishment for the theft of a loaf of bread and damage to a window. 

If prison sentences are to punish a wrong, then surely by the end of his nineteen years, he has physically paid for the raw materials and labor to make the bread and window hundreds of times over! 

If prison sentences are to deter someone from committing the same crime again, then shouldn’t there be failsafes in place to prevent people from reaching the point of attempting to steal a single loaf of bread to feed two adults and seven children?

Human society had done in nothing but harm; he had never seen anything of it save that angry face which it calls Justice.

[...] From suffering to suffering, he had gradually arrived at the conviction that life is a war; and that in this war he was the conquered. He had no other weapon than his hate.

When confronted with the injustice passed by the justice system, lack of uncern from society, and physical abuse in the galleys, who wouldn’t be angry? And it’s this anger that now puts Valjean at risk of committing a crime worse than (failed) petty theft and property damage. Because if bread is worth five years and attempted escape fourteen, what’s the difference if he lashes out at the wide world that’s destroyed his middle age and gets locked away the rest of his life?

To top it off, up until he met the Bishop, he’s suffered the same problem of hunger and rejection that drove him to theft in the first place!

[shreddedparchment]

A Wife for Thor Pt.20

Changes

03/21/2021

Pairing: King!Thor x Reader          Word Count: 6,206

Warnings: ANGST up the whazoo! Like seriously, angst. Language, more angst, talks of pregnancy, relationship troubles

A/N: Oof, this one is pretty bad. First of all, I’m sorry. I hope you can forgive me. But anyone who knows me and my storytelling, I always ramp up the angst around here. Anywho, I hope you enjoy this chapter to the best of your ability! If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

It’s nearly nightfall when Thor lands on the drive in front of your house.

His honeymoon haven, as he thinks of it often.

There’s hardly any impact from his descent, but what little there is kicks up a puff of dust despite the heavy gravel.

It crunches beneath his feet as he makes his way towards the front door. His boots fall heavy on the aged wood and before he can knock you’re there, pulling the door open.

You’re the most wonderful sight he’s ever had the pleasure of laying his eyes on. You’re perfection. Even tired as you look, eyes bloodshot, lips slightly off color, no glow in your cheeks or brightness in your gaze. You’re still the most beautiful creature in all of the universe.

He smiles at you but you stare at him stoically, then step aside to allow Dr. Wilson passage.

“Dr. Wilson,” Thor suddenly remembers sending her to be with you.

He smiles at her and she gives him one in return, albeit small and tight and it doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Your Majesty,” she curtsies quickly before turning to you and placing her hand on your arm. “If you need anything, you have my number.”

“Thank you, Dr. Wilson, I’ll use it if I have to. Which something tells me I will.”

“Are you not better yet, cherub?” Thor asks, worry creasing his forehead.

You don’t meet his eyes and he notices the way Dr. Wilson steals a quick glance at him before she gives you a curtsy too then moves around him towards the drive to a shiny silver car.

You step out to the edge of your porch, waving at the Doctor until she’s gone.

As you turn back to him, Thor breathes in deep, almost taking a step towards you to wrap his arms around you and kiss you and quench this thirst for you that has been growing larger and more demanding every day that the two of you have been apart.

Before he can, you point towards the doorway and move past him, “You better come inside. It’s supposed to storm tonight.”

“Storm?” Thor asks incredulously. “Shall I chase it away for us?”

You don’t answer him and instead walk into the kitchen, disappearing from his sight as you move around the counter towards the sink.

Thor hesitates, his heart dropping for the first time since he arrived. At first he merely thought you exhausted from your illness, but now he’s wondering if there might not be something more going on.

Are you angry at him that it took him so long to come and see you?

As he shuts the door then steps towards your coat rack, he hangs his hammer carefully before moving towards the kitchen no longer in uniform but in a plain gray t-shirt and dark blue jeans.

“Are you not well at all yet, cherub? Will you need more time away from home?” he stops by the edge of the island, his hand reaching over to poke at the smooth wooden counter nervously.

The longer you take to answer him, the more he thinks something must be wrong, beyond your falling ill.

There’s no possible way that you might have found out about-It’s almost too unbearable to think of but as you keep your back to him, hands calmly but with purpose filling your kettle with water and dropping tea bags into a pot, his stomach begins to churn.

“Y/N, if something is wrong, I-”

“I’m pregnant, Thor. I’ve known for a week. Since the day in your war room when you were telling Loki that you wanted to get an annulment so that you could marry Jane.”

Thor’s heart stops. Outside the storm grows nearer faster.

Any light left from the setting sun is snuffed out by the black clouds of thunder and rain that Thor’s panic pulls from the atmosphere.

“I was coming to tell you, but you left your door open. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop but then you said Jane was pregnant and for a moment I was hoping that maybe she was pregnant with someone else’s baby, but it didn’t sound like that’s what you were thinking so, I listened.

“My mind, at that moment, was a little foggy. You know? It took me a second to really think about what we could do. Because for me, I knew that even with this new hurdle, I wanted to overcome it with you. At your side.”

Thor watches as you step to the stove and light the burner, placing your kettle over it to boil.

His limbs are fuzzy, his mind a hive of buzzing bees and crackling electricity. His heart is still not beating but he can feel it breaking. Every fissure, every tear, he feels it from end to end. His mouth will not open and even if he had something to say, even if he could think enough to say it, you don’t sound finished and he will not interrupt you.

You move to pull two cups out from a cupboard and place one in front of the nearest stool to him, then the other on the island in front of the sink where you’ve been standing. You move the teapot over to the island too, then place both hands on the edge to lean all your weight against it.

Somehow, having you look at him is worse. He can see the heartbreak in your eyes, the betrayal. He can feel the anger surging beneath this calm exterior you’ve pasted on.

He’d rather have you rage at him, throw things at him, than see you keep your composure and think about this rationally. Because what can that mean? Have you given up on him? What does this mood of yours mean for your marriage?

“One of the first things I thought was that we should get Jane a room, or maybe a proper house where she and the baby could live because I could never keep you from your child. Not when they would be the rightful heir to the throne. And even if they weren’t going to be the heir, that baby would be your baby. Your child. So how can I ever keep them from you?

“I wasn’t exactly happy that Jane would be in our lives forever seeing as she is so openly…” you tut, looking up at the light fixture above as you search for the right word. “...not hostile. But she doesn’t like me. I could see it the moment she arrived but you seemed, I don’t know, oblivious of it? I’m not sure if that’s because it’s Jane or not, or if you seriously just didn’t notice?

“Every time we were alone, she always made sure to keep her distance. She never talked to me unless she absolutely had to, but as soon as you'd come into  the room she was all politeness and sociable,” you laugh without humor. “I still have no idea how you didn’t notice.

“It was sad, honestly. It made me sad, a lot. But I kept my mouth shut because you trusted her so wholeheartedly even though I could feel the snake she was. Maybe I shouldn’t be saying this, especially since she’ll be part of our lives now, but-”

“She won’t.”

You stop talking, fixing your piercing gaze upon Thor and all he can do is shake his head in rebuttal of what you just said.

“She won’t be part of our lives,” he continues, explaining himself as quickly as he can.

Now that he’s got a word in, he’s eager to tell you how silly all of this has been. How stupid and unnecessarily taxing the stress was.

“She’s not pregnant,” Thor smiles, and he is glad to see your relief.

It’s brief and subdued, but it’s a small sigh and a relaxing of your shoulders.

After a moment you take several steps back to lean against the sink.

“So we have nothing to worry about,” Thor continues, hoping to latch onto his spark of hope.

He rounds the island with godly dexterity but you take a step back, looking up at him with narrowed eyes.

Your anger is less hidden now, and he can see the outrage in your face.

He stops his pursuit to give you space.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

Your demand confuses him. Doesn’t it make you feel better? It makes him feel loads, tons, millions of times better.

“I-” he begins confused.

“You were willing to leave me...to end our marriage, for a baby that hadn’t even been confirmed yet. You think telling me that Jane not being pregnant so now you don't have to erase our marriage as if it never existed is gonna make this better?!”

Thor is speechless, trying desperately to understand the problem, the confusion. Why are you still angry?

“Y-yes, my cherub. No baby, no Jane, no need to figure anything out,” he insists.

“YOU CALL AN ANNULMENT FIGURING SHIT OUT?!”

Thor winces, never having heard you this angry before. You’re livid and that scream is directed directly at him. It takes him a moment to regain some composure but when he does, he sputters to get his story out.

“I-I admit that perhaps the moment of my finding out about Jane was not my finest. I just learned that the once woman I loved was having my child and the scandal that would bring upon my people-”

You scoff and turn away from him, moving back towards the stove as a small stream of steam begins to rise. It’s not hot enough yet though.

Thor doesn’t understand. You know how life works. You’ve been there daily, watching him say and do things that he wouldn’t normally do. He’s being forced just as much as you are to deal with things, only his opportunities are much richer in variation.

“You’re angry with me?” Thor knows this, but something about saying it out loud hits him with a harsh sense of injustice. “What choice would you have had me make?”

You stiffen at his new tone. He can see the shift in your body, and he instantly regrets the momentary anger that boiled his blood.

The way your shoulders slump has his heart beating wildly with new panic. How does he fix this? How can he make this up to you? How can the two of you find some common ground?

“Not this,” you say, quietly.

Thor almost doesn’t hear you but only almost..

“Y/N…” his voice is softer, negotiating in an attempt to calm you.

The placating tone has the opposite effect on you.

“The one thing I asked you to do is to be honest with me. I asked you not to make a fool of me and you did it anyway. You lied to me-”

“I didn’t lie-” Thor begins, but he knows that omitting the truth is almost as good as. His voice trails off.

“Not only did you lie to me but-but when we took our vows, I thought-”

Thor clenches his fists, watching you struggle to overcome some emotion that he can’t see because you’re still facing away from him.

“I feel so stupid,” you gasp, and as your voice hitches, Thor realizes that you’re crying.

He rounds the island but you turn to look at him, throwing your arm out towards him, “No!”

He freezes, breathing labored as his stomach aches. His heart tears again, searing pain ripping at his chest.

It only feels worse as he gets a good look at your face, tears streaming down along your cheeks as despair washes over you.

“Don’t touch me,” you beg of him and Thor can’t believe you mean it.

You can’t mean it.

“The only thing I’ve ever wanted was to have a family of my own,” your words aren’t weak or stuttering now.

Your voice is strong and sure, the week of uncertainty having firmed your resolve.

What have I done?

“When you married me, when you accepted me as part of your house, I thought that I’d finally found that. Not just in you but in Loki and Hilde and Heimdall and the rest of our people. And in three seconds, you took that away from me.

“You abandoned me,” you declare and Thor can’t stay silent anymore.

“No! No, Y/N, I have not abandoned you. I’m here. I’m right here. I came for you. To take you home!”

“BUT YOU THOUGHT ABOUT IT!”

Thor can see the frustration in you, the utter befuddlement you must have felt, the betrayal. There’s disappointment and fear but most of all there’s loss. You’ve lost something this week, and even though he doesn’t know what it is for sure, he can guess.

“You gave the thought a presence and you meant it. You would have left me!”

“No!” Thor protests, an anguished cry of his own sorrow. A refusal of your conclusions.

“That’s what I was coming to tell you today. I woke up with the firm belief that Jane was still with child and as soon as it was confirmed, I was going to come and tell you that even with her carrying my child, you are my Queen.

“Nothing could ever change that and the only life I can imagine living is one with you at my side.”

You’re already shaking your head in protest, already disbelieving him. Thor attempts to step closer but you renew your extended arm.

“No,” you tell him firmly, voice low and quiet with resentment. “I need you to stay away from me.”

“You want me to go?!” Thor asks in pained disbelief.

You keep shaking your head, not answering his question.

The silence in the kitchen is heavy and to Thor, it feels endless.

Too few mornings flash through his mind of you waking beside him to turn and recount your plans for the day, your hopes for your lives together. You’ve always wanted to talk to him. You’ve always wanted to be with him.

His touch has never been unwelcome even in the first days of your courtship.

Your eyes are still flooding over, lips trembling, chest rising and falling with the effort of your crying.

His own body is still. This is the lowest he’s ever felt and he’s not sure what moving will do to him.

The quiet is ripped apart by the slow build up of your kettle’s whistle, but you don’t move to take it off the heat.

“Should I leave, cherub?” Thor asks again, his deep voice weak with emotion at the very idea that you’ll tell him to go.

You reach up to wipe at your cheeks, fingertips sweeping new tears away from the edges of your eyes as more rush to replace them.

You reach over and take hold of your elbow.

You’re thinking about it. You’re actually thinking about whether he should leave.

“No,” you finally whisper, unable to say it any louder he guesses.

It probably goes against every instinct in your body to allow him to stay.

Because he needs something to do, because he can’t stand there and just watch you hate him, he turns around and goes back around the island so that he can go to the stove behind you and move the kettle.

Thor watches you follow him with your eyes as he moves then take a step away from him when he slides behind you to get to the stove.

You move to take your seat at the island and Thor pours the heated water into your teapot.

He places the lid on top, the clink of the ceramic loud in your silence.

Your shaking hands give him worry and he moves towards the small pantry to pull a tin of cookies you’d bought in New York during your honeymoon.

You’d gone on and on about how much you enjoyed them and now that memory feels like a lifetime ago.

A happier one.

He moves around the kitchen taking a large plate and loading it up with your cookies. He grabs the milk from the fridge and pulls the artificial sweetener from the far end of the island to move it closer to you.

He’s aware of your eyes on him still, watching his every move with a gaze to rival Heimdall’s. He doesn’t try to dress his actions up as anything other than what they are; concern.

He places your cup closer to you, fills it with tea, milk, and your sweetener. Once done, he moves back around to his side of the island and takes his seat once more.

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re almost angry enough to be petty. You almost want to take your tea and pour it out. Just to show him how much things aren’t okay.

The way he’d walked in here, brazen and as if he hadn’t attempted to take the only true family you’ve ever known and erase it...you can’t.

More because you need to relax, in fear of the little life growing inside you, you take the tea and take a sip.

Thor knows just how you like it.

He’s watching you, staring. He's full of self-loathing and what you'd once thought was love for you. Concern emanates off of him.

He reaches out, and for a moment you think he might take your hand.

You flinch, pulling both your hands onto your lap, but Thor’s hand only meets the edge of the plate of swedish dream cookies you’d bought on your honeymoon. 

He pushes it towards you, and your heart aches painfully. This agony is unbearable.

Your lip quivers again, unable to contain the sorrow of what your marriage is now facing. You know just as he does that you're at an impasse. Tonight things between you will change.

For the better? For worse?

Thor loves you. You can see that. You saw it the moment he showed up, smiling and so happy to see you that his electric blue eye was beaming.

It was that love that made you so angry. It’s why you shouted when you’d promised yourself that when he came, you wouldn’t raise your voice.

Heimdall had been nice enough to give you warning this morning that Thor would be coming today and that nothing would deter him from seeing you.

You’d been so angry when you’d gotten the call, but you’d talked to Dr. Wilson about staying calm and she'd pointed out that having all of these unresolved feelings would do the baby more harm than good.

While deciding to resolve this today, choosing to stay calm had failed dramatically.

“Please, love, eat something,” Thor begs. "You're shaking. I know you've eaten nothing all day."

How the hell can he tell?! Was Dr. Wilson spying for him?

Even she'd been unable to force more than a few bites of a sandwich into your stomach. You've been dreading this confrontation all day.

Now that it’s here, it's worse than you imagined.

You hate how much hearing the pain in his voice also hurts you. You don’t want to feel any kind of sympathy for him right now. After what he said…

You eat because you’re worried about the baby. Not because Thor is asking.

One cookie is enough to help your queasy stomach feel better, a sip of tea settles your frayed nerves.

You relax a little, the tension in your body partially gone.

Neither you nor Thor say anything for a while and you’re grateful for the silence. You need lots of time to think.

While you think, you eat.

Cookie after cookie as your stomach groans in relief of finally being fed. Not exactly nutritious but it's something.

Despite your body's reaction to the unexpected junk food, the revelation that Jane isn’t pregnant after all is the only thing that you can really focus on.

You'd know she would try something. Not this though. You'd expected a pass at Thor. You'd expected her to try and get him back and you'd been so sure about his feelings for you that you'd been sure nothing would happen.

You hadn't expected her to find a way to reach in and pull it all up by its roots.

Finally, Thor clears his throat. There's and eager shine to his eye now, curiosity needing answers. In this moment you realize that his mind is filled with something else. Something much happier to think about that while it does bring you joy, you can’t share in that joy with Thor yet. Not after everything.

“Is it true?” he asks, the corners of his lips curved and the set of his brow eager. He can't help it. “Are you really pregnant?”

You meet his gaze and reach up to wipe the last of your tears away.

“I’m about three months? A little over. It would have happened during our honeymoon.”

Your explanation brings a smile to his face and he’s so beautiful you find yourself hardening again in defense.

"Your Asgardian blood was making it difficult for my doctors to confirm the pregnancy. The first was negative. The second, inconclusive, but then negative. The third was also inconclusive but this one didn't change to negative so they tried some other things and it finally showed positive.

"They tested my blood over and over. It’s real."

This is what both of you have been wanting since before you were married. You’d wanted to give him an heir and he’d wanted one. You’d wanted to start a family and he’d been desperate for the same.

This is the moment the two of you have been dreaming of and now that it’s here, it’s nothing like you’d pictured.

The joy you’d felt on your trip to the war room to give him the news is lost on you now. Tainted.

“Are-are you not happy?”

“How can you ask me that?” you frown, hostile resentment tainting your features.

He deflates at your tone and you almost regret letting how you feel show so openly.

Almost.

Thor’s face pales and he looks down at the island, his own cup still empty.

Because you do feel bad, though you don’t regret letting him know how angry you are, you get up and pull a beer from the fridge.

Placing it in front of him, you take your seat again.

Thor’s face floods with hope.

"The only reason you're here is because Heimdall knew you'd come. He saw that you were decided and would stop at nothing to come here but if he hadn't given me the warning, you'd be standing outside on the porch banging on the door asking me to let you in. You need to know that.."

Even though the hope in his eyes had made you so angry just a moment ago, as it disappears, you feel a surge of grief.

"I don't understand," Thor begins softly, both hands reaching across the island towards yours wrapped securely around your tea cup. "Why are you so angry, cherub?"

He's not putting it together? Does he seriously not see how what he did is a problem?

"I've told you that Jane is not pregnant so there will be no child and even before I'd found out, I had made my choice to stay with you. These are good things, aren't they?"

The wonder in his voice is real. The agony of his confusion is real.

Somehow you need to make him understand.

You scoff, trying hard not to be cynical after the blow you've taken to your pride.

"Do you remember the day we got married?"

"Vividly," Thor nods and attempts a smile.

A quick stern glare from you settles him down.

"Do you remember welcoming me into your house? Do you have any idea what becoming a member of your family has meant to me?

"I have lived my life alone, Thor. I had no one. From the day my parents died to the moment I agreed to marry you, there was not a single person who I belonged to who also belonged to me.

"Marrying you gave me a home. It gave me people to call my own. It gave me a kingdom full of loving and loyal subjects.

"Marrying you took my loneliness and destroyed it. I had a brothers, sisters, and a husband who I thought loved me as one of his own. I thought you had accepted me as part of your family until the day I died."

You sigh, voice tight and always on the verge of breaking into tears.

"I have, cherub. You are my everything!" Thor’s interruption doesn't phase you this time.

You keep talking as if he'd said nothing.

"And when I've finally done it, when we've finally got what we wanted, you throw me away."

"No!" Thor rises and moves around the island towards you.

This time you don't stop him because nothing he says or does will change your mind. Nothing will fix this.

He sweeps you into his arms, pulling you close so that you have to look up at his face from your spot in your seat. His massive hands caress the sides of your face as his pleasant warmth chases away the horrible nightmares you’ve had all week.

But his arms, his touch, can’t chase away the break in your heart. It can’t fix the pain that feels etched into your veins. Your sinew is rewritten with the agony of his fleeting choice to leave you. Nothing will ever be the same.

“I didn’t throw you away, I was confused. I didn’t know what to do or what the best course of action was. I should have come to you. I should have told you about Jane and I should have consulted with you, my wife, my Queen before making any rash decisions.

“I know that I did wrong, but believe me when I tell you that I love you more than my own life. I can’t imagine my life without you, cherub. I’m sorry that I have caused you such distress. I am sorry that I made you think, even for one second, that I could make my way through this existence without you.

“I love you. And I am never letting you go.”

Your heart is unmoved. Even as he stares down at you with his eye clear and sure. The set of his jaw is firm, and his hands keep stroking your cheeks, temples, and scalp as you watch the fire in him fade.

Slowly, he realizes that the damage is done.

It takes him a long time. His body falls, shoulders slumping, arms not so tight around you, hands a little more gentle. It’s the set of his lips that tells you when he’s accepted it. That he’s broken you and your marriage and there is no repair here.

Not now.

“What will you do?” he asks, hands gliding down along the sides of your neck, shoulders, arms, and elbows where he finally lets go and moves back around the island to take his seat again, throwing himself down in defeat as his hand wraps around his beer.

“I’m still your wife, Thor,” you sigh, turning to look at your cup of tea. “I am still Queen of New Asgard. I’ll do my job as best as I can, from here.”

“Here?” he asks, shocked.

“I can’t go back to the palace. Not right away. I need...I meant it when I said that I needed a break.”

“From me?” Thor guesses, and you can see his heartbreaking.

“From us, yes.”

“How long?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “A few weeks? Months? Years?”

He looks more devastated the longer you speak.

“I don’t know how long it will take me to trust you again. When you told Loki that you’d get an annulment and make me out to be the problem by my not giving you any kids, you took any faith and confidence I had in us and your love for me and flushed it down the toilet.

“I can’t just pretend that didn’t happen. Even though we have nothing to worry about now, I can’t just forget the way I felt. I’m gonna need time.”

The war raging within Thor right now is painful to watch. You can safely assume that he’s almost refusing to go another day without you, much less weeks, months, or years. 

You can also see the regret he’s feeling. The anger. It passes quickly though, and Thor takes another long drink from his beer, draining the bottle before he sets it aside.

He reaches up to wipe at his fuzzy lips, his beard scratchy as he breathes in deeply.

He meets your gaze and nods, “I will give you whatever you need. I will send you a guard. I don’t want you here alone.”

You’re not about to oppose the protection. Not with the baby on the way.

“You should probably make the announcement of the baby. And give some excuse about me staying away. Our people deserve to know. They’ve been waiting too.”

“Mm.” Thor agrees. “What shall I tell the others?”

“Loki already knows. He’s known since I came here.”

“What?!”

“Hey, no!” you frown at him, anger tinging your words. “You can’t be angry at Loki for doing as I asked. I’ve been alone up here waiting to know whether you’re going to leave me or not. He only did what I needed.”

Thor’s anger passes through him in phases. In seconds, he’s calm again, but still breathing through flared nostrils.

“Why did you not tell me? If you’d told me sooner-”

“If I’d told you sooner then I wouldn’t know if you were with me because you love me or because the baby was finally coming. I didn’t want to live the rest of my life never knowing whether your sticking by me in this marriage is because I was finally having our kid. That’s not the kind of life that I want for myself.

“I’m not sorry that I didn’t tell you, Thor. Because even if I can’t trust you, at least I know whether you’d decided not to leave me before you knew I was pregnant.”

Thor’s face is full of sorrow. He’s coming to terms with everything as quickly as he can since you’re not giving him much choice. Are you wrong to put some distance between the two of you?

Should you forgive and forget?

Part of you, the part that loves the man you married, wants to reach out and touch his cheek. You want to tell him that you love him and that nothing will ever change that. You want to celebrate the future you have growing inside you and revel in the fact that Jane’s lie is over and move on with your lives.

The bigger part of you can’t trust his words. Can’t trust his touch. In a few moments, Thor had torn apart the truths of every caress and declaration that he’d made since you got married.

The bigger part of you knows that you can’t trust him. The bigger part of you knows that he could hurt you again. He might very well rip your heart in two for good the next time, and what kind of life can you have like that?

No. As much as your heart loves him, your brain is telling you to play this cautiously from here on out.

“I’ll come to any functions I need to. I’ll make sure I’m there on your arm. But don’t expect things to be the same between us Thor.”

He nods in defeat, “Can I fix this? Is there anything I might do to prove to you that my love is real?”

“It’s not a question of me not believing that you love me,” you explain, sighing lightly as you come to these realizations yourself as Thor makes you face the inevitabilities you’ve been avoiding all week.

You’ve tried hard to keep from pondering the future with or without him. Now that he’s asking, you can’t avoid it anymore.

“I know that you can’t put me before your throne. I know that your people have to come first. I’ve known that since I married you and when I talked to Loki and David about what happened they both told me what I already know.

“You have responsibilities to our people first and foremost and any choices, whether you want to make them or not, are made for them. I can never be first for you. I know that. My mind knows that. It’s honorable that you will always do right by your people.

“But my heart can’t accept that,” you’ve been trying to keep from crying again but as you admit your insecurity aloud, your heart clenches painfully drawing from your eyes a welling of tears. “Because I’ve fallen in love with you completely, Thor. I never knew that loving someone could be this terrifying and painful. Just the thought that you’d decided to make our marriage disappear as if it had never happened ripped me to pieces and I don’t know how to come back from that.”

You sob and Thor leans over the island to take your hand. You don’t pull away this time. You let him give you this small bit of comfort because you need it. Your heart, the fact that he wants to touch you, needs it.

“Even if it was only for a moment, you left me. I want to be first for you. I want to be the only thing that matters. And I can’t be. And I know that. Which makes me feel like such shit because I shouldn’t be asking you for this. I know that you can’t give it to me.

“It’s why Jane told you no. Along with her job, I know that it’s the reason that she couldn’t marry you. She knew that for you, she would always come second to New Asgard.

“I knew that too. When I agreed to marry you, I knew that you’d have to do things for them first. But I love you so much and I-it sucks that I know now if you have to choose between me or your people, you’ll choose your people.

“It’s right. You should. But it fucking sucks and it hurts too much.”

You’re full on crying now and Thor gets up, but you raise your hand to stop him. With a shake of your head he sits back down.

“So…” you sniffle. “What you can do for me is give me the distance I need to work through this. I need to come to terms with the fact that after our baby is born, I’ll be third. I need to just learn and accept that no matter how much you say you love me, you can never choose me.

“Can you give me that? Can you give me space?”

As you meet his gaze, his intense unrelenting stare, you can see him warring with himself. You can see the confusion and the indecision. You can see the agony of what you’re asking of him but somehow he manages to nod.

His own eye waters and after a second nod, his tears spill over to trail across his cheek and lose themselves in his beard.

“I’m sorry, cherub,” he grieves. “I never meant to hurt you like this.”

“I know that, Thor. But I have to find out how much of myself I can invest in our marriage. Because if loving you like this means I have to feel this kind of pain over and over again, I don’t think I can keep loving you. Not like this.”

Your words hurt him and you regret them, but you can’t take them back because they’re truth. You need to guard yourself and you aren’t going to apologize for putting yourself first when no one else in your life will.

The silence is never ending.

The two of you sit sniffling at the island for what feels like hours. Finally, your stomach rumbles loudly and Thor springs up from his seat to the fridge.

He starts pulling out an array of ingredients that you don’t pay too much mind to.

He fills the house with the smells of chicken, paprika, rosemary, lemon, and some other spices you can’t pick out. It makes your stomach growl more loudly and at least with his mind and hands busy making your dinner, he stops crying and that at least gives you a little bit of a break from the horror you’ve been feeling at causing him so much pain with your choice to distance yourself from him.

“Might I stay the night?” he checks, surprising you a bit by the question.

“On the couch,” you whisper, unable to speak any louder.

The idea of him sleeping in the same space but not next to you is unbearable, but somehow you find a way to deal.

His hand stutters over the pan but after a moment he goes back to cooking.

“The couch is fine,” he agrees. “Whatever you need, love.”

And even though his words tell you he’s fine, you know him well enough to recognize the depression in his stoic gaze.

[jobrookekarev]

One Step Forward and Three Steps Back: Chapter Three

Chapter Three of Six

Words: 3060

Chapter Summary: Jo is taking to the hospital and the reality of what happened sinks in for Alex and Stephanie.

Summary: Jo wants to marry Alex more than anything, there’s just a few hoops she has to jump through before she can make that a reality. When she finally takes the plunge to free herself from her past, it all comes back to haunt her.

Fandom: Grey’s Anatomy.

Relationship: Alex Karev/Jo Wilson, Jo Wilson/Paul Stadler (Past).

Characters: Alex Karev, Jo Wilson, Stephanie Edwards, Paul Stadler, Meredith Grey, Miranda Bailey, Ben Warren.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences,

Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Physical Abuse, Domestic Abuse, Assault. Medical, Hospital, and ER. 

Read at AO3

Read at FFN

……………………………………………………………………

Stephanie left to lead the paramedics into the building and listed off Jo’s stats to Kevin and Nicole as they came into the Loft with the gurney. 

“Is this the guy that attacked her?” Kevin said, looking at him with disdain as he leaned down to check him over.

“Yeah,” Stephanie mumbled, looking back at Jo as Nicole knelt down beside her. 

“Okay, let's take her first. The second ambulance should be here soon. Are you two okay riding with?” Nicole asked, looking over at them as she grabbed the board. 

Alex and Stephanie both nodded as they helped Nicole get Jo up and onto the gurney. Another ambulance came for him, Stephanie wasn’t sure what to call him. Jo never said his name, not that he deserved one. She spared him one last glance before she helped Nicole and Alex push Jo’s gurney and out of the loft.

The ambulance ride was quiet. Nicole gave Jo some pain meds and other drugs that knocked her out, and she attached a bag to the end of Jo’s tube. Alex tucked the blanket around her and held her hand. Stephanie saw a few tears escape his eyes as she fought back tears of her own. 

They arrived at Grey-Sloan in a matter of minutes and Cross and another resident met them in the ambulance bay. 

“Oh my God, what happened,” Cross asked, pausing as he looked down at Jo on the stretcher, despite how Nicole was listing off Jo's stats and injuries.

They wheeled her into trauma room one, and Stephanie and Alex reached for a fresh pair of gloves as they began to work on Jo and ordered the interns around. “Let's get x-rays in a portable ultrasound to check the blood flow in the carotid arteries on the left and the right. Page Avery and Amelia, I don’t want whoever's on call for Neuro. Jo deserves the best.”

“Oh my God, what happened,” Warren said as he and Bailey walked into the room, pausing at the end of the bed. 

“Possible collapsed trachea as well as other crush injuries to the spine, and possible compromised blood flow to the left carotid artery,” Stephanie said as she attached the monitors to Jo's chest. 

“Okay, both you and Karev need to step away from her right now,” Bailey said, walking up the side of the stretcher and putting her hand on Alex's arm.

“No, I'm not sitting on the sidelines, it's Jo!” Alex insisted, gripping the railing of Jo's bed not taking his eyes off of her.

“I can see that, Alex, and I can also see that you are in no state to be here,” Bailey said back, putting his hand on his chest. “We are going to take good care of Jo.”

“Listen to Dr. Bailey,” Warren said, backing her up and looking over at Alex. “Jo’s stable and her vital signs are good. She's in good hands and we will update you as often as we can.” 

“Dr. Bailey, we have another patient. Should I take them to trauma room two?” One of the nurses asked as Stephanie watched the gurney with Jo's abusive husband roll by. 

“Yes, and page whoever's on call,” Bailey said as the nurse left. “Cross get him out of here.”

Alex reluctantly let Cross push him out of the room, his eyes never leaving Jo until the door slide close in front of him. 

“Edwards, I need you next door to assess the patient that just came in,” Bailey said as she looked over Jo.

“No.” 

Stephanie looked down at Jo's neck, seeing her unconscious in front of her with the black and blue bruising that he caused. She knew she'd kill him in anger if she went next door, despite her vow to do no harm.

“No,” Bailey said, outraged that one of her doctors defined her orders. 

“That's the asshole that did this to her.” 

“Okay,” Bailey said, nodding at her before she gave Warren and Cross the order to go next door.

……………………………………………………………………

Alex stood outside in the hall, staring at the trauma room where Cross pushed him out. They had drawn the curtains around it so that he couldn’t see anything. Alex couldn't move. He just stood there in the middle of the ER. He stumbled back into another nurse who gave him a strange look and politely told him to move out of the way. Alex walked over to the hall between the trauma rooms. It was a little quieter there than in the middle of the ER and he still stared at the room where Jo was. 

He walked until his back was pressed against the wall and his knees gave out as he slid down to sit on the floor. The weight of the night and the realization of what had happened finally dawned upon him as he had nothing to keep his mind or his hands occupied. Sitting there in the hall, everything that just happened replayed in his mind. The image of Jo on the floor with his hands around her neck was frozen behind his eyelids. It was the most frightening thing Alex had ever seen. The thought that he could lose her finally hits him. 

There was a tightness in his chest and he could barely breathe. All he could think about was Jo. He knew she was stable. He knew she was alive, but he was a doctor, and he knew how things could change in an instant. Before he even realized it, heavy tears fell down his cheeks as he started crying. Heavy sobs shook his shoulders as he put a hand over his face and cried.

He cried harder than he had in a long time, and his tears streaked down his cheeks in hot angry rivers. If he hadn't been there. If he hadn't come back. He doesn't want to think about what would have happened to Jo or to Stephanie if he hadn't been there. If that guy, that asshole had shown up. All because of what? Because he wanted Jo to marry him, because he wouldn't take her no for an answer, because he thought getting married was more important than just being with her. Looking back now, it all seemed so insignificant compared to the thought of losing her, truly losing her. 

His hands formed into fists as his anger ran hot again. Anger at himself for what he had said to her that morning, for leaving her alone, and for thinking about never coming back. His hands hurt for the first time in hours as he looked down at them to see the bruising on his knuckles. He had reacted out of pure instinct as he ran over and punched the guy. His only thought was of getting him off of Jo as quickly as possible. 

He let his anger fuel him, and at first, he thought he was doing it just so the guy would stay down, but he kept punching long after the man's eyes had swelled closed and he had grown limp in Alex's hands. Stephanie had to scream at him to get his attention, and as he looked back, he realized he left Jo gasping for air. He should have helped her, but instead, he kept punching, and he was lucky Jo didn’t asphyxiate. 

He let his rage feel him. He left Jo to die and chose to go after her attacker rather than help her. That scared him. The same anger that had filled him now was the same anger he had when he was standing over his father's at sixteen-year-old. Alex could have killed his father then, and he could have killed this man now. If that guy ever dared look at Jo again, he knew he wouldn't hesitate too, because even though Alex didn't know the full story, he knew he had to protect Jo. There was both Justice and Injustice in those actions, revenge for the hands they had laid upon others and to the extreme that others had to pull him away had not been for Stephanie tonight. Had it had not been for his mother screaming at him when he was sixteen, who knows how long he would have kept going. 

Alex knew that somehow this man knew Jo and that there was a reason behind why he attacked her, but Alex didn't care. Jo didn't deserve that. Nobody did, but he couldn't get answers until Stephanie stepped out of the room. Alex wouldn't drag her away from Jo, not when she needed her. Jo needed someone looking after her, someone who loved her, and if it couldn’t be him, he was glad that it was Stephanie.

Alex couldn't sit there in that hallway alone anymore, so he pulled out his phone. He had grabbed it before they left and put it in his back pocket. Meredith's number was the only one he thought of and she answered within a few rings.

“Hey, Alex. What's up?” Meredith asked in a happy tone, sound the upbeat wedding music in the background. 

“It's Jo,” That was all Alex was able to say before he started sobbing again, mumbling to Meredith through his tears. “There was a guy in the loft. I woke up because I heard the plant fall over. I thought that Jo or Stephanie had tripped over it, but there was this guy, and he was on top of her. I didn't even think about it, I, I just went at him…”

“Alex, slow down, slow down, slow down. Take a breath.” Meredith said as Alex did as she instructed despite the lump in his throat. “What happened to Jo?”

“I woke up, and there was a man in our Loft on top of her. He was choking her. I just punched him. I had to get him off of her.” Alex shook his head. He should have just punched him once and then helped Jo. “But she wasn't breathing, Meredith, she couldn't breathe. Stephanie had to intubate her. We're at the hospital now, and Jo’s stable, but she wasn't breathing, Mer.”

“Okay, I'm on my way,” Meredith said and he could hear her moving around. “I'll bring Rigs with me and we will take care of Jo, okay.”

Alex could only nod, but he knew Meredith understood.

“Okay, I'm going to hang up now, but I'll be there soon.”

Alex nodded again, and she hung up, but he still held the phone against his ear. He watched the trauma room and watched Avery enter. Everything was just muffled voices, and he couldn't make out what anyone was saying, but still, he watched the room for any sign that Jo was okay or not.

……………………………………………………………………

“I'm here,” Jackson said, walking into the room and approaching the bed. “Is that Jo? What the hell?”

“Looks like tracheal occlusion injuries with compression of both carotid arteries. She was conscious and alert at the scene and was breathing on her own despite how Dr. Edwards was forced to intubate her. Neuro has been by and has signed off. We’re keeping an eye on the injuries to her carotid artery. The blood flow wasn't too compromised, but we're keeping an eye on the crush injuries to her chest. She’s got two broken ribs, the 3rd and 4th on the left. Neuro said there were no spinal fractures on the x-rays, but we're still waiting for a head and neck CT and MRI,” Bailey said, ever steady as she held the Carotid doppler and double checked the blood flow to Jo’s left carotid artery. 

Jackson seemed taken aback, but nonetheless, he continued with his examination as he looked over the x-rays. “I want those scans as soon as possible. X-rays look good, with no damage or perforations to the lungs, but there’s a lot of swelling in her neck. Do we have labs?”

“Not yet,” Bailey answered, setting the doppler down and carefully cleaning the jell off of Jo’s neck.

“Okay, well, she appears stable for now, but I’d like to do a bronchoscopy and maybe an upper gastrointestinal endoscopy, but let's see what the labs and scans say,” Jackson said as he looked up to check Jo’s oxygenation levels. “Who did this?” 

Stephanie could feel his eyes on her and she just looked down at Jo. She looked so peaceful. Stephanie had cleaned up the little scratches on her neck, but they were insignificant compared to the bruising that colored the skin of her neck and chest. The rest of her face and body was unmarked, but she was unconscious and intubated, unable to breathe without the tube that might be permanent. 

“The guy next door,” Stephanie said, not taking her eyes off of Jo. Even though she was stable for now, Stephanie couldn't take her eyes off of her unconscious friend.

“The guy in the next trauma room. The guy whose face I just fixed, the guy who I'm about to operate on as well. He did this to Jo?”

“Yes.” 

“You were there. What happened?” Jackson asked as both he and Bailey looked at Stephanie.

“He attacked her. I don't know how he got into the Loft, I just woke up, and he was on top of her. Alex, he got him off, but Jo couldn't breathe. She kept scratching at her neck and gasping for air.” 

Stephanie had seen a lot of things in life, but nothing like this, nothing like the act of violence she had witnessed against her best friend. The image of Jo on the floor of the Loft and the way she sounded as she gasped for air, like the wind through a haunted house, replayed in her mind. 

They had a girl's night and watched the horror movie just a few days ago. The two of them had curled up on the couch in the Loft with pizza and beer. Jo had curled into her side and hid her face in Stephanie’s shoulder at every jump scare. Meanwhile, Stephanie had made fun of the way the characters has screamed as the wind shifted through the house like a howling wolf. Little did she know that that sound would haunt her now. She sat down and trailed her fingers down Jo’s cheek, brushing her hair out of her face. 

“Make sure that you keep him as far away from her as possible. I’ll call the police and have security cuff him to the bed. As soon as we get her labs back, see if you need to have her transferred up to the OR for the bronchoscopy, upper gastrointestinal endoscopy and have cardo on standby for anything else. I'm going to go page security Stephanie, can you stay with her until another general surgeon gets here?” Bailey asked, stripping off her gloves.

Stephanie didn't know how she could be so steady in a situation like this, but she was glad someone was in charge and knew what to do.

“I'm not going anywhere,” Stephanie said, staring down at Jo as she grabbed her hand and sat down at her bedside.

Jackson nodded, and Bailey gave Jo one last glance. A look of concern crossed her face, but only for a moment before she schooled her features and walked out. Stephanie reached out and put her hand on Jo's cheek, her skin was warm and soft, and she was alive.

“Stephanie,” Jackson said in his affectionate tone that he still had for her. Over the years, they had become friends again, but Stephanie didn't want his affection now. 

“I should change her into a gown. Can you step out and go get Alex? He's out in the hall. He’ll want to see her and get an update,” Stephanie said quickly as she stripped off her gloves and wiped her face. She turned away from Jo, for the first time reaching around to the drawer where they kept the hospital gowns.

“Yeah,” Jackson said, before he left, the sound of the doors opening and closing was the only thing Stephanie heard signaling his departure. 

There wasn't much to take off, just the blanket they had put around Jo’s legs, and the shirt she was wearing that was still open so they could keep an eye on her heart and lungs. Stephanie still remembered how his knee pushed into Jo’s chest, and she was careful not to cause Jo any more pain as she undressed her. Stephanie cut the shirt off and put the gown on Jo before she cut off her bralette before bragging the blanket. Jackson and Alex appeared in the doorway as Jackson gave Alex a rundown of Jo’s status and her plan of care. 

“I didn't want to roll her over to tie the gown,” Stephanie said as she brought the blanket back up and tucked it around Jo’s stomach and legs. 

Alex nodded as he perched on the stool on the other side of the bed. He grabbed Jo’s hand, holding it close to his lips. Stephanie looked up and she could tell that he had been crying as the tears were still there on his cheeks. 

“I need to go check her labs and have an OR on stand by. I should probably check on April too. Are you two okay here?”

They both only nodded as they stared down at Jo, and Jackson left again, leaving them alone. Stephanie looked up at Alex, and she knew he had a million questions for her, but he just looked down at Jo. He put his hand on her cheek and brushed away the streaks of her mascara with his thumb as he also held her hand close to his chest. He was completely focused on Jo. The questions would have to wait. 

Things grew quiet as the only sound in the room was the beeping of the heart monitors above them and the other machine that was breathing for her. The monitors were strangely comforting. Stephanie had gotten used to them as a doctor. Watching over patience and staring at the monitors until it was all she could hear when she closed her eyes. The sounds of the monitors meant that Jo’s heart was beating and she was breathing. With each passing moment, she healed. So, for now, the two of them held her hands and watched over her.

[sanders-sides-fic]

Up there, too far away to hold me

I got inspired to write this by this post by @creepichan. I know it isn’t the intended purpose of that room, but, well… I hope this is still alright.

Careful, though. This is angsty. Like, really, really, really, really angsty. Now that we’ve established that, on we go:

His steps were purposeful, he wished to believe. But they were definitely hesitant, as much as he’d like to deny that one. But the matter of the fact was that he felt awkward to be here. He didn’t really feel as though this was a place he was welcome at, and he knew the reason for that far too well. So one might say his steps were cautious, but he would much rather call them meticulous.

It was early. Too early for anyone else being here. And, while that calmed him a little bit as he knew no one would see him here, that just worsened the feeling of intruding inside his gut.

He didn’t want to feel like that. He didn’t deserve to feel like that. They had done this to him, they were the ones to blame. He hadn’t deserved what they’d done to him! He should be angry, he had every right to come here and trash the place and vandalize and scream at them and demand to righten this injustice - but he actually only felt like crying. Maybe he would do the screaming bit.

He would admit, there had been a time when he’d felt angry. Furious, even. He’d used what little power their treacherous act had left him with to spite them in every way he could think of, made a point of letting them know just how much he despised them. But that had worn off quickly. Way too quickly. Not even an entire century later he’d been left with nothing but the grief.

His steps came to a halt at the end of the room, where the ridiculously long aisle opened up into a half circle on either side. In front of him was the altar, but he made a point of avoiding looking there. Too much was this like that room back home, where everything had crashed that day. The only reminder of where he was was that there was, in fact, an altar there. If only there would have been Roman’s throne. Heavens, how he longed to see Roman’s throne again.

So his eyes skipped the altar, focusing on the way the light filtered through the stained glass. The windows were just above his shoulders, forcing him to look up if he wished to see the faces of the people who had damned him like this, cast him out and chased him from his home. And why would he want to see them again? He hated them for what they’d done, just as much as they hated him.

Neither of the four figures had faces in their glass-walled mosaic portraits, he noticed. None of them. But Roman still had his crown. A golden, pointy thing amidst all the fiery red the god of passion, creativity, dreams, romance and arts was represented by. It was almost as much as he really did surround himself with, that thick-headed Roman, that rambling man with sparkling eyes. So obviously on the edge of braking into tiny pieces of self-doubt, so happy about every little compliment, so over the top in his vows of protection he’d never actually need to provide, or want to, apparently. The god may have been easy to flirt with and an endless source of friendly banter and long rants about future glory and happiness… But he was still so taken with his color. Like, seriously? Was that the only thing the god identified himself with, even over that typically fanciful symbol? Oh, he’d always scorned the overly dramatic display with that overly aggressive color.

On the left side, light up by the raising sun as well, the god of family, love, morals, and empathy was represented in his soft blue and beige hues. Ha! As if love or “family” had meant a lot to Patton that day. As if any empathy had been shown that moment when the god had stabbed him in the back. As if it was morally justifiable what he’d suggested that day. Gone where the war hugs and the easy, stupid jokes he’d cracked out of the blue. Forgotten all the warm evenings in the coldest winters. No more overly sweet chocolate chip cookies or hot chocolate or even just empty promises of forever. Not that he’d want any of that anymore, and it wasn’t as though he’d ever believed those promises were real anyways. Out of all of them, he may very well resented Patton the most.

He turned on his heels, almost thinking about leaving. But really he just wanted to see the other two windows. The two he could still see in the morning, but that weren’t light up form the outside yet, patterns made visible rather by the candles surrounding him in this room. Opposite of Patton was the god of logic, wisdom, knowledge, debate, intelligence, calmness. He didn’t officially represent all of that, but looking at the dark blue and black glass shreds that made him, as the picture held a book in such an unmistakable manor, that was what came to mind. Endless debates, the only clam voice in an outrage of different emotions, the smartest person he knew, the capability to logic his way out of any and all things thrown his way, facts delivered with such certainty no one would dare to question them. And those memories had no right to be so vivid in his head right now. Much rather he would focus on the icy look on the god’s face when he’d almost begged them to reconsider.

And Virgil. Right opposite to Roman was Virgil. God of fear, of fight, of protection, and storms. They’d always had a funny relationship, the two of them. Protection and self-preservation went hand-in-hand, after all. Lies and fear, however, not so much. Still, long nights and exasperation about the other’s cluelessness had bound them together. Sweet lies calming the god had brought them together. Days of fighting what couldn’t be denied anymore had brought them together. Centuries after centuries of being outcasts because of their jobs had bound them together. There hadn’t been trust that could have been broken that day. There had, though, been a fragile kind of love. The kind of love that was like a bridge made of ice, too thin to walk on confidently. The kind of love you would do anything to preserve because you knew you’d loose it for good if you didn’t. The kind of love that, in that moment it shattered, had turned into a thousand sharp edges pricing through his heart and tearing apart his soul, never melting completely in the cold their absence had left in him and therefor never letting the wounds heal. And he was proud to say that every bit of mistrusting hatred the god had shown him in just one sneer was absolutely mutual.

It was a warm day today. Disgustingly warm for his taste. He didn’t like the cold much, but such a warm day in February was just uncalled for, especially since it was only the third. And with the cold feelings bubbling inside his chest, he really, really didn’t want the day to be warm. It just felt so wrong. Why could Virgil just give him that at least?

He took a deep, shaky breath. “Hi.”, he said, ignoring the way his voice echoed through the empty chapel. He glanced over to where Roman’s and Virgil’s mosaics were, no Remus between them. So the god of chaos, destruction, creativity and… was it nightmares or death? He could never really remember which one was the job and which the hobby. Well, Remus had been canceled out of this little gathering as well, huh? He hated how relieved he felt at that. “I see you still don’t like you brother, Roman. What, still so insecure about that little black-and-white world of yours?”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes, before turning to the pictures of Virgil and Logan. That was his place. Right in between them. Right there. Or, it had been, all that time ago. He should have gotten used to it by now. He really, really should have. It still felt like a slap to the face to see the empty space, though. “Well, I suppose it does make this more symmetrical, doesn’t it?” A dark chuckle escaped him, and it might just have been a suppressed sob in reality. He wasn’t even sure anymore. “You don’t seem to regret the decision, seeing as you never even bothered to call out to me.”

Silence. There was just silence again. He had learned to hate silence in the years apart from their obnoxiously loud banter.

And, oh. Oh! Just when had he started to cry? Such an unseemly display on his part. He quickly whipped away the evidence, but it was no use. His tears came too quickly, and his sobs were too violent to hold back any longer. And, really, what was he trying to protect anymore? They’d striped him of his dignity when they’d decided to throw them out of the heavens and down to earth, and he’d let go of the rest when he begged them in vain not to. So what if he broke down after years and years and endless years of the only family he’d ever known abandoning him and pretending he didn’t exist at all? So what if he fell to the ground screaming, surrounded by colorful glass illuminated by an early sun, when he’d held himself together once he’d realized the humans among him had just eliminated him from their books, like a stain in midst all those other oh-so perfect gods?

Maybe, he thought, just maybe seeing him like this gave them satisfaction. They had, after all, not cared about what he had to say when they’d thrown him out of the gates and taken away the source of his power. So why would they now? And, well, that would mean at least someone would be happy today, right?

Or perhaps this made them feel guilty for what they’d done to him, for what they’d let become of him. If that was the case, well, good. They should be. He didn’t want to cary that burden alone anymore.

“Why?”, he asked after a while, when his tears weren’t dried but at least the pathetic sobs and wails of agony had stoped. He didn’t move from where he’d crumbled, not even an inch. His voice betrayed the fragile state he was in, though, and he hated the way it cracked and sounded so horse. “Do you even remember why you did this to me? Because I don’t. What did I… It’s been so long. Have you just suddenly become incapable of forgiveness or was what I did really so horrible? What did I do? Why did you do this to me? Why can’t I remember? Why? Just… Just tell me why. Please!”

But he was only meet with silence. And for some reason that made him angry. Almost as angry as he’d been right after it had happened. Blinded by rage for just a moment he stood up, took the nearest candle and threw it across the room. The impact put it out, but the yellow wax still spilled onto the stone floor that resembled home too much to take.

“I know you can hear me, damn it! You did this! At least have the decency to answer me!”, he yelled. But he knew that if they hadn’t responded to his broken plea, they surely wouldn’t respond to his angry outburst. Virgil was to anxious to confront someone in rage, Roman was too proud to admit he’d been listening in, Logan didn’t engage with “tantrum-throwers”, as he called it, Patton would disagree with the outburst too much and Remus, well, Remus wasn’t even worshiped in this chapel, so he doubted that the green god would hear him at all.

Still, he didn’t stop there.

“You know what? Fine! Be like that. See if I care. I hate you too, you know? I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!” With every time he said it it sounded less broken and more angry to his ears, so he repeated the sentence a few more times for good measure. Because maybe that would mean he’d believe in it at last. Because maybe the sorrow would be less present if only he was able to hate them for it. Maybe missing them wouldn’t be as bad if he could believe that he didn’t love them more than anything else after all. Maybe. But he would never actually believe those words, not really.

His eyes fixed on the spilled wax. Yellow. His color. And a sudden urge welled up inside him, a stupid urge, a Remus-ish urge to cover the entire chapel in yellow wax. He just wanted to see his color amongst theirs again. He just wanted to feel like he belonged again. He just wanted to… He wanted…

What did he even want anymore? To go back in time? To right whatever wrong had been done? To fall asleep dreaming of the old days and never wake up? Ridiculous. He’d never get any of those, it was sheer impossible. And what would he even say if they’d show up? What would he even do? Beg them to take him back? Ask for another chance they had clearly denied him multiple times before? And even if they would finally give in, what would he do then? As if they could ever move past this. As if he’d ever be able to talk to them normally if they took him back, not paranoid and scared about every move, hoping against hope to not lose them again.

No. No, it was hopeless. He didn’t want it to be, heavens, he really didn’t want it to be. But it was, wasn’t it? It was time to accept that it was over. This wasn’t just a phase. This was what they wanted. This was a forever thing.

It was that moment when two humans came in. He quickly straightened up, drying the last tears with his sleeve. Falling apart in front of the family he didn’t have anymore was one thing, but falling apart in front of humans? Never. They wouldn’t take that away from him, too.

The humans didn’t even spare him a second glance, though. Of cause not. Gods like him were hard to perceive to humans when they didn’t want you to. Of cause they didn’t notice him as he stood there, not wanting to be seen in such a state. Of cause not. Silly him.

And then something in their prayer made his heart clench painfully and his breath hitch. “The five immortal deities” Five, not six. Right. Right, there was no god of deception anymore. No god of lies, no god of self-preservation, no god of denial. He didn’t even exist anymore. That was what his family had essentially done to him, wasn’t it? Maybe not with that particular goal in mind, but surely Logan had known about the chance, Virgil thought of it as a possible outcome.

They had scratched his face and name out of their books, denying he even existed. And in doing so, they had scratched his very existence from the human’s minds and history books as well. They had taken his staff, the source of his godly powers, weakening him and leaving him with no way back on his own. They had killed him off, as good as you could kill a god, by extinguishing every memory of his existence, and they had captured him in a place where he was damned to witness his own death for all of eternity.

As tears welled up in his eyes again, he quickly turned around, hood of his black cloak pulled into his face with one of two gloved hands - because the other four had disappeared together with most of his powers as he’d been seperated from his staff - and hurried out of that damned chapel that looked too much like the damned throne room those damn gods has made that damned decision in. He suddenly only had one wish, and that was to be as far away from there as he could. He didn’t even turn around to look at the closest view he’d get to home ever again.

It was a pity he didn’t, really. If he had, perhaps he would have noticed four mirages of gods standing where he’d been yelling at them just before. Perhaps he would have even heard the hushed conversation the winds carried far away, unbeknownst to any humans:

“I hate to see him like that. I’m so sorry…”

“I know, padre. I miss him too.”

“Yes. We did, however, do everything we could. The humans do not remember him, therefor we have no means of bringing him back.”

“Emo? What…”

“I’m sorry. I guess we were just too late. See you next year, Janus.”

“I don’t believe he heard you.”

“I know.”

Taglist: @gattonero17 

I also wrote a second part to this. It’s basically everything that happened before this scene from the perspective of the others. You can find it here

[seasurfacefullofclouds1]

I have no fucking idea how to explain myself. As a Louie, sometimes other solo Stans hate you for not believing in Freddie being Louis' son. Sometimes, people are asking you why do you despise harry styles. I'm just tired of defending myself and my views.

How's it going for you sea? Also, could you link your harry post? Why don't you like him anymore, so I can just show that to people instead of taking about it myself? We all know that they'll just say it's management's fault anyway.

And what do you think about el changing her username? I don't really like her or anything, but what does this mean for Louis? Any chance of a break up soon? And when will he change his Twitter bio😩

Hey!

How are you? Thanks for the message. No one needs to believe what I write— it’s definitely not gospel and if new information comes along, I would reconsider everything in context. I’m not too proud to say I’m wrong!

Here’s a summary on Harry.

Here’s the context. I loved who Harry was and had the potential to become, but he isn’t that person anymore. He chose a different path.

About the statement, “they’ll just blame it on management,” here is a thought.

Either Harry is going along with the ruthless power of industry, or he is being “coerced” to succeed.

Either way, why would fans support this system?

Larries criticized Project Defenceless because “streaming Louis on Spotify takes revenue away from independent artists.”

Isn’t supporting Harry also building— enriching— rewarding industry on a much bigger scale? Let’s say, on a scale of 1 billion streams for Watermelon Sugar. How many streams did that take away from indie artists, versus the six or seven million streams that Project Defenceless generated? That’s the scale we are comparing, a 10^3 magnitude of difference. Despite the popularity of the Project, Defenceless has a total of ~30 million streams. How is that the same magnitude as HLD’s “every Harry song to 100 million” project??

If Larries are philosophically and ethically consistent, shouldn’t they stop ALL streaming, ALL revenue toward Harry Styles, in order to do their part in correcting an unfair system?

They won’t.

So why are they manufacturing insincere objections to Project Defenceless? It’s not the first time they’ve done it.

It’s hypocrisy like this that makes me angry.

Some of Harry’s fans (especially Larries) intellectualize systemic industry injustice, pacify their followers with fake outrage and social justice talking points.

They call Louies delusional and paranoid for pointing out facts (which I always try to link).

They drive the rational part of the fandom out with their bullying and sheer emotional abuse. They play on the anxiety of the fandom.

Why should fandom tolerate this?

Don’t you just want to say what you think, without people cancelling you? Don’t you want to point out that the emperor has no clothes, instead of collectively agreeing that some ugly photoshoot looks great?

Also, whether Louis is a dad or not, if people can’t understand how this issue has been used against him— and how fandom’s obsession about it is detrimental to Louis— then this is our great shame.

As for Eleanor, maybe she’s launching a great influencer career. It seems a paltry reward for ten years of her life, but it is her choice, alas.

(I think the most followers I’ve ever lost in a single day was ~250, but that’s the way it goes. Tumblr/ fandom/ the internet isn’t worth compromising your sense of self. You are not your follower count, the number of likes, the number of reblogs. It’s not real. Let it go.)

[thefilmfatale]

Jojo Rabbit (2019)

Who says you can't laugh about the Holocaust? Certainly not Taika Waititi.

The Hunt for the Wilderpeople director’s latest film Jojo Rabbit, set in Nazi Germany with a fanatical Hitler youth at its center, is uproarious, funny, and anything but glib. The story follows 10-year-old Jojo Betzler (played by the effortlessly charismatic and magnetic Roman Griffin Davis), who idolizes Adolf Hitler so much that Hitler (played by Waititi) has become his imaginary friend, popping up like a proverbial devil-on-one’s-shoulder during random moments of turmoil to comfort and counsel our budding young Nazi. 

Jojo’s dedication to the cause is unwavering. Thanks to some imaginative Nazi propaganda, Jojo is convinced that his purpose is to exterminate Jews, whom he envisions as winged creatures that eat children and hoard anything shiny. Alas, after playing cavalier with a grenade at Hitler youth camp, Jojo suffers an accident that renders him unfit to keep training with the other children, including his best friend Yorki (played by the adorably precocious Archie Yates). He’s promptly sent home, where his angst grows due to being isolated from his Jew-hating peers. To add insult to injury, he discovers that his mother Rosie (Scarlett Johansson) has been hiding a Jewish girl in their home. Outraged and beside himself with indignation, Jojo hatches a plan to get rid of the Jewish girl, seizing it as an opportunity to prove himself as a true Nazi believer to his peers. 

Jojo embarks on quite the character arc, and Waititi once again proves that he is a masterful director when it comes to working with children. His ability to elicit the purest, most delightful performances from child actors is amazing (just as he did in Hunt for the Wilderpeople), and the audience swiftly finds themselves endeared to Jojo and the rest of the cast. Performances from everyone were delightful, with Waititi allowing each actor (such as Johansson, Sam Rockwell, and Rebel Wilson) to bring their signature flairs to their characters. While the film is approached mostly as a period piece from an aesthetic standpoint (with costumes, set design, and color palettes largely faithful to the period), Waititi’s deliberate choices in making it anachronistic serve two purposes: to punctuate the satire, and to help make what should be a very sobering subject matter more approachable.   

The story, a loose adaptation of the book Caging Skies by Christine Leunens, while quirky and sweet certainly doesn't shy away from the real horrors of the holocaust. It’s a tightrope walk to juggle humor and atrocity, but Waititi makes it seem natural. He also knows precisely how to tug at heartstrings without being melodramatic. Jojo Rabbit’s triumph is ultimately in its ability to treat the topic of ideological extremism with the ridicule it so often deserves while at the same time provoking interesting questions about why people get sucked into blindly following charismatic demagogues, entrenching themselves in hate-filled cults, and spouting toxic ideologies. The best part? Waititi does this with so much thoughtfulness and nuance, all while serving up an entertaining, poignant story. 

By the end of Jojo Rabbit, you’re not raising your pitchforks screaming about the injustice of the Holocaust—that would be rather trite. Instead, you’re reminded that humans are complex, multi-dimensional, and capable of both immense kindness and unbridled terror. It’s a celebration of people’s capacity to change their minds. More importantly, it’s a reminder of the beauty of comedy and how laughter can be the best medicine during turbulent times. 

(More—including spoilers—under the cut)

What I love most about Jojo Rabbit is the depth of each character and how there’s so much to dissect and unpack for each one. Beginning with Jojo—we learn that not only is his father far away, in danger, fighting somewhere on the frontlines, but that he also lost his older sister Inge. We’re never told in full detail what happened to her, but the main takeaway is that her death, coupled by the absence of Jojo’s father, were tragedies that may have propelled Jojo to seek out the philosophy of the Third Reich. It’s not uncommon for young fanatics to get swept into hate groups when they are at their lowest points. When you’re angry or feeling helpless and lonely, it’s easy to externalize your pain and find someone to blame, whether it’s an entire gender, people of certain ethnicities, or members of a different political party. It’s simpler, you see, instead of owning one’s problems and acknowledging that the world doesn’t revolve around you. By making boogeymen out of people who are easy targets, we assert control over the senseless things that happen in our lives. It’s a way to feel powerful.

When you’re young, there are so many things that are out of your control. You’re caught in this torrent of everyone else’s decisions—your parents, school, your peers, society at large—and you’re looking around, flailing and hyperaware, that you’re living what is supposed to be your life and yet there seems so very little that you have ownership of. That's Jojo’s story. Not only is he caught in the middle of a war, but he’s grappling with some seriously heavy shit: an absentee father, a dead sister, a craving for acceptance from his peer group and, ultimately, a longing for connection that is rooted in positivity rather that hate. 

At first that connection seems to be cultivated by his mother, Rosie, who is literally and figuratively the most vibrant character in the film. From her bold, striking fashion sense and rouged lips to her joie de vivre, Rosie is, to quote Mulan, a flower that blooms in adversity. Even during the bleakest of times, she finds ways to uplift her son, whom she can tell is hurting. Her bursts of energy, her ability to find excitement and enthusiasm even in the most mundane of things, her rally to dance in the face of tragedy—all were reminders that dwelling on hatred and sorrow, while easy and sometimes necessary, is a crutch in a balm’s disguise. We must always forge ahead and seek hope when all feels lost, like “staring a tiger in the eyes”, as Rosie would say. That’s why, despite the risks of being caught by the Gestapo, she housed a Jewish girl in her home. In some small way, she was doing her part in the resistance against a hateful movement. While Rosie says she’s never stared a tiger in the eyes, her act of defiance came at great risk to herself, and that’s true courage.

In one of the most heartbreaking scenes in the film, Jojo is wandering the streets when he notices a bright, blue butterfly fluttering against the backdrop of hate-filled propaganda smattered on the city walls. He chases it wistfully and accidentally stumbles on the gallows in the middle of the town square. All the audience sees, hanging from the gallows, is a pair of legs with bright-colored shoes, and our hearts immediately sink. It’s Rosie. Waititi leads up to this shocking moment during a previous scene, while Jojo and Rosie are hanging out by a river. Rosie makes fun of Jojo for still being unable to tie his own shoes. She’s skipping gleefully on top of a concrete wall, with the camera trained low at Jojo’s eye-level, so the audience sees a shot of her shoes as she taps into a merry little dance. Waititi counts on viewers remembering this quiet scene to make what follows truly devastating. The effect is quite heart-stopping, and it’s impossible to want to reach out and give poor Jojo a hug as he cries out and wraps his arms around his dead mother’s feet. It’s then that Waititi makes his message known: Yes, there’s plenty to make light of in the world, but you can do this while also acknowledging that there’s plenty of darkness. It’s an impressive balancing act, and Waititi does it with so much wonderful exuberance and earnestness that it’s tough not to commend.

Viewers notice that the more Jojo focuses on the positive things in his life—his mother, his new Jewish friend Elsa—the less we see of his imaginary friend Hitler. And this is a deliberate choice by Waititi to prove a point: when you are consumed with hate, you’ll want to constantly keep feeding it because it’s comfortable and easy. As humans, we have a biological negative bias that we rely on as a means of survival. The very idea of entropy exists as a reminder that it takes more work to put things in order, to be good, to rise above, than for things to decay and distort and devolve. The more you fill your life with things that bring you joy, fulfillment, and contentment, the less you’ll rely on poisonous literature and toxic people. While this isn't exactly an epiphany for most of us, one may applaud Waititi for the inventive way he delivers this message.  

Another delightful character who, on the surface, seemed to be solely there for comedic effect, was Sam Rockwell’s Captain Klenzendorf, who’s tasked with whipping up these little rascals into Nazi-fighting shape. From the very get go, we sense that this man’s commitment to the Nazi cause is entirely for appearances’ sake. From his clandestine romance with his right-hand man (played by Games of Thrones’ Alfie Allen) to his soft spot for Jojo, the audience is led to believe that this man is merely pretending to be a hard-ass because that’s what you were expected to do, else be accused of treason to your nation. One could assume his affection for Jojo had something to do with being able to sympathize with the young boy after Jojo is relegated to doing simple jobs due to his injury (Klenzendorf claims he was benched from the frontlines because of an injury that led to him having a dead eye). But it’s toward the end of the film where we fully realize the totality of his character. In an earlier scene, Jojo is bullied by some older boys into killing a rabbit. They jeer at him as he wrestles with the decision to kill an innocent animal. He’s torn between wanting desperately to ingratiate himself into his peer group and staying true to the part of himself that’s kind, pure, innocent, and staunchly against needless violence. The music builds as we lean forward in our seats waiting to see what Jojo does. He decides on an act of mercy at his own expense, releasing the bunny and yelling at it to flee from danger. Unfortunately, before it has a chance to escape, the bunny is snatched up by one of the older boys, who wrings its neck in front of all the young boys to see. 

At first this seems like a scene that’s simply supposed to be an obnoxious display of bravado. But Waititi calls back to this scene towards the end of the film twice. Klenzendorf arrives at the Betzler household when it is being searched and ransacked by the Gestapo, who suspect Rosie has been aiding Jews. Jojo is terrified, not just to be discovered as traitors by the Gestapo but for Elsa’s (the Jewish girl they have been hiding who has now become his friend) safety. To get ahead of the situation, Elsa emerges from her hiding place and pretends to be Jojo’s dead sister Inge. When the Gestapo demand her paperwork, she shows them Inge’s old ID card. Klenzendorf immediately intercedes, grabs the ID from her hand and demands that she variate her identity by stating her birthday. Elsa stammers in response. “Correct,” Klenzendorf confirms flatly. The Gestapo consider this acceptable and vacate the premises, none the wiser. We discover immediately that Elsa had actually given the wrong birthdate, and Klenzendorf could have outed her right then, but decided not to. He was helping the bunny escape.

In another scene, when the Allied troops march into Germany and start rounding up all the Nazi soldiers, Jojo (who has a Nazi officer’s jacket on) is mistaken for one of them. He runs into Captain Klenzendorf, who creates a commotion by wrenching the Nazi jacket off of Jojo’s back and pushing him away, telling him to flee while yelling at him for being a dirty Jew so the Allies don’t execute him. It was an act of sacrifice from a man who recognized himself in the young boy. Klenzendorf saw Jojo’s gentleness and purity of heart and knew this kid needed to live. He released the bunny, stared a tiger squarely in the eyes—at the expense of his own life.

Jojo Rabbit, while certainly laugh-out-loud funny and full of amusement, is a moving story about heroism from a group of people who rarely ever get acknowledgment for their acts of bravery. These were Germans who defied their Führer and their Aryan brotherhood at great risk to their own lives. While these acts will never erase the horrors of the Holocaust, it’s a reminder that people are complicated creatures, capable of miraculous acts of mercy and horrific deeds of violence. It implores us to think about how some of the people that get caught up in hate groups are hurting deeply and just looking for something to blame their pain on. It definitely doesn’t excuse their actions or the bile they oftentimes spew, but it merely reminds us that behind every caricature is a human being in pain. 

Even if you see Jojo Rabbit and don’t think it’s that deep—you may say “Starr, it’s just a comedy about stupid Nazis, it’s not even a true story”. What is true about it is that we live in a world of grey, and while it may be simpler to put people in buckets of black and white, hero and villain, good and bad, more often than not we are all just hurting in some way. What’s true about it is that we have more in common than we have differences and ultimately, everyone regardless of race, creed, sexual orientation, craves the same thing: freedom; Freedom from the burdens that we carry on our shoulders, from dead loved ones to strife and war. Freedom from the fear of persecution for being who we are. The freedom to wear whatever we want, screw whomever we want, and to dance like no one’s looking. 

[hancfubuki]

✧･ﾟ: *  ASTROLOGICAL PROFILE.

LIBRA —— ( September 23 - October 22. )

Symbol: The Scales of Justice Element: Air Ruling Planet: Venus — the planet of beauty and love Body Part: Lower back, butt Good Day: Charming, lovable, fair, sincere, sharing, hopelessly romantic Bad Day: Vain, indecisive, melodramatic, manipulative, spoiled, delusional Favorite Things: Concerts at large venues, poetry, expensive jewelry, designer clothes, rich food What You Hate: Dull or practical people, bullies, being pressured to decide, saying goodnight, hearing the word “maybe” Secret Wish: To love and be loved in return How to Spot Them: Small symmetrical features, dimples, gentle eyes, outrageous designer outfits Where You’ll Find Them: Dancing the night away at a warehouse party, philosophizing about life at a coffeeshop, tucked away at home writing a novel, procrastinating, happily mingling at a social event Keywords: Commitment, Partnership, Equality, Balance, Mutuality, Fairness

Libra: The Scales

Symbolized by the Scales of Justice, Libra epitomizes balance and fairness. This sign’s influence helps restore equilibrium to all affairs, no matter how big or small. From settling a major legal or ethical conflict to determining the best place to hang a painting, Libra energy will stop at nothing to establish interpersonal and aesthetic consonance. Under a Libra planetary transit, we can regain our footing in relationships and seek more balance in our lives. The essence of Libra energy is charming, lovable, fair, sincere, sharing, beautiful and hopelessly romantic. Negative expressions of Libra energy can be vain, indecisive, melodramatic, manipulative, spoiled and delusional. Libra energy enhances our social graces and turns our attention to beauty and style. In Italy, there’s an expression known as la bella figura, in which Italian natives not only dress to impress but also exhibit their brightest, best personalities when in the company of others. Libra transits help us achieve that kind of inner and outer beauty, making us feel like the fairest of them all.

Libra People: What They’re Like

Peace, love, and harmony is the Libra M.O. You’ll instantly be swept away by Libra’s charm and pleasant demeanor, enchanged by their wide array of conversation topics. Libra people are the perfect partners for a social justice project, interior design masterpiece, or even just a peaceful day picnicking in the park and strolling around the town. Set these social butterflies free at a networking event and they’ll own the room. Some Libras can be reserved and formal at first. But once you get them talking, a five minute conversation can morph into a three-hour philosophical discourse! Because Libra seeks compromise, this sign dislikes conflict and anything that feels “unfair.” In fact, if you meet an angry Libra, chances are this sign is riled up about an ongoing injustice. Their system simply can’t tolerate it! Many Libras are natural diplomats who will do everything to negotiate between warring parties that just can’t get along. They can accurately see both sides to a situation, and often resolve disputes in an equitable way for all involved. However, there is a population of Libras whose Venusian appetites rule them, eclipsing their sign’s sensibility and driving them to pursue material indulgence at any cost. These Librans use their natural charms and good looks to manipulate others into taking care of them or doing their bidding. As the sign of the Judge, some Libras can even tip the scales into dictatorial behavior and power trips (Libras Simon Cowell, Margaret Thatcher and Vladimir Putin are examples of Libras with a “my way or the highway” attitude). When it comes to their own decision-making, they have an even harder time and will vacillate between “Should I?” or “Shouldn’t I?” You can find Libra people taking in culture at a gallery opening, indulging in a sweet treat or gourmet health food, or shopping for a couture or hand-crafted piece to add to their impressive wardrobes.

[dcbbw]

Timing--Part 3 (Road to Ramsford--Liam)

This is Part 3 of my second fanfic and it’s my version of events once the gang travels to LA to find Tariq. In my version, he refuses to come forward and Riley makes a painful decision.  It was supposed to be a one-off, but the story kept growing. Thinking there are least 2 more parts. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please excuse any typos and/or grammatical errors. PS—my Liam is Asian Liam, and my Riley is tall, like me.

All characters belong to Pixelberry.

Song Inspiration: When You Break, Bear’s Den: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uCDnRqzr9kM

Tagging @gennesaret @speedyoperarascalparty @sirbeepsalot @lauradowning29 @liamxs-world

Word Count:2250

Liam X MC, Liam X Riley

Liam stared moodily out the window of the SUV. Bastien was driving. Despite the adrenaline rush that allowed him to quickly shower, change clothes and pack his bag, he now felt spent and drained. His heart was still physically paining him. So this is what it feels like to let it all out. 

Ever since he was a child, his Father had taught him to never show emotion. Good leaders were stoic leaders. The people took their cues from their leaders, and emotions were dangerous. It could lead to wars, turn allies to enemies. Except for crying over his mother after her assassination, Liam had gone through most of his life emotionless and expressionless. Oh, he smiled when appropriate, and expressed outrage against injustices, but for the most part he tamped down his fears, insecurities, and anger. He expressed those emotions through sex, but because he had his mother’s selfless and caring nature, he rarely got to express himself.

He did not want to use anyone, he did not want to cause an unsuspecting woman unnecessary pain. He had not been raised to expect romance or love in his life, and until Riley, had no idea how those emotions even felt. Everything was political, even his courtships. The ladies presented at the social season had come from the best families, with powerful connections across Europe. Compatibility was never the goal….a powerful alliance was.  Until Riley. Riley changed the game. With her, he felt he could have the love he craved and the strong leadership Cordonia needed. With Riley, Liam the Man and Liam the King could finally become one person.

When she told him she was leaving him, he had never before felt so helpless, and there was no way he could shove all of the emotions aside. Damnit! He was King of Cordonia. And unable to save the woman he loved or stop her from leaving. Short of Tariq clearing Lady Riley’s name unequivocally, her name would always be associated with undeserved scandal. No matter how many titles she held, no matter how in love they were. If only Constantine could come forward. How ironic that his Father’s role in this act of betrayal, done for the good of the Country, could not be brought to light….for the good of the Country. Riley’s words echoed through his head. I will never be your wife. That is all I have wanted. “And all I want is to be your husband”, he said softly to the passing scenery.

Liam wondered what his social season would be like if Riley had not come to Cordonia to participate. If they had never met. More than likely, he would have chosen Olivia.  Why not? Lifelong friends, and she was in love with him. But he knew Olivia was not the one for him…yes she loved him, and wanted his happiness, but Olivia did not want to be the one to make him happy. The Statue of Liberty would not have happened with Olivia….she would have questioned why he wanted to visit such a tacky tourist trap, and told him they could go next time. As if Cordonia was a day trip away from New York.

There would be no conversation with Olivia save for the glory days of the Nervakis family, their youth, and catty gossip about the ladies of the court. He needed someone he could both teach and learn from. Olivia came across to everyone as a one-upper braggart who knew everything. Of course there was more to her than that: Olivia could be caring, kind, loyal, even downright funny when she wanted to be. But she rarely showed that side to anyone, including Liam. That woman had so many guards and insecurities in place, she made Liam at his most stoic seem emotionally open.  

But that kiss in Lythikos on the dance floor that night….it almost made him think that Olivia could be a viable option, at least on an intimate level. Almost. On the dance floor, Olivia had grabbed him and forced an insistent kiss upon him, and after his initial shock, he found himself responding to it. Olivia was wearing a perfume that smelled of lavender and powder, and her breath held a hint of the wine she had been drinking earlier. As her soft tongue explored his mouth, her hands roamed his back, alternately pulling him close and pushing him away. He found himself growing hard under her ministrations.

The audible gasp from the attendees snapped him back to reality, and he pulled away, but it was a little too late. By the time Liam looked around the room to gauge reactions, everyone had gone back to whatever they were doing. All of his so-called suitors cared not one bit that their potential fiancé had just made out with the Duchess of Lythikos in front of everyone. Except Riley. The look of shock and jealousy on her face as she stared at him disbelief caused him pangs of guilt, while his ego was completely stoked by it. She cared. Not that she had not shown it in a million other little ways before then, but her jealousy was tangible proof that she really was here for him, and not a title or crown.

She shook her head angrily at him, then turned to Maxwell who took her arm, and led her away from the dance floor, presumably to get drinks. Liam felt a twinge of jealousy himself at seeing the proprietary way Maxwell had taken Riley’s arm, at how Riley had turned to him for solace and comfort.

He looked at Olivia. “May I speak with you outside, Lady Olivia?” Olivia arched her eyebrow knowingly as she slipped her arm through his, leading him out to a private balcony. When they reached the balcony, before Liam could even let the fresh air clear his head, Olivia was trying to kiss him again. Liam firmly but gently pushed her away.

“Olivia, that behavior in the ballroom was unacceptable”.

“You seemed to enjoy it, before your princely decorum kicked in.”

“I had a lapse in judgment. Your behavior was embarrassing to yourself, and unfair to the other ladies”.

“What about your behavior, Liam? Or am I the only embarrassing one here?”

“Again, a regrettable lapse in judgment on my part. We both owe the ladies an apology.”

“You mean lady, don’t you? It’s the American, right? Because no one else gives a shit. “

Liam looked at her, his face unreadable. “To all the ladies, Olivia. “

“Oh, please Liam. The entire country sees how you look at her. She saw the kiss and is pissed at you now. Look, you know how I feel about you, and it is obvious you do not return my affections. However, it would bode you well to remember that your choice affects more than you, and is about more than you. This is about choosing the best Queen for the country, not satisfying your libido or walking around starry eyed over a pretty face.”

“I am well aware of my duties, Lady Olivia. I shall be returning to the ball now. Would you care for me to escort you in?”

“No.” Olivia’s voice was angry, her tone cold.  After a few moments, she sighed. “Just go Liam.” She felt tears pricking her eyes, and turned away from him, waving her hand dismissively. “Just don’t lose sight of the true purpose of this social season.”

Liam hurried back to the ballroom, eyes searching the crowd for Riley. He saw her turning away from a conversation with Lady Kiara. He tapped her on the shoulder. Riley turned. With a wide smile, Liam said, “Lady Riley, fancy seeing you again!”  It was a facetious remark, meant to deflect any tension between them.

“You kissed Olivia.” Her tone was flat but her eyes were shooting daggers.

“Olivia kissed me”, he corrected. “It was an unwanted advance.”

“You should have thrown her off you! Since you did not, and let it go on as long as it did, I can only presume you enjoyed it. “

Liam evaded the indirect question. “I took her outside to speak to her about her….inappropriate behavior.”

“Oh, after a kiss like that, you took her outside?” Riley’s tone was now indignant and incredulous. Riley gestured around the ballroom. “You couldn’t talk to her in here? Not enough privacy for you, my Prince?”

“Please, Lady Riley. Meet me later this evening. I would love to show you the view from the Grand Suite. It’s truly magnificent. And you’re the only one I want to share this with.” Liam did not know what else to say. He sensed Riley’s anger growing with every word he spoke, and this seemed the best way to diffuse it and to show her how special she was to him. They both knew no one else got private invitations to spend time with him.

She looked at him coolly, neither eyes nor expression giving anything away. “I make no promises.”

As Liam waited in his suite for her later that night, lighting candles around the hot tub, he hoped against hope Riley would come. And that was the moment he realized that he was in love with her. The thought of her not coming filled him with sadness and fear. The later it got, the more frantic he became. At some point, he heard piano music. A haunting, beautiful piece made even more so by the quiet of the house. Then some amateurish tinkling. Then silence. And still no Lady Riley. He let out a deep sigh, and had just sat on the side of the bed, his head hanging and shoulders slumping when there was a knock on the door….

Liam dragged his thoughts away from the what-ifs and the memories. He gave a deep sigh as he rubbed his hand across his face. Riley. He was so utterly and completely in love with her. He wanted to know all of her and to share all of him with her. Maybe she would reconsider and accept his offer of the Valtoria Duchy. It would at least buy them more time, and tie her more permanently to Cordonia. Maybe Tariq would finally come forward. So many maybes. All he knew was he could not go back to life without her.

He meant it when he said he would abdicate. Marriage with Madeleine was a fate worse than death, and he truthfully did not think he could go through with it if it came to that. He did not want to be with anyone else, nor did he wish to be shared. Not physically, mentally, or emotionally. Fuck Madeleine’s proposed arrangement. It was Riley or no one. If the phone call to Tariq proved fruitless, he would find time to discuss the legalities involved in abdication with Bertrand. He knew Olivia would be next in line for the Crown, but was she ready? Or more aptly, was Cordonia ready for Olivia?

Bastien interrupted his thoughts. “Duke Ramsford called me; he wants me to join him after the festivities to discuss Tariq, and possible Cordonian precedents that may yield...favorable results.”

Liam’s body straightened up as he turned away from the window to meet Bastien’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “I want to be there when you do so.”

“Your Majesty…it’s best that you not be there. You are in way too deep, and may be a bit….irrational. Let Duke Ramsford and me discuss, and present you with the findings. Besides, are you sure you want to spend a night free of obligations with us when Lady Riley’s time is…. limited?”

Liam fell back in his seat and returned to blindly staring out the window without answering. Riley, he thought.

When the SUV pulled into the Beaumont’s driveway, Liam felt a tad more hopeful. Not a whole lot, but enough to be able to push aside his fears of what the next two days held. He needed to stay positive and in the now, if only for Riley’s sake.

While he was happy to be seeing and spending time with his friends outside of courtly events, he also wished it was just he and Riley this evening. Just the two of them for the next 48 hours. At least they would have the nights. He grinned at the thought of sharing a bed with her. Of undressing her, of her hands on him, of touching and tasting her everywhere. He felt stirrings in his loins, and had to wait a few minutes to let his excitement subside before exiting the vehicle.

Climbing out of the SUV, Liam reached in to grab his overnight bag off the seat. He slung the bag over his shoulder, and he and Bastien made their way to the front door. Taking a shaky breath, Liam rang the bell.

[xxsparksxx]

Sparks, have you got to the bottom of the ask box yet? I am patiently waiting for my question about Ross and Carolines conversation in The Angry Tide on their way back to Cornwall. I would love your opinion. (from Nov.)This relates to the discussion about Caroline not having a POV. in the books or show. I don't feel Ross was thinking about Caroline and having sex with her. I think all he was thinking about after the duel was how he was going to obtain Demelza forgiveness. He was against dueling.

The depths of my askbox make me weep tears of exhaustion, anon, but you’ve been waiting so very long that I’ll skip back to your ask :)

I was wondering if you have ever discussed the conversation in The Angry Tide with Ross and Caroline on their return from London? They stop for the night at an Inn and Caroline talks about infidelity. What is her motive? To sleep with Ross or to explain Demelza's anguish over the duel? Love reading your opinion on all these questions.            

I have never discussed this! Which is an outrageous omission, really, because it’s fascinating. It’s so fascinating.

Caroline seems to understand Ross on a level that not many others do - including Demelza. And I suspect partly that’s because she and he are the same social class. The same sort of background, the same old family name, the same........the same arrogance. I use that word consciously, because it’s something they admit about themselves and each other (in this conversation, and elsewhere). There is an arrogance about both of them which gives them a different kind of bond.

The conversation in question is too long to share in full, but I’ll share bits and pieces as I go (I say this, but it’s such a fascinating conversation that yeah, the quotations may get long).

It stems from them being overnight at the same inn where, six years previously, Ross had contrived to bring Dwight and Caroline together again. And from there, Caroline nudges the conversation in the direction she wants it to go:

‘Dwight is the only man I’ve ever wanted to marry . . . Though perhaps not the only man I’ve ever wanted to bed.’ Ross cut up a piece of the mutton on his plate and added some caper sauce. ‘I don’t think that makes you unusual,’ he said. ‘No . . . we all look elsewhere from time to time. But then we glance away.’‘Usually . . .’

[omitting for brevity]

She said abruptly: ‘Dwight and I, you and Demelza; do you realize how moral we are by the standards of today?’‘No doubt.’‘No doubt at all. So many of my friends in London . . . But forget London. This county we live in. Add up the number of affairs that are going on, some secret, some blatant, among our friends, or their friends. And the same, though perhaps to a different pattern, among the poor.’Ross took a sip of wine. ‘It has always been so.’‘Yes. But also there has been always a small core of real marriages existing amongst the rest – marriages in which love and fidelity and truth have maintained their importance. Yours is one and mine is one. Isn’t that so?’‘Yes.’ Caroline took a long draught of wine, half a glass as against Ross’s sip. She leaned back against the red plush. ‘For instance, Ross, I could lie happily with you tonight.’ His eyes went quickly up to hers. ‘Could you?’‘Yes. In fact I’ve always wanted to – as perhaps you know.’‘Do I?’They looked at each other.‘I think so. I believe you could take me as few other men could take me – matching my arrogance with your own.’There was a silence between them.‘But . . .’ she said.‘But?’‘But it could not be. Even if you were willing. I have the instinct of a wanton but the emotions of a wife. I have too much love for Dwight. And too much love for Demelza. And perhaps even too much love for you.’He raised his eyes and smiled at her. ‘That’s the nicest compliment of all.’The colour in her face came and went. ‘I am not here to pay you compliments, Ross, but only – I’m only trying to say some things that I think you should hear. If we got rid of Ellen – as we easily could – and spent all night making love, and if then the first time I went to Nampara I told Demelza about it, do you think she would be hurt?’‘Yes.’‘So do I. But I am a good friend of hers now. We are deeply attached to each other. Perhaps in time she would forgive me.’‘What are you trying to say?’‘I’m trying to say that if I told her what had happened between us she would be hurt. But no more so, I believe, than you hurt her in London.’

What Caroline is trying to make Ross understand is, as you suggest, how deeply, how grievously he has hurt Demelza by his actions. To Demelza, the fact that Adderley challenged Ross, the fact that there was a spurious excuse about a scuffle over seats and gloves in the House - these are irrelevant. She knows the truth. She knows the quarrel was over her, because she knows that Ross has been irrationally jealous about Adderley, jealousy that’s misplaced, left over from Hugh and everything that happened with Hugh. A jealousy that Ross felt while Hugh was alive, but that increased enormously when Hugh was dying and dead.

Because, as he’s said to her before, he can’t compete with a ghost. So what he’s done now, in fighting Adderley, is fought a ghost.

Caroline knows how deeply hurt Demelza is by what’s happened. They’ve talked about it:

Caroline looked at her friend. ‘Go kindly with him, Demelza. You know him better than I; but if I read him right he will not escape his own self-criticism over this affair.’‘So he should not! . . . But, Caroline, I feel so much of it is my fault.’‘Your fault!’‘Well, my responsibility, like. It was over me. The quarrel was really over me. You know that, don’t you.’‘I know it was partly over you. But I do not believe it would have got so far on that alone. Ross and Monk detested each other from the moment they laid eyes on each other, and that is something in the blood, not a matter of behaviour.’Demelza got up. ‘Was my behaviour at fault?’‘None that I saw.’‘You see, I was – happy. Ross and I were happier together than we had been since – since before Hugh; and I was excited, enjoying myself in a new society. Perhaps I was freer with Monk Adderley than I ought to have been. Maybe I’m too free for London society. Maybe men – anywhere – take too much encouragement from my manner, even in Cornwall. But it’s the way I was born. Of course in all these years I’ve learned a lot, but maybe I haven’t learned enough. Ross should never have brought me!’

Caroline and Dwight are perhaps the only people who can really always talk straight to Ross. I’m not even sure I can include Demelza in that group, because while they do talk frankly a lot of the time, there are also things they can never say to each other. So Caroline, knowing how agonised Demelza has been over what happened, takes this opportunity to just talk straight to Ross:

‘Ross, when you fought Monk Adderley, it was not really him you were killing, was it.’‘Wasn’t it?’‘No . . . it was Hugh Armitage.’He took a gulp of wine this time. ‘Damn you, Caroline, it was a plain straightforward duel—’‘It was nothing of the sort, and you know it! You killed him because you couldn’t kill Hugh Armitage, who died anyway.’

The question of infidelity, of their mutual desire for each other, is simply what Caroline uses to illustrate the point: that infidelity is a grievous hurt for a marriage, but so too is what Ross has done. I don’t think Ross had registered, before that, how much Demelza was hurt by his actions. He certainly hadn’t really owned up to how incomprehensible it waas that Demelza could ever be attracted to someone like Adderley. He still tries to argue that he’s not been entirely unjust!

‘But so far as Demelza and Monk Adderley were concerned, I think you do me some injustice. Demelza did give him encouragement, of a sort. She was always exchanging asides with him, making another appointment – or at least permitting him to. And she allowed him to paw her—’‘Oh, nonsense!’ Caroline said. ‘It is Demelza’s way to be friendly – to flirt a little out of sheer high spirits. Whenever she goes out, as you well know, some man or another is always attracted by her peculiar vitality and charm. When she is enjoying herself she can’t resist giving off this – this challenging sparkle. And men come to it. And she enjoys that. But in all innocence, Ross, for God’s sake! As you must know. Are you going to challenge Sir Hugh Bodrugan to a duel? He has made more attempts on Demelza’s chastity than any other two men I know. What will you fight him with – walking sticks?’Ross half laughed. ‘You must know that jealousy flares only when there is risk.’‘And do you seriously think that Monk Adderley constituted a risk?’‘I . . . thought so. It was not as simple a choice as that. And in any event he challenged me, not I him.’

In the end, what she’s really trying to do - as she says to him - is to purge the festering ill will from his heart and mind. It’s the kind of straight-talking conversation that, as I say, I don’t think he can really have with many other people. And coming from Caroline, who is as arrogant as he is, as entitled, it’s a conversation that he can stomach, digest, and accept.

‘Perhaps I have been hard on you tonight, Ross . . . What a thing to say! Hard on you! Strange for me to be in this position I’ve never before dared! Well, I understand – a little – how you must have felt about Hugh and Demelza. It has been – irking, festering in your soul for two years. And the rest too, if you will. I don’t deny that a single disillusion, if deeply felt, can lead to a general disillusion. Well . . . But now the blood is let. Even if it be the wrong blood. Let us not discuss any more the merits or demerits of your quarrel with Monk Adderley. It is over and nothing can revive it. Well, so is your quarrel with Hugh Armitage. So should be your quarrel with humanity. And so should be your quarrel with Demelza. She has been desperately affronted by what happened in London. The rights and wrongs of it do not matter so much as that you killed a man because of her, and that you risked everything, your life, her life – in a way – for a senseless quarrel which to a well-bred person may seem the ultimate and honourable way of settling a difference, but to a miner’s daughter, with her sense of values so firmly and sanely earthy, looks like the petulance of a wicked man.’‘God,’ said Ross. ‘Well, I will keep that in my heart and let that fester a while.’‘You spoke to me straight six years ago,’ said Caroline. ‘I speak to you straight now.’‘Out of love?’ he asked.She nodded. ‘Out of love.’

Sorry for the long wait, anon :) hope this is a good enough answer for you!

[pikapeppa]

Fenris/f!Hawke: House of Cards

In which Anders blows the Chantry, Hawke is like “WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING”, and Fenris has Had Enough Of Anders’s Shit™.  

This is the final chapter of A Tantrum and A Know-It-All Grin! It’s a suuuuper long one (~13k words), so only an excerpt here. Read the whole thing on AO3. 

*************************

Fenris couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t move his hand. Hawke was clutching it too tightly.

He gaped stupidly at the expanding cloud of debris over the exploded Chantry. Then Hawke released his hand and punched Anders in the arm. “Is this why you made me distract the Grand Cleric?” she hissed.

Sebastian looked up from his desperate prayers. “You knew about this?” he yelled. He sounded absolutely furious. Fenris hadn’t heard him sounding this angry since… well, possibly ever.

Hawke glared at the irate archer. “Do I look like I knew anything about this?” she demanded. She punched Anders in the arm again. “What in Andraste’s glorious tits were you thinking?”

Anders passively took her punches. “I removed the chance of compromise, because there is no compromise,” he said.

“The Grand Cleric, slain by magic,” Meredith said slowly. Then she straightened her shoulders. “As Knight-Commander of Kirkwall, I hereby invoke the Right of Annulment. Every mage in the Circle is to be executed immediately.”

Hawke grabbed Fenris’s arm, and he tensed at the bite of her fingers. “Oh fuck,” she breathed.

“The Circle didn’t even do this!” Orsino cried. He turned to Hawke in desperation. “Champion, you can’t let her. Help us stop this madness!”

Sebastian jabbed a finger at Anders. “Why are we debating the Right of Annulment when the monster who did this is standing right in front of us?” he yelled. “I swear to you, I will kill him!”

“Sebastian,” Hawke said sharply, but Anders simply shrugged. “If the choice is between a quick death now or a slow one later, I’d rather die fighting.”

“Well, you may just get your wish,” Hawke drawled. Her fingernails were biting into Fenris’s bicep so sharply that it hurt. “These Templars don’t look very happy. I’m fairly sure your little stunt here isn’t going to make us any friends.”

“Did the mages ever really have any friends, Hawke?” Anders said. “Think about everything we’ve seen these past few years, and you’ll see I’m right.”

Despite the fervency of his words, his manner and tone were calm - infuriatingly calm. All of a sudden, Fenris snapped.

He took an angry step toward Anders. “You may be ready to die, but the rest of us are not,” he spat. “You are taking all of us down with you for your misguided cause!”

Anders lifted his chin. “Perhaps it’s time you knew what it means to be part of something bigger than yourself,” he retorted.

Fenris snarled, and Hawke pulled desperately on his arm. Then Meredith’s sharp voice cut in. “Enough!” she barked. “There is nothing to be done. Even if I wished to, I could not stay my hand. The people will demand blood.”

Hawke shot Meredith a wheedling look. “Come on, Meredith, is blood really necessary? Can’t we give them booze instead? That would calm everyone right down. I’ll buy.”

Meredith narrowed her eyes. “This is not a joke,” she snapped. “You have always seen the Templars as such, Champion, but I am very deadly serious.”

“Please, Rynne, be reasonable,” Carver suddenly said. “I don’t want to fight you.”

Fenris looked sharply at Carver. He had never heard Carver sounding so subdued.

Hawke’s grip on his arm was tighter than ever. “No one is forcing you to fight me, Carv. In fact, why don’t you join me? Fight beside your big sister like old times?” Her voice held the faintest tremor, and Fenris reached up to grasp her hand.

“Champion,” Orsino said, “does that mean…”

She sighed and turned to Orsino, and her face was a picture of rueful resignation. “Yes, Orsino, you’ve got me. I’ll defend you and your mages.”

There was a general outcry at her words: relief from Merrill and from Orsino’s entourage, outrage from Sebastian, and general dismay from Varric and Aveline both. Fenris wilted slightly; he’d known this was coming all along, but it was disappointing all the same.

Hawke winced up at him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Fenris, I’m so sorry.”

He shook his head. “This is a mistake, but I am with you. You know that.”

She nodded and swallowed hard, then wrestled a smile back into place as she turned to Meredith. “So, what next? Shall I break out the champagne?”

Meredith glared at her, then gestured sharply to her entourage. “Kill them all!” she commanded. She snapped her fingers at Carver and one other Templar guard, then briskly walked away.

Carver shot a stricken look at Hawke as he followed Meredith’s steps. A moment later, the Templars were upon them.

Fenris fought with the same ferocity as he always did, holding nothing back as he brought his lyrium marks to life and swung his sword in a wide destructive arc. But with every Templar he felled, he grew more angry.

This was foolish, and it was wrong. Orsino’s people may not have been directly responsible for Anders’s deplorable stupidity, but neither were the Templars. Every heart he tore out, every limb he sliced and every life he now took: it was one Templar less to control the remaining mages.

By the time Meredith’s people were dead, Fenris was more irate than ever. He glared venomously at Anders, who was slowly taking a seat on a dilapidated crate.

Hawke stepped close to him, her hand tentatively outstretched. “Fenris, are you…?”

He instinctively shirked away from her hand. “Not now,” he said quietly, trying to keep the growl from his voice.

She swallowed hard. “Okay,” she whispered. She turned away and went to speak with Orsino, who was conferring with his small group of Circle mages.

While Hawke spoke with Orsino, Fenris breathed slowly, calming himself and bringing his flaring tattoos back under control. The rest of their group was gathering together a short distance away from Anders, who was sitting on the crate with his head hung low.

Fenris narrowed his eyes. It is too late for contrition, he thought angrily. If Anders thought to manipulate Hawke into forgiving him now, he would have to go through Fenris first.

A soft and pleading whine drew Fenris’s attention, and he looked down to find Toby sitting at his feet with a familiar and annoying expression.

Fenris pursed his lips. “Always the puppy eyes,” he grunted. “Do not look at me that way. He does not deserve your sympathy or mine.”

Toby gave a sad little woof, then trotted away join the others.

Orsino shook Hawke’s hand and ran off with his people in tow, and Fenris walked over to join her as she stood in front of Anders with her arms folded. “So,” she said. “Now what, Anders? What are we supposed to do now?”

Anders kept his head bowed as he replied. “This had to be done. This is the justice that all mages have awaited.”

“Ah, Justice. That damned hitchhiker on your soul,” Hawke drawled. “Did he tell you to do this?”

Anders lifted his face. “No,” he said firmly. “I told you before. When we merged, he ceased to be. We are one now. I could no more ignore the injustice of the Circle than he could.” He took a deep breath, then lowered his head again. “If I pay for this with my life, then I pay.”

Fenris snorted. “Paying with your life seems just to me,” he said flatly.

“I agree,” Sebastian snapped.

Hawke ignored them and took a step closer to Anders. “Why didn’t tell me?” she said quietly. “Fuck’s sake, Anders, you could have talked to me. I asked you so many fucking times - why didn’t you just talk to me?”

Her voice was steadily rising in volume, but Anders cut her off. “I couldn’t tell you,” he said. For the first time that night, he sounded agitated. “I couldn’t give you the chance to stop me - or worse, to help me. I couldn’t-”

“I bloody well wouldn’t have helped you with this, that’s for certain,” Hawke yelled. “I might be foolish, but I’m not suicidal.” She kicked his foot petulantly. “Is that what this is, then? Some stupid death wish? Are you really so eager to die?”

Anders sighed. “If I die, then Justice would at least be free.”

Hawke stared at him in silence, but Fenris had had enough of his self-sacrificing act. He tutted in exasperation and waved dismissively at Anders. “He wants to die. Just kill him and be done with it.”

“Thank you, Fenris,” Sebastian said. “At least someone here understands the true meaning of justice.” He shot Hawke a pointed glare.

“Oh, come off it, both of you,” Isabela piped in. “I thought it was a bold plan.”

Aveline glared at her. “Bold? It was irresponsible. Sincerity does not justify this!”

Merrill folded her arms, and Fenris vaguely noticed that the little witch looked more serious than he had ever seen. “Anders should come with us,” she said. “Do what he can to put things right.”

Varric rubbed his mouth and didn’t speak, and Hawke shot him a pitiful look. “Varric? What do you think?”

He grimaced. “I think I’m sick of Templars and mages.”

Hawke wilted slightly, then turned back to face Anders, and Fenris could see the distress and indecision creeping over her face like a shadow. Then she reached around herself and absently scratched at her left-side ribs.

A sudden surge of sympathy dampened Fenris’s irritation. All at once he knew what she was thinking. First seeing Carver walk away with Meredith, and now the possibility of Anders dying… Fenris knew exactly what she was thinking.

Hawke sighed heavily, and when she gave her verdict, Fenris wasn’t surprised. “All right, Anders, you’re sticking with us,” she said. “You’re going to help get us out of this alive, or so help me, I’ll skin you myself with Isabela’s dullest dagger.”

Anders looked up at her, the resignation in his face wiped away by surprise. “You mean… stay with you? I… I didn’t think you would let me.”

“Hawke, you cannot be serious,” Sebastian expostulated. “If you let this abomination live, I’m leaving!”

Hawke stared at him with wide eyes. “What? You can’t leave now!”

Sebastian glared at her. “I thought I knew you, Hawke. I gave up Starkhaven to serve the Maker, but he has clearly turned his back on Kirkwall.”

Hawke reached for Sebastian’s wrist. “Sebastian, come on. Don’t be like that-”

He wrenched his arm away from her. “I’m going straight back to Starkhaven. And I’ll bring such an army on my return that there’ll be nothing left of Kirkwall for these maleficarum to rule!”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. This was a twist he hadn’t been expecting. Sebastian was usually so calm and reasonable.

Sebastian took an aggressive step toward Hawke, and Fenris held up a hand to hold him back. “Sebastian,” he said quietly.

Sebastian’s lip curled with rage. “Fenris, you know this is against the Maker’s plan,” he railed. “Everything Hawke is doing here… This is wrong, and you know it.” He grasped Fenris’s shoulder. “You should come with me. Help me lead my army back here to raze this evil place to the ground!”

Fenris steadily returned his gaze. Sebastian had a valid point, but it didn’t matter. Fenris had long made his peace with what mattered most.

He shook his head. “I am sorry, my friend. But I stand with Hawke.”

Sebastian drew back as though he’d been struck. Then he glared at Hawke with fresh outrage. “I will come back and find your precious Anders,” he spat. “I will teach him what true justice is!” Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode away.

There was a brief and ugly silence. Then Isabela chuckled. “How invigorating,” she purred.

Hawke hiccuped a little laugh, then hastily wiped her face. “Invigorating,” she said, then gave another little snort of laughter. “You know what’s invigorating? Having secret sex in someone else’s house during a party. This is not what I would call invigorating.”

Isabela perked up. “Ooh,” she said. “Now that was a very specific example. Someone’s been keeping secrets from me.” She winked at Fenris, and he shot her an annoyed look.

Aveline patted Hawke’s shoulder encouragingly. “Come on, Hawke. If we’re doing this, we had better get moving.”

Hawke sniffed hard and nodded, then gave them all a bright smile. “All right, you beautiful fools. Let’s go.”

They all set off at a brisk jog toward the docks, and it wasn’t long before Hawke was cracking jokes about Sebastian. “Honestly, it’s for the best that he left,” she said. “His piousness really cramped my style.” She elbowed Isabela. “We should do something really sinful now that he’s gone. A public orgy in the middle of the Hightown market, you think?”

“Oh yes,” Isabela purred. “That’s how we can celebrate at the end of this disaster.”

Hawke snickered, then reached out and took Fenris’s hand as they continued to run. “How about it, Fenris? Are you in for a public-”

“No,” he said flatly, and she and Isabela cackled.

Then Hawke sighed. “Ah, who am I kidding. It’s not like I was ever anything less than my usual sinful self around him. Not sure why he’s surprised by anything I do, really.”

Fenris gently squeezed her hand. Her voice was light and cheerful, but her fingers were cold and tense.

He waited until Isabela fell back to make some crude comment to Anders, then leaned toward Hawke. “I am sorry that he left,” he murmured.

Her smile slipped for a split second, and she squeezed his hand in return. “Me too,” she whispered.

They continued their flight through the Lowtown bazaar, but were stopped short by a group of Templars surrounding a young and terrified-looking Circle mage… who promptly burst into an abomination when a Templar drew her sword.

Fenris sneered in disgust as they all drew their weapons. He concentrated his efforts on taking down the misbegotten mage, and when both Templars and abomination were dead, he gave Hawke a cutting look. “Remind me what Orsino said. ‘No blood magic in the Tower’, wasn’t it?”

She dropped her eyes and didn’t reply, and Anders glared at him. “Will you just leave her alone for once in your life?”

“Shut your mouth, abomination,” Fenris hissed. “You lost your right to speak when you set this whole mess in motion!”

“Both of you shut up,” Hawke snapped suddenly. She scrubbed her hands roughly through her hair. “Just… shut the fuck up. Please.”

Fenris and Anders both obeyed, silenced by her uncharacteristic show of agitation, and the rest of the group turned to look at her with varying degrees of wariness.

“Hawke?” Merrill said softly.

Hawke shook her head slightly, then lifted her face and straightened her shoulders. “Come on,” she said brusquely. “Let’s just… let’s just go.”

Read the rest on AO3. 

[venn364]

It’s very hard to explain to Angry Entitled White People in Australia that if they’re angry about the shiz happening in America then they should be equally outraged at the treatment of Indigenous Australians and refugees by the Australian Government. 

Mostly it’s hard because they will absolutely turn a blind eye to the abuse of Aboriginal and Torres Straight Islanders by the Australian Government and the defunding and defrauding of the systems set up to support these peoples by various members of parliament. The White folk call our Indigenous peoples “entitled” or “lazy”, they decry the existence of the dry regions requested by some communities and forced upon others, of supposed government ‘handouts’ that really only serve to make the playing field just that tiny bit more level. They celebrate Australia Day as though the anniversary of the mass invasion of this country by European settlers should be anything but a day of mourning. 

Australia is one of the worst, if not the worst, when it comes to the treatment of so called ‘illegals’. Look up Manus Island Detention Facilities, Christmas Island, Nauru. There are many more but those should give you a good idea. Australia’s treatment of refugees is so bad that Donald Trump has expressed admiration towards them. Let that sink in for a moment.

Sometimes it’s safe for me to call others out on their bullshit, sometimes it’s not. I’m small, I’m queer and I’m chubby. I’ve had seven concussions in my lifetime and I’m not eager for the one that’s going to put me in a coma. Being paler than the moon does not protect me from White arseholes when I speak out as often as I originally thought it would. Some particularly prodigious individuals can smell Irish heritage a mile off so occasionally I’m not only accused of being a ‘reverse racist’ but also a terrorist by those whose historical knowledge extends beyond their primary school history class. I’ve had to learn to pick my battles.

I cannot give you an Indigenous perspective on Australia’s racism because I am not Indigenous. I can tell you that as a white person I am sometimes faced with the threat of physical violence and actual physical violence for speaking up at the wrong moment, which means that it’s most certainly worse for others. I can tell you that I grew up surrounded by friends of Indigenous decent, some of whom are no longer with us due to white violence and all of whom I witnessed being harassed as we grew up. 

I’m not entirely blind to my own flaws. I understand knee-jerk white rage because I get it too. It’s hard not to when you’ve grown up with the US vs THEM narrative constantly being spouted by the media and a whitewashed school curriculum. I don’t give voice to those thoughts. I don’t let them sit and fester, Ido not entertain them in any way because honestly every single one of them is utter bull. I don’t like them. I don’t like that those unwanted relics of an intrinsically racist society still invade my brain when they are not views I’ve ever consciously held, and because I can recognise these intrusive thoughts for what they are I get extremely angry when ignorant white idiots start spouting them as facts. I can only imagine what it’s like to be their target. 

White Australians, if you are angry about what’s happening in America how about you start paying attention to all the things happening in our own bloody back yard. If you’re outraged about the atrocities there, you should be outraged about the atrocities and injustices here. Start listening when Indigenous Australian’s call you out on your bullshit. Get off your “but I’m not a racist” horse and start calling yourself and others out on your own bullshit because, honestly, it shouldn’t be the job of POC to do it for you. Call for action on Australia’s detention facilities. Support your local and rural communities and stop listening to the white crap you’ve been taught to believe. 

I’m not saying it’s easy, because sometimes it’s not. Sometimes you need to work on yourself and your own internalised racism before you can help support others. If it’s not safe to speak against someone publicly or privately, or if you’re not comfortable doing so then just leave. Walk away from them and show your disapproval that way. Your silence coupled with inaction is the same as implicit support. 

Bloody well get moving.

[holden-norgorov]

A seriously angry recap of all the things I hated in the finale.

Because I had to write down all the disappointment and outrage that I have inside, otherwise it will consume me until I die. I had to give vent to everything that disgusted me in a less-detatched, more personal way than the unemotional one my objective thoughts usually are expressed with. If you want to read highly pissed-off complaints for healing purposes, this is your post. 

Implying that discovering that your mother is also your step-sister is a more validating reason to commit murder than being yourself a victim of physical and psychological abuses for years during your childhood. Offensive, short-sighted, self-erasing. By suggesting that Wolfgang killed his father and uncle out of this revelation, the writers nullified the character’s self-worth, depth and integrity.

“I’m not worth it”. “Wolfgang, you are!” It turned out he wasn’t worth it at all because things didn’t change. Nobody had any kind of conversation and the result was that Kala was portrayed as happy staying in the loveless, unhealthy marriage she was already in and that Wolfgang kept being the “lover” who wasn’t worth being chosen. Rajan became suddenly so important that an entire two-seasonal storyline of the most epic love story of all time had to be thrown out of the window just to please him? Who the fuck cared about him? He was selfish and sexist for two seasons, and a lame, uninteresting character with no personality beyond being a kiss-ass.

Capheus being a clown for all the episode irritated the fuck out of me. He had always been particularly joyful, but 1) not at this ridiculous, over-the-top level, and especially 2) not under these circumstances. This is war. They are all risking their lives and could be found and killed in any seconds. He is risking his whole political career and has left all his loved ones home alone. One of his clustermates is imprisoned in a BPO facility and likely being tortured. This is possibly the worst you could get: this episode was not meant to feature lighthearted, careless people joking around and being idiotic. His behavior is completely inappropriate and disrespectful of the situation. Someone with a brain, in those circumstances, would have slapped him in the face. What the fuck.

Nomanita getting an entire scene exclusively used to provide a last-minute backstory capable of justifying Lana’s selfish decision of taking Paris from Kalagang and giving it to them out of nowhere and with no apparent reason. I am so mad about this, it almost seems deliberate from Lana. Paris was a turning point for Kalagang, a pivotal moment that represented their first and only chance in all the show to be finally happy and together. Nomanita already had it all. Nomanita have always been the healthiest, happiest couple. They could have married literally anywhere else and it would have changed nothing in their relationship, because they had already had 24 episodes of domestic and happy moments. Why Paris of all cities? This was an intentional betrayal to Kalagang fans and storyline.

Lito’s freak-out about the carbs is beyond any fucking comment. It vividly looks like they all are on camping, or taking a funny, enjoyable trip. The writers should be ashamed of themselves for cheapening such a beautiful show and such wonderful characters with stupid moments like this and so many others (such as: Nomi’s coffee moment, Wolfgang jokingly pointing the rocket launcher on Capheus, Rajan asking Kala to teach him to use a gun as if they were not in a dangerous, life-or-death situation but just having fun, Puck with Sun’s hair and so on: there are a lot).

Sun and Mun being OOC as fuck and acting as if they were old acquaintances was just ridiculous and forced to an exponential level. This is entirely the writers’ fault and has nothing to do with time constraints, because the writing was just cheap and the characters unrecognizable. They had only met twice before this phone call (and both times by mistake). Sun here was weirdly intimate and emotively open despite having been closed and guarded of her interiority for two seasons sometimes even with her other selves. Mun was the very definition of cringe. “I think those two words might have made getting shot worth it.” Give me a fucking break. Who are these people? And don’t even get me started on the inconsistency with the line “I am not very good with words” that goes directly against the very reason why Sun was interested in him in the first place (i.e. the passionate way he talked about her to her teacher and the cautious but accurate analysis he provided of her psychology while fighting in the graveyard). Here they were odd and extremely cliché to the point of contrasting with their very essence.

Capheus greeting Rajan in that way was so wrong and insulting both to attentive viewers and to all the people in this world unable to obtain proper medications for themselves or their loved ones. It disregarded and destroyed everything about Capheus’ character and almost made me vomit. Rajan embodied all the socially powerful people directly responsible for Shiro’s improved sickness that almost caused her death in S1. Rajan’s unethical business was the very reason why Capheus had to be involved with Silas Kabaka in the first place, resulting in all his S1 storyline that almost led him to his death. Do any of you remember Capheus and Kala’s expressions when Rajan revealed this? Both of them had never been so hurt and incredulous during all the show. Capheus’ blind forgiveness of someone who was the ultimate reason of one entire season of his suffering and fighting for survival left me utterly speechless and offended. The writers turned all of this into a joke, especially considering Capheus storyline in S2: he had decided to politically represent his country, his own people, exactly because of the injustices they had to face on a daily basis because of poverty and unfair hierarchy. Welcoming Rajan, the symbol of this hierarchy that basically made his whole life a living hell, in that way was incredibly unbelievable. I was seriously shocked by this.

Kala’s behavior when Rajan arrives in Paris can be explained only in two ways: a) either she was on drugs all the time, which means she was capable of making them using her knowledge as chemist and then taking them because she was so desperate for Wolfgang that she wanted to be high, or b) she was just under a love spell. These are the only explanations to the way she behaves here; in both cases, she clearly wasn’t herself. Logic, continuity and coherence were all non-existent. The facts: Kala had made promises to Wolfgang both in 2x10 and 2x11 and the only reason why she hadn’t explained things to Rajan yet was that he had shut her off and sent her away without giving her the opportunity to do so. But her mind was crystal-clear and she was finally ready (in fact, her entire storyline had been built in order to make her brave enough to finally make this decision). But in here, she betrayed every promise she had made to Wolfgang and basically became a lying coward, erasing all the character development she had been through. She acted as a bitch. This confrontation was unavoidable at this point. She let Rajan believe that the real problem in their marriage was her nature as a sensate, which actually has never been a source of conflict at all (she didn’t want to marry Rajan even before realizing what she was). I wanted to slap her for how she acted in this whole episode. She also really felt under a love spell because for 23 episodes she had never spontaneously kissed Rajan before out of sincere will. In 1x02, Rajan kissed her and she didn’t even return the kiss (the only reason why she didn’t break it was that they were at their engagement party and it would have been highly inappropriate); in 2x01 she kissed him out of pity and guilt because she felt responsible for breaking his dick and ruining their honeymoon. And that was it. So, witnessing her starting a kiss to a man she spent two seasons being uncomfortable with (especially physically) and feeling objectified by felt really wrong and unexpected and utterly unreasonable. She seriously looked like she was on drugs, I was in disbelief.

Aunt Kirsty overtaking a whole team of BPO soldiers supposedly using her unknown superpower ninja abilities was so ridiculous and cheap that it was like the writers themselves wanted to prove us that they could do everything they wanted and ruin all the show’s credibility as they pleased. Seriously what the fuck was that. Sense8 became a cartoon for kids and we didn’t know? God.

The complete lack of Wolfgang’s PTSD was absolutely unforgivable and unrealistic. We are talking about a man who spent all of his life building several walls to protect himself from the outside, trying to keep everyone at distance exactly because of the traumas he experienced since childhood that he couldn’t recover from. He has always been emotionally secretive and unavailable to everyone except Kala (and she took two seasons of serious efforts to make him finally open up and expose himself). He was tortured daily several times when he was under BPO’s captivity: he had and needed to show both physical and psychological scars in the aftermath. PTSD was a natural response that inevitably had to happen and be shown both for credibility and for a matter of character’s coherence and integrity. Wolfgang being rescued from this severely traumatizing condition and not showing the slightest consequence of it was beyond idiotic. And worse: from that moment he actually started acting more carefree and behaving in the exact opposite way than the one that should logically be expected from someone with his personality going through an experience like that. He started joking around and taking everything lightly and in a more emotionally invested way than he had ever done even before this imprisonment. It was like watching a fairy tale of stupid bullshit. What a fucking mess.

Rajan’s evident privileged treatment from the writers was so obvious and cheap that it ended up being nausea-inducing. He was literally everywhere and for no reason at all since he had no abilities. In the club, he is the only sapiens being close to the physical exchange. Why on this planet should this be safe or acceptable or even convenient since he is incapable of doing anything? Every other non-sensate was far away, even members of the Cluster such as Lito who could have been useful through sharing. Instead Rajan was on the front. Ok. And the idea that Wolfgang, a taciturn man who spent two seasons being jealous of Rajan, would spontaneously approach him and thank him for doing absolutely nothing is hilarious. Rajan didn’t save Wolfgang. Kala was the one who intervened to prevent Lila from shooting him. Rajan stepped in only to save Kala and was able to steal Lila’s gun just because she was already being attacked. And as soon as that happened, she took the gun back because Rajan obviously didn’t have a clue on what he was doing (which is acceptable, because he just wasn’t suitable for that situation: the mistake was including him there in the first place). Daniela herself had been previously shown to be comfortable in using a gun. Why not exposing her to the physical place of the exchange instead of Rajan? I seriously don’t get it. Which advantage could Rajan provide to the situation? The writers were so transparent. The same can be said with the Napoli’s scene. Rajan is the only sapiens entering the camorra building without any reason or combat skill. WHY. Not only he is untrained and incapable, but he also doesn’t even know the plan (Kala has to explain it to him while already inside and targeted by enemies!). It’s like they did everything in their power to include Rajan everywhere and let him be some kind of saver or hero that he clearly is not. The writing was insulting. Rajan mistakes a taser for a gun but then uses that same taser to save Kala’s life? How stupid do the writers think we are, exactly? Not to mention that Wolfgang being unable to treat Kala’s stomach wound was completely OOC, but then again, Kala and Wolfgang were both RAPED as characters in every way possible in this episode. Wolfgang was able to canonically treat a much worse wound when Felix was almost killed despite being in evident pain. This was all ridiculous. And what about Lila shooting Kala in the stomach? In this very episode she was able to shoot dead five people at a great distance without even trying when stealing Whispers. She was a hired gun, and here Kala was literally in front of her. Nothing in this scene makes the slightest sense, I swear.

The scene where Will asked where Sun was, as if he wasn’t able to mentally connect with her was absurd. And Nomi actually taking five minutes to visit her was just a cheap way for the Sun x Mun exchange to happen and was incoherent. “I found Sun” doesn’t make sense because they are telepathically connected and Nomi shouldn’t need to find her. Cheapness for everyone.

Kala spontaneously kissing Rajan again when she finally has the occasion to physically be with the love of her life after he was tortured and nearly killed is probably the most absurd and embarrassing moment I have ever seen in television. It’s beyond any rational comment at this point. I was about to throw something at my screen. And Wolfgang accepting this despite probably believing that Kala and Rajan had already talked things through was incoherent, unthinkable and hysterical. WHO-ARE-THESE-CHARACTERS. This moment destroyed me more than I can convey with words. It was a betrayal to two seasons of marvelous Kalagang growth and development. I could ramble about how much I hate this moment for pages, but I already wrote a post about it and it would be better for me not to stop too much on this because it literally broke my heart and enraged me more than anything else ever did. Kala and Wolfgang were entirely different characters.

Jonas and the Mother talking like walking encyclopedias contrast so heavily with the cheap writing of the episode that their scenes end up being really laughable and impossible to be taken seriously.

The song sequence was completely useless, pure fanservice garbage that stole real usable time that was very much needed since many storylines were left entirely open without justifications. The “What’s Up” moment in 1x04 became iconic because it conveyed a precise message that was the core of all the show, was a set up for everything that came after and had also the purpose to show the ability of each character to connect all together for the first time. Instead, the song sequence in this episode was obviously insert only because the first one really gained a huge success in the fandom and they simply wanted to reply it for fanservice purposes. But this was entirely pointless and the very definition of a waste of time. The characters felt very much like the actors themselves goofing around, and there were also completely avoidable coherence mistakes (Felix and Rajan on the train) that cheapened the already-compromised credibility of it all. The editing of all the episode was bad, especially in this scene.

Other time gets wasted showing characters eating pizza without a tie to the plot or anything at all. Were the writers deliberately trying to make the worst choices possible? They basically did everything wrong and handled the time horribly.

I already talked about the bullet scene, but Kala being able to visit Wolfgang while unconscious was another cheap mistake. I’m particularly angry because for 23 episodes Sense8 was able to be almost flawless in coherence, but this episode is just a giant mess. This moment is OOC and simply wrong on every aspect, and who wrote it surely must have been a stranger to the show.

The last half-hour of the Special is so weird. It’s like the writers suddenly forgot that the main characters are sensates. Will asking Kala what she wants was another ridiculous moment that was so incoherent with their scene in 2x08 that I seriously considered this to be an intentional way for the writers to let us know that they willingly fucked up with Kalagang. The main peculiarity of their interaction in 2x08 was that Will was able to read Kala’s emotions without asking and state out loud what she was afraid to admit to herself: that she loved someone else. Their interaction in 2x08 was based on clarifying that Kala was not suffering from a feeling indecision but a morality struggle, and that Will exactly knew what she wanted. Their moment in 2x12 disregards everything about it. Will acts like he doesn’t already know what she feels and asks her questions as if he couldn’t read her emotions, and Kala is supposed to show signs of romantic indecisiveness despite her troubles were never feelings-related? In 2x08 Kala couldn’t stop talking haphazardly (as she always does when concerned about something) and here she just silently shrugs? This moment is beyond laughable and goes against everything established before, and the characters are frankly unrecognizable.

It’s unbelievable the idea that two whole seasons of perfect Kalagang development led to a conclusion where Kala holds hands with Rajan and Wolfgang sits behind them as a complete stranger. It feels like a nightmare. I am homicidal about this. They really destroyed them, both as a couple and individual characters.

 Amanita clearly states in 1x07 that she is afraid of and hates fireworks because they symbolize war and are a failure. So why is she perfectly happy here when they are used during her own wedding? It wasn’t that hard not to be OOC. The writers really wanted to discredit the canon in every way, I’m incredulous.

The conclusive physical, actual orgy which includes also non-sensate characters sends a horrible message. First, it goes completely against the symbolical meaning of the previous orgies (which were meant to show the sensates’ ability to share sexual arousal every time someone in the Cluster was having actual sex; it was nothing physical or carnal but purely abstract and metaphorical). Second, it’s highly offensive to asexual people, because sex is conceived here as the highest expression of love and the only way to resolve untouched confrontations (instead of having actual conversations). Third, it provides sexual erasure to Lito (canonically gay), Nomi (canonically lesbian) and Kala (canonically demisexual). Fourth, it goes against the well-praised theme of inclusivity and diversity of the show because everyone at the end turns out to be the same (pansexual), thus erasing every single representation provided in the previous episodes. Fifth, it portrays an unfair and insulting view on how sexuality actually works. The idea of a man — whose entire storyline is built around the fact that he is completely, exclusively gay and couldn’t manage to even fake a relationship with a woman — willing to have sex out of the blue with someone of the opposite sex is gross and actually sick. Sexuality is highly intimate and personal: it’s not about open-mindedness, but about self-comfort. It’s disrespectful to think that a gay man would be okay to get laid with a woman, because he just is by nature not comfortable in that situation. I am a straight guy and I could never picture myself with another man, it would make me unhealthily uncomfortable with myself. This applies to everyone’s very own sexuality. The same can be said for Kala, who here is depicted as a promiscuous woman willing to share her body with the very same man who she couldn’t bring herself to feel comfortable with for two seasons. Kala was a very moral person described as demi-sexual and she could only be comfortable in a sexual scenario with Wolfgang because they are sensates and their level of trust and connection is unparalleled. If Wolfgang and Kala hadn’t been sensates inside each other’s heads and feelings, Kala would have never slept with him: she needed that kind of intimacy and closeness to open up sexually. The Kala who pulls Rajan down and gets almost hungry of being used as a sex object here is not the usual Kala from the first 23 episodes, it’s another character entirely who sends a conservative and sexist unacceptable message.

Wolfgang’s sudden bisexuality is not representation, nor something to be proud of: it’s just an offensive, out-of-nowhere twist created only for shock value. One of the first traits that we understand about him in the show is that in order to avoid opening up emotionally, he constantly sleeps around with women only. This is canonically confirmed in two occasions: first, in 1x04, when he and Felix talk about their teenager adventures, nothing is mentioned about them being open to relationships with other boys (and if Wolfgang had been bisexual, it would have surely been pointed out in this moment); second, in 2x01, we canonically see him picking up girls using a date-app which features women only. This highly indicates that he is not into men, because if he was, he wouldn’t hide it at all. Also, if he had really been sexually attracted to men, he would have surely fallen for Felix because of how close they are, and this didn’t happen. This is not to say that sexuality is permanent or unaffected by change. But if Wolfgang’s character arc had really been about a sexuality struggle, an appropriate path of self-discovery should have been shown and developed carefully. People just don’t wake up and decide to change sexual orientation out of the blue. These things require internal process and self-questioning. This sudden twist is a joke to people who really have to face a complex self-examination in order to understand whether their sexuality is changing or evolving.  

Wolfgang touching Rajan’s lips before kissing him is a slap on the face of Kalagang’s fans because that was THEIR intimate gesture, and theirs alone. 

Wolfgang and Rajan barely know each other. Wolfgang would NEVER perform that private gesture with anyone but Kala, and the idea that he would make love to her with her husband included is pure nuts. This was the ultimate bullshit from the writers who managed to annihilate everything about Kalagang. It’s almost as if Lana had personal reasons to sabotage them in every way possible, because the result is just too heavy-handed and transparent not to be intentional. I seriously hope that she didn’t feel the need to ruin them just because they are a straight couple, because that would make her discriminatory and petty as fuck. This moment was seriously unwatchable and unbearable. I don’t have the proper words to describe the utter disgust I really experienced.  

[inanawesomewave]

“How did I escape? With difficulty. How did I plan this moment? With pleasure.”

I’ve always heard the phrase “the best way to win the game is by not playing” - or variations thereof - from well-meaning friends and family whenever I’ve found myself running on hot at that peak of having been wronged, and wanting revenge. It doesn’t take long for me to get up there; okay, in recent years, I’m not so much looking for an excuse to cause a calamity as I was when I was younger, but when I feel I’ve been pushed to the point of no return (when I feel I’m under attack, when I worry my safety is compromised, or worse, when someone has the audacity to make me feel as if they can somehow best me, control me, manipulate or exploit me), my internal thermometer does tend to leap upward with that red hot spike of indignity within moments, and during the climb my thoughts of revenge, response, reaction will very quickly peak to the plateau of “something must be done, and I need to do it, and it needs to be maximum, and it needs to hurt”. This is why it’s said to me as often as it is: the best way to win the game is by not playing. And that made no sense to me, ever. It’s like when people say the best revenge is living well - is it, though? Imagine Heathcliff had sought his revenge on the injustice of his abusive upbringing by merely living well and moving on, where would he have found his comfort, and how would he have redressed the balance? How would Heathcliff, for example, have felt settled within himself and his situation knowing that he’d spent his life maligned and kicked down, and simply just rode away into the sunset, never to be seen again? Mustn’t it have been so satisfying to him to watch his oppressors be destroyed by him? To have the world that rejected him capsized by his own hand? But then, did Heathcliff win? Yes and no.  It dawned on me recently just how much of ASPD revolves around the notion of game-playing. I recently found myself in a heightened moment of conflict; an argument in which I was definitely right and the other party was definitely right escalated to the other party punching a wall in front of me to show me their frustration - LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO - and what happened next felt as unreal as a situation can when there’s no dissociation involved. First of all, I showed my hand. I hated this. I was visibly frightened, and I know this, because with all the remorse and empathy of someone who has been DRIVEN TO MINDLESS RAGE at the hands of a FUCKING HORRIBLE SOCIOPATH, the other party seemed extremely woeful that they had frightened me. They perhaps didn’t think they had the power to do so. I was pissed off that they did, more so that I’d shown them that they did. What an outrage, what a show of weakness on my part. They don’t have ASPD, so they probably weren’t thinking of how satisfying it was to have finally broken me down, but I do, and that’s how I read it. And I wasn’t happy.  So I ran out of the room. Like a scared child, I ran away. It started to occur to me that my show of distress was more important than the conflict itself. I closed the bathroom door, I was sad, I felt helpless, it felt to me like I was under an attack and would need to fight my way out, who knows how this could have gone, and the antisocial me had uncontrollable flashing images of how I might survive the situation should it become a fight to the death. There were no signals at all that this should become a fight to the death. In the bathroom, was a blue glass tumbler on the side of the bath. Right away, just as in a video game, it was as if the glass had lit up right in front of me, like if I clicked it, options would come up: How do you want to use this glass? Do you want to keep the glass? Do you want to leave the glass?  I threw it in the bath so it would break and I held the shard in my hand, leaning against the closed bathroom door, knowing that should the other person come in and suddenly want to kill me, I could probably shiv them in the neck. No, that would be too much, I thought. They might die. Okay then, somewhere else where maybe they’d be briefly incapacitated enough that I could run away. They’d get over the injury and learn their lesson. No, that’s not it, I don’t know if I want to hurt them, not really. An eye for an eye, after all, they didn’t actually hurt me. They just threw their weight around to scare me. I’m trying to deescalate, not escalate. What next? Okay, if they come in or they’re still behind the door when I leave, after I’ve washed my face and stopped looking like such a fucking scaredy-cat, I’ll just point it at them and stare them out, tell them to back off, cool down, walk slowly away from me and take a breather, I’ll show them my teeth, I’ll show them I am not scared, because I no longer am, I’m not scared any more. I don’t know what I am, but the fear has gone. Maybe I’m just fucking angry. Yeah, I am. I’m really incandescently angry. Fuck that, maybe I will fucking glass them. No, I’ll just scare them. Aw, my empathy skills are coming a long way. I mean I don’t want to kill them. I love them. I don’t want to hurt them. But I do want to redress the balance. You made me show you my hand? I’ll make it so you have no option but to show yours. This isn’t a game of love any more. It’s war. You need to learn that I can never be frightened by you ever again. Don’t be in fear of me, but be in fear of your need to frighten me. 

Because it was a game, and I was losing it. When you play Monopoly and you’re running out of money, you don’t suddenly start buying all the cheap properties because it shows you’re floundering. You pony up your last cash to buy the train station your most hated opponent needs to complete their set, you buy Mayfair, you use that money to fuck someone else over. You’re out of cash now, but you can still pull it back. You’ve become an authority. You can start paying out loans. You can introduce new rules, you can write up contracts. Your image is intact. Your image is better than you are.  If you’re wondering what happened next, the argument dissipated. There were apologies on both sides, nobody glassed anybody, nobody moved, nobody got hurt. But I’m still hurting. A power structure that day had been established, and I was a rung below where I wanted to be. No longer an equal, I’d been demoted to victimhood, even if for a second, and the game started lighting everything up. A piece of information told to me in a conversation lights up: how do you want to use this opponent’s personal backstory? Do you want to attempt to empathise? Do you want to pretend to empathise? Do you want to exploit it? Do you want to help them? Do you... wait... I haven’t seen this option before, what’s this? DO YOU WANT TO DO NOTHING AT ALL?  If Heathcliff had lived well and moved on, maybe he would have found happiness alone. Maybe he would have met someone else. Maybe he’d make friends. Have a nice house. Exercise his embittered need for ultimate control and power elsewhere, somewhere more healthy, run a business, be a successful landlord, adapt. Maybe Catherine would have found him again on her own time, in her own way, maybe they’d have lived longer, happier lives, together at last and unencumbered by the knotty and chaotic whirl of the moors and the tragedy, abuse and neglect woven into their storm clouds and wild heather. But would he be happy? Heathcliff, decompensating and in recovery. Heathcliff had to cause immeasurable pain to the only person he really loved, and tore himself down in the process. In conceding, are we failing? Is it growth? Or can it only ever be an admittance of defeat? But really, would he have been happy? Would Hamlet? Would Edmund Dantes?  Would I? Would you? 

[weirdoandherwords]

Freedom of speech needs EVERYONE to read this. Calling for people to speak out, this is how. #Savetheinternet

Never has anything been more important for the fight for freedom of speech on understanding this and what we are seeing lately. I urge everyone to watch this Youtube video (see at the very end) and see for yourself and to comment on that video condemning Youtube. Many will not know this man. You may want to watch more videos of him and look him up but just to give you a brief profile; he is a podcaster, Youtuber, philosophiser speaking on politics, relationships and science, you name it. A fan of truth and bringing insightful and interesting debate hence why he has a great following. You may disagree with him and that is welcomed by him, the need and right for people to debate and have an honest dialogue. The shocking horror that not everyone thinks the same, who knew. Yet Youtube nearly banned him just recently with a vague striking system. It was an outrage from his Twitter followers that stopped this and thanks to him having other social platforms but eerily what if he hadn’t? Why was he nearly banned? A violation of users’ rights is happening and people need to pay attention now. Whilst you’re ignorant to this because unsurprisingly this won’t be covered in the mainstream, scary things are happening and you need to wake up. The internet is a saviour but even that is facing a scary uncertainty. 

I am appalled and angry for you Stefan Molyneux. Please, anyone who reads this and views the video at the end, just speak up, leave a comment under the Youtube video to show and tell Youtube this is unacceptable and we as consumers of the content do not want this to happen. All this will do is create a way for another platform. Be warned Youtube, you will lose market, if you're willing to silence and shut down voices unjustly. The fight for freedom and speech will always prevail because it is reason and truth that we hold on to so I'm so happy to see people speaking and switched on to this. Don't be ignorant. Ignorance is not bliss. People who are not on the internet are in a bubble with only the mainstream media to give them their news and 'truth'; the internet is the place now and to even see Youtube acting out censorship is outwardly disturbing and terrifying. This should terrify people.

Whether you agree with Stefan or not (even though he is an intelligent man who is willing to THINK hence being a philosopher and gives truth, intelligent and insightful debates and speaks on real issues that need a platform so I wonder how you could be hateful to him), the censorship of voices should be what EVERYONE should stand against as in time the very people who claim to have moral superiority and exhibit the hypocritical bigotry onto others they want to censor, the can of worms opens and you'll be regretting allowing this to happen.

I watch many things on Youtube, from people I don't always agree with and those I do, I spend a lot of time there, learning, being enlightened, being cheered up, being entertained by different voices with many who have divisive opinions. That returning demon of the evil that not everyone thinks the same eh. I don't tend to comment, just indulge in content after content and I often scroll down on comments to get a sense of the reaction and it pleases me to see people are not falling for the biases and are all here for truth but on this that I've just come across, I cannot help but comment and urge anyone and everyone to comment in support for Stefan here, as it is not just a comment for Stefan, but for speech, for freedom and to show Youtube and everyone that consumers and the people are intolerant over Youtube's (and other sites that are feeling pressured) intolerance.  We need to call out this hypocrisy, the injustice and violation over users' rights. Pressured from an SJW army and direction from corporate contributions like adverts (the demonetisation of users), they do this to 'appease the people'. Well this is why it is crucial people comment to show this is not what the people want, give the voice, give the pressure that what they are doing is wrong, show them, tell them, speak up and people who are with this fight, if you wonder what you can do, comment under the video to show this and to tell Youtube we will not be using if they continue with the violation of not only the users but of ours as the consumers and show we are against this, that we know what they are doing before there is no video from him to comment on.

Watch. Comment in condemnation against Youtube on this and to show all the social media platforms and sites out there. Speak out in numbers. I want to see millions! I want to see who is out there and in support. This could be a movement. Fight and be on the side for freedom of speech. I’m calling for a movement to get people engaged, angry and voiced in reaction to all the outrageous and unjustified anti free speech incidences happening (Count Dankula, Tommy Robinson, James Damore to name a few cases) and what we are seeing here with Stefan. Show these major platforms that their CSR is misaligned, that they have nothing to fear if many disagree with some of their users’ content and that by censorship, banning and violating their policies towards ideas that are different or indeed misrepresented is not going to be tolerated. Many voices are shut down before people have had a chance to see clearly that often what the SJWs and media portray is the opposite. Funny how agendas work.  The more we speak, the more we show they shouldn’t be pressured to censor and that we are not standing for this violation, injustice and plague on freedom of speech, for debate and truth. So start by a comment underneath after watching Stefan’s video. Tweet. Make videos. Blog. Debate your peers, your friends and strangers. Inform them of this and all that is going on. In your tweets, videos, blogs etc. make it clear we are watching, we demand as consumers and the people for fair platforms of ideas for even the ones you dislike, disagree with and may see as ‘hateful’. After all, the way to combat evil is to shine a light on it and not let it fester in its deep and gritty darkness to then build up into something monstrous. Of course, most of the time this isn’t the case as we have a judicial system in place to lock up true evil but there is a case to shine the light on bad ideas so that we know what ideas are out there and how to resolve people’s thinking by debate, intelligence, sharing of information and honest conversations. To show the hateful and harmful and to win by better ideas and debate.  What are you scared of? That you might learn inconvenient truths, that you can’t debate? The best way to win a debate is to not have one it seems and what a ludicrous and telling observation and a scary world to be in. The misinformation, lack of self-thought, rational thinking and agency to look into things is creating these demonised characters that must be shut down when they are often not even remotely dangerous, only insofar for the ones that want to take away their voices... and you’ve got to wonder, why would they want that?

Think of this as an open letter to the world from just a girl who likes to learn and seek truth with a laptop. If you like truth, ideas and freedom of speech, please join and make this movement. The internet and the history, the present and the future of humanity need it. 

#Savetheinternet. 

[theliterateape]

The Double-Edge of Propagandistic Journalism

by Don Hall

When I worked at Chicago Public Radio (2007-2017) one of the ongoing challenges the station faced was the rush to broadcast in the face of an increasingly Twitter-lead race. 

With the rapid ascension of digital quasi-journalism came the dilemma of either getting the news out first or getting the news out right. For the most part within my decade there, the goal was to get it right so, often, the station was broadcasting news that had already hit for a day or so but provided that essential NPR context and nuance required for listeners not lead by the nose by the Twitterverse.

Given that the business model behind NPR relies heavily on public donations (at the time comprising a full 60% of the funding for WBEZ) the fact that many of their audience were also getting their news from Twitter became more of an issue to confront.

The media world has been shifting ever since. The result?

The United States ranks last in media trust — at 29% — among 92,000 news consumers surveyed in 46 countries, a report released Wednesday found. That’s worse than Poland, worse than the Philippines, worse than Peru. (Finland leads at 65%.)

In a recent conversation with a strident Trump-hater and hater of anyone who may have voted for him ("70 million racist idiots who can't comprehend the difference between fact and fiction...") it occurred that with so many distrusting our media outlets (including NPR) and the resulting rise in independent news substacks and mailers as well as the constant flow of mis- and disinformation readily available in social media platforms, we may very well be fucked.

There's a kind of moralistic paternalism at play here. One side of the partisan divide looks at the other and determines that they are either too morally bankrupt or too stupid to parse out what is truth versus what is propaganda. Like the antiracist phrasing around poor, young blacks who are too burdened with systemic racism to comprehend the criminality of taking a gun and shooting it at a rival, this bizarre infantilism of whole sections of society smacks more of the Church than anything else.

"Forgive them, Father, for they know not what they do." becomes "Condemn them, Father, for they know not what is true."

This brings us to the rumors that the NYT has been taken over by Woke post-college Zoomers and that NPR has become more propaganda than neutral news source.

Of course, there is a response from NPR:

Outrage As A Business Model: How Ben Shapiro Is Using Facebook To Build An Empire

An NPR analysis of social media data found that over the past year, stories published by the site Shapiro founded, The Daily Wire, received more likes, shares and comments on Facebook than any other news publisher by a wide margin.

Even legacy news organizations that have broken major stories or produced groundbreaking investigative work don't come anywhere close.

The article notes that “other conservative outlets such as The Blaze, Breitbart News and The Western Journal” that “publish aggregated and opinion content” have also “generally been more successful… than legacy news outlets over the past year, according to NPR's analysis.”

Is the argument presented that Shapiro publishes lies? No. 

“The articles The Daily Wire publishes don't normally include falsehoods.”

Is he Trump-y? Nope.

Shapiro “publicly denounced the alt-right and other people in Trump's orbit,” and “the conspiracy theory that Trump is the rightful winner of the 2020 election.”

The NPR piece can't even claim that The Daily Wire is a news organization as they are quite clear on the Shapiro's website that "the site declares, "The Daily Wire does not claim to be without bias," and goes on to say, "We're opinionated, we're noisy, and we're having a good time."

So, aside from being more successful in attracting eyeballs that NPR, what's the beef?

By only covering specific stories that bolster the conservative agenda (such as… polarizing ones about race and sexuality issues)… readers still come away from The Daily Wire's content with the impression that Republican politicians can do little wrong and cancel culture is among the nation's greatest threats.

Ah! This because NPR doesn't cover specific stories that bolster the progressive agenda (such as polarizing ones about race and sexuality issues), right?

Hypocrisy, thy name is Moralistic Propaganda.

What Does It Mean To Be Latino? The 'Light-Skinned Privilege' Edition Maria Garcia and Maria Hinojosa are both Mexican American, both mestiza, and both relatively light-skinned. But Maria Hinojosa strongly identifies as a woman of color, whereas Maria Garcia has stopped doing so.

The Racial Reckoning That Wasn't In the wake of several high-profile police killings last summer, support for Black Lives Matter skyrocketed among white Americans. Their new concerns about racism pushed books about race to the top of the bestseller lists, while corporations pledged billions of dollars to address injustice. A year later, though, polls show that white support for the movement has not only waned, but is lower than it was before.

Black TikTok Creators Are On Strike To Protest A Lack Of Credit For Their Work Tired of not receiving credit for their creativity and original work — all while watching white influencers rewarded with millions of views performing dances they didn't create — many Black creators on TikTok joined a widespread strike last week, refusing to create any new dances until credit is given where it's due.

New Zealand Weightlifter Will Be The First Openly Trans Competitor At The Olympics

She Struggled To Reclaim Her Indigenous Name. She Hopes Others Have It Easier

Monuments And Teams Have Changed Names As America Reckons With Racism. Birds Are Next

There is absolutely nothing wrong about the heavy-left lean from NPR. I personally still prefer them to almost any other news source. That said, it is anything but hypocritical to then level the accusation at Shapiro's obviously and fully transparent biased website that it is biased while exhibiting the exact same bias on the other side of the fence.

Is their any such thing as objective journalism? I don't believe so but there needs to be the attempt or the whole fourth estate is nothing more than a pack of moralists lecturing those they disagree with on how they should believe and behave and that isn't what journalism is supposed to be. That's what a nosy neighbor, an angry nun, or ideology-spewing lunatic does.

I don't care much for Shapiro or The Daily Caller but the stance of "Do as we say not as we do" is too pervasive in this instance. I expect better from NPR but the pressures of reach, finance, and facing the reality that half of the country finds the brand of scolding progressivism to be so offensive that they scatter to the type of click-bait infotainment on the right of the spectrum is daunting.

Stick to your guns, NPR. Don't buy into the post-modernist belief that objectivity cannot exist. Suffer the slings of neutrality and if the population ignores you, it wasn't like you were killing it in the ratings in the first place.

Like the reporters and producers I worked with years ago, get it right not popular.