#why can we not de-escalate the stakes

[violetasteracademic]

I know this has been said a million times in a million ways, but I humbly request an audience to September Virgo out for a hot minute and share my dissertation on why the "Three Brothers and Three Sisters is *lazy writing*" take is by far the WORST.

If you found me through my Lucien Vanserra's Hero's Journey breakdown (I'll link that at the end) then you already know I am an absolute nerd about book structure. I do not beef with the other ships and genuinely love and am interested in every character in these shipwars. But I get a little hot when I see this take!

The reason being is that 3 and 3 is not "lazy writing." Lazy writing is:

⚫ Conveniently de-escalating all current stakes and conflicts established in the service of a romantic pairing.

⚫ Poorly pacing a book because now we have to explain why a character was thinking about offering another character 1 ticket to ride his face, but now he quickly wants someone else instead that many people offline don't even know about. Structure wise- (we are talking three act structure here, again I have broken that down in the link I'll post below) this means that by the end of Act One, the act in which the lead of our story has been presented with all of the information and their story has been laid out, they are now crossing into Act Two with clarity and set up, (side note-the first act is typically resolved within the first 20% of the book (or less!) we must resolve an existing romance with one character that has not even gotten its opportunity to be told in depth (i.e. Feyre and Tamlin). And reasonably introduce a new romance. As well as the introduction of new plotlines to accommodate the new romance. It's just... it's a plot and pacing nightmare. I'm getting the sweats even thinking about it.

⚫ Ignoring years worth of details and foreshadowing in an act of fan service because the fandom decided they don't like your character, even if you, as the author, very much do.

⚫ Introducing a brand new plot in the middle of a smorgasbord of unresolved plotlines so a newly introduced side character who has already had a complete arc in service of another main character can now become the next main character, leapfrogging over the remaining main characters who have been around since book one with active storylines in development.

Three and three is not "lazy writing." Three is simply a motif. A motif is an artistic/literary device. Three sisters. Three brothers. Three mountains. Three stars on the night court insignia, ect.

Writing is: Structure. Line level prose. Obstacles. Stakes. Character arcs.

I will absolutely allow the criticism that it is cheesy or corny. That is an opinion, and you are totally allowed to have it. We can respectfully disagree on that and it's no skin off my back.

However, Elriel (as well as Vassien) have the elements that *good* writing is comprised of. Characters with steadily increasing arcs. Obstacles at every turn. Incredibly high stakes. And in my opinion (though of course everyone is allowed their own opinion on this!) some downright BREATHTAKING one liners and line level prose in their interactions from ACOMAF all the way to the bonus chapter.

Please, I beg of you, understand that just because you do not like something does not make it lazy or poorly executed. Art is subjective, and when we use our taste to make objective assertions about things we don't prefer, art suffers.

For more on book structure and the possibilities of Lucien and Vassa's absolutely beautiful potential, hop on over here:

Thank you for your time 😂

[mzminola]

Love Preboot Jason Todd being a narrative vehicle for the discussions of:

1. what vigilantism entails, the lines around different levels and kinds of violence, what’s the overlap between the Bats and the organized crime they’re up against, etc.

2. the ethics of having child sidekicks.

Like...with #1, the no-kill rule is vital and shouldn’t go away, but when writing normal humans fighting other normal humans, instead of metahumans punching robots or monsters, on a sliding scale of realism (yay different titles in same universe) asking “Should we deliberately kill?” leads to the question of “Should we be using violence that could kill?”

Robin 1993, aimed at a younger audience, asks “Should we be doing this at all?” when Tim causes the death of Young El; the other teen wouldn’t have died if Robin hadn’t chased him. It wasn’t a “fight that went wrong”, it was Tim giving chase and Young El fleeing into a structurally unsound building. The death causes Tim to re-examine if he’s doing the right thing as Robin.

Bruce Wayne/Batman is presented as hypercompetent most of the time, so his titles don’t lend as well to that kind of arc. Enter Jason Todd in Under the Red Hood, where Jason shoves questions about Batman’s ethical stances into Bruce and the readers’ face again and again and again.

A comic aimed at little kids with cartoon violence does not have to worry about the hero punching too hard and killing someone. Comics aimed at older teens and adult do. It can be an editorial decision that no, nobody is gonna die like that, but the characters need to be aware of the possibility (thank you Nightwing beating the Joker to death, for putting that on the table) and if the comics never have them wrestle with the possibility, never have them decide if it’s a risk worth taking, the character ethics feel disappointingly flat.

Jason works really well in this role of saying “Hey, your methods haven’t fixed shit, so why not change them. What’s the big difference between potentially fatal moves and deliberately fatal moves?” because Jason isn’t a random new character, he’s not a pre-existing villain just claiming to be working for good now, he’s Robin.

Jason is someone who was a hero, who did play by all of Batman’s rules, who did and still does desperately want to help people, and he saw how this plays out for the victims by being one.

Jason’s points can’t be dismissed out of hand. No one can say he doesn’t understand how difficult and complex the Bats’ work is, no one can say he doesn’t understand the stakes.

Which swings us around to #2, child sidekicks, because Jason’s death had two big factors which was one, he’s Batman’s sidekick so the Joker had it out for him specifically, and two, he was a child, which put him in a more vulnerable position than an adult sidekick would be in.

Jason was a fifteen year old kid failed by several parents and directly betrayed by another. A Gotham Rogue who Batman personally locked up multiple times and keeps escaping murdered him.

Jason’s death is on Bruce’s hands as much as it is on Gotham’s corruption.

If we take the interpretation* that Jason died again at the end of Under the Red Hood and went through further resurrections, that drives home the point that Bruce’s methods are lethally flawed.

Because Bruce fucking kills his son directly this time.

Jason sets up the confrontation, Jason arranges a no-win scenario where he insists that the only way to save Joker’s life is to end Jason’s (though he’d prefer his dad to kill his murderer for him) and Bruce tries what he thinks will get around it. Bruce throws a batarang at Jason’s gun hand, but the angle is wrong and it slices open Jason’s neck. He’s last seen curled up in a pool of his own blood right before being caught in the middle of an explosion.

This is the big ethical Bat dilemma written out in a very close, personal moment. If no one stops him, Jason is going to kill the Joker. There’s no back-up coming. Shit is way too personal for de-escalation to work. Bruce has spent years making violence into his primary tool. The only way he can stop a murder from happening in front of him is to physically hurt Jason.

So Bruce does. And because he’s a normal human with no powers, because years of training isn’t magic, it goes wrong and his son dies. He kills his son.

Jason has spent this arc insisting that Bruce’s methods don’t fucking WORK.

If Bruce had hit his hand, if like so many other Batman stories he Finds The Third Option, it would be a simple boring rebuttal of “Yes they do!”

Instead we get a batarang to the neck, and the question shifts from crossing specific lines of violence to “Is this worth it? Is the risk worth it?”

Because it was never a choice between “do nothing & someone dies” or “do something & everyone lives” it was always, always, a choice between “do nothing & someone dies” or “do something & risk killing someone yourself.”

Gotham’s justice system and city government is corrupt, there’s a fuckton of mafias, a growing number of costumed villains, and if everyone just keeps their heads down not only will things never get better, they’ll get worse.

The Bats do a lot of non-violent work; they do forensics, witness interviews, break into places for evidence, wiretapping, etc. They’re detectives. But they also, because this is a combination of noir and the caped superhero genre, do a lot of violence. They get into physical fights all the dang time.

Which means they’re taking the risk that Bruce did here all of the time.

They all have to ask themselves if that risk of someone dying by their hand is worth it to potentially stop other harm.

Jason driving the narrative to this question makes it as personally painful and impossible to ignore as it can get.

*Joker survived despite also being right on top of the bomb, but he also wasn’t bleeding out, so...

[gracesshelves]

First Blood by David Morrell

While I’ve heard the name “Rambo” in pop-culture references before, this was my first time interacting with the character. I have to say, I understand why First Blood by David Morrell was a big hit. The stakes were high, the characters were complex, and the writing style was so compelling. Multiple moments disturbed me, but I could not put the book down because I had to see where it was going. I would give this book a four out of five stars. I found the last hundred pages to be a little confusing, even if it was on purpose. However, the way Morrell established Rambo and Teasle as foils was expertly done, and I enjoyed the exploration of how the U.S. discards veterans after they return from war.

            This novel follows Vietnam War veteran John Rambo, who is on the run following a deadly encounter with a group of cops from Madison, Kentucky. The conflict between Chief Wilfred Teasle and Rambo begins when Teasle drives Rambo to the city limits and tells him to get lost (Morrell 7). Rambo has been hitchhiking his way through Kentucky and is used to being told to leave, but Madison seems to be his final straw. Eventually, Teasle arrests Rambo and drives him into a PTSD flashback by ignoring multiple signs that Rambo is becoming agitated (Morrell 52-53). In a fit of panic, Rambo kills a couple of people on the force and steals a motorcycle to escape (Morrell 55). Over several days, Teasle and Rambo develop an intense obsession with one another that ultimately results in the deaths of many people, including themselves.

            As far as thriller writing goes, I was locked in. Morrell’s visceral descriptions were incredible and hard to read. I felt sick to my stomach a couple of times, particularly when Rambo was sick in the caves before and after he hid in the mud. Language choice and sentence structure are vital to building tension. I found this easy to read, but it was enjoyable because it flowed well. Morell knows how to get you on the edge of your seat without a soundtrack. I think another aspect of what makes his writing so engaging is how deep we are in Teasle’s and Rambo’s heads. Their thoughts blend in with the regular prose, and their mental states affect how the prose is relayed. When Rambo is more of a sound mind at the beginning of the novel, everything makes sense and reads logically. However, at the end of the novel time and events flow together, mixed up. Teasle’s narration follows this same pattern. This choice is kind of a double-edged sword. On the one hand, it’s a very clever way to relay the mental collapse of both characters without directly telling us. Furthermore, it also brings readers into the moment, because we can only see what these delirious people see. However, it can also negatively affect the reading experience by making it hard to follow what happens. Even though I could understand and appreciate why Morrell wrote the last few sections that way as a writer, it did make it less enjoyable for me as a reader.

            The message of how veterans are treated impacted me personally. My dad is in the military and suffers from PTSD, but he is not really able to get the treatment he requires because of the stigma around mental health. To me, it’s crazy that we can send people to these places where they get traumatized and then offer them no support to handle that trauma when they get back. Many of them are unable to return to work and end up becoming homeless as a result. While I don’t necessarily back the US’s military-industrial complex, I do think that soldiers deserve extensive social benefits to aid in their rehabilitation to society. If Teasle had paid attention to Rambo’s reactions instead of clouding his judgment with his assumptions about who Rambo is because he’s on the streets, nobody would’ve lost their lives (which I know is the whole point of the book, but damn dude police need de-escalation training).

Works Cited

Morrell, David. First Blood. Grand Central Publishing, 2017.

[evergreen-lyricist]

i feel like a lot of writers need to attend the Lego Ninjago School of Plot & Stakes Escalation, if only bc most of them don't seem to know how to raise the stakes without just making up an even more powerful villain to fight. like, yeah sometimes you defeat the villain but they're actually just a henchperson to the real antagonist of the story, or another worse evil pops up in their place; but that only works so many times in succession before it gets predictable & kind of boring. at a certain point it's difficult to suspend your disbelief bc we know the heroes will just get another wacky power up or deus ex machina & win anyway.

however, lego ninjago did one very important thing: at a certain point, they stopped making the antagonists more powerful/evil/etc. and instead made the stakes different. the prime example of this is the switch to master chen following the defeat of the overlord. we are told that the overlord is basically the root of all evil in ninjago, and all the major problems can be traced back to him (he created the great devourer, which bit garmadon & made him descend into villainy, etc). when you ask, "hey why haven't we heard of this guy before if he's been causing all the problems around here," they have an answer for that: the overlord has been trapped on an island far away from the mainland, without a body or anyone else to enact evil schemes on (it's later revealed that it isn't just any island: the first spinjitzu master literally split ninjago in two and separated the pieces to keep the overlord out. what a power move). of course none of the main characters have heard of this guy until garmadon washes up on the shore & gets roped into an evil scheme: none of them were alive when the continent was split.

following the defeat of the overlord and de-eviling of garmadon (with a short aside to destroy the overlord virus), the ninja are pretty chill. they've lost zane but aside from that things are looking up. then they get an invitation to participate in a tournament of elements, hosted by this master chen guy of the master chen's noodles restaurant chain. it's also held on a remote island in the middle of nowhere but it isn't that shady, right?? wrong. master chen is using the tournament to steal the ninja's powers & also yoinking them into his illegal underground noodle factory when they lose. also, he has zane in the illegal basement noodle factory for some reason. but the crucial piece here is that master chen is not more powerful than the overlord. he's not more evil than the overlord. for all intents and purposes, he's just some noodle company ceo who wants elemental powers so badly he's willing to do this whole song & dance to get them. the villain of this season isn't like. the overlord 2, electric boogaloo (this time with double the evil). the ninja aren't in mortal danger at the tournament, although if you get yoinked into the illegal noodle factory no one knows if you're still alive, but hey. the world isn't in imminent danger from master chen. however, this is also the first time that the ninja have been cut off from all of their allies: the four of them went to the tournament alone, so nya and sensei wu can't help them bc they don't even know where they are. once again: the stakes aren't just higher, they're different. and because these stakes are different than anything the ninja have faced before, it makes you wonder if they'll all be okay this time. like yes they survived the overlord, so a power-hungry noodle guy shouldn't kill them. but that little voice in the back of your mind goes, he just might.

[mhaynoot]

ch182

oh cheongryeo my little psychopath you really are a psycho

he's so red flag red flag im so in love alslkd i didnt expect a whole ass kidnapping scene but like damn thats good pay off considering the sprinkling of foreshadowing, building tension and bait with the fake de-escalating "im sorry" part

listen i like my ships as messy as possible. the more they bring out the worst in each other to the point it loops back into actually making them better is so Peak Ship Dynamic

warning: my opinions and some personal critiques on dod here

i think im gonna take a break on reading this though and just wait for manhwa updates instead because the novel is very ... slow? or maybe i should say its a bit too light hearted for me i dunno

i think it would have been a little more interesting if the other members of testar were also part of some other system or if there was just a lot more drama in genera. i dont know but considering what i know of irl kpop and the really messy fights that happened, the internal and interpersonal character conflicts here are just the slightest bit too tame for me personally and, while that isn't necessarily bad thing, its just not to my drama loving taste. also the external conflicts aren't all that spicy either to act as a counterbalance.

well tbh, i was already very worried when i saw the survival show format and the first debut or die mission because thats a very short term conflict. and the back to back missions, format and tension of the survival show is incredibly good for creating escalating high stakes and, combined with the death penalty, it has a natural development for consistently high tension and lots of potential drama and conflicts. and the novel hit those points very well. and while i think they definitely could have potentially made this arc a little longer and explore different aspects, it does end as a satisfactory first arc. but now there's the rest of the 600 chapter story which will have to match that level of tension. and so far i dont think it really has? at least until cheongryeo LMAO which is why i love him so much!! he makes things interesting and the novel isnt afriad to make him villainous and start shit up and do actual things that really fucks up moondae and has like some future consequences like oh no whats gonna happen to their relationship, whatll they do in the future when they meet, whats happening to the other members and their relo with this sunbae who they admired

i just feel the novel is really fluffy and light hearted for a death scenario concept. and even if it didn't want external conflicts to be too heavy, a way to keep the stakes might have been to shift focus onto interpersonal conflicts instead. like i really thought they'd continue to do that when the keun seijin and bae seijin arc happened. and then the chungwon arc too! but it feels like its been twenty small online conflicts in a row between them. i just want stuff with like actual group breaking, and potentially friendship destroying conflicts that they have to work through.

yes the testar members are wholesome and nice and they love moondae and...? that's about it right now for the last some chapters now. they dont have arguments, they dont even really properly talk to each other. i know moondae treats it like coworkers and professionalism but maybe bring up more of the other members perspectives. like i know we're in moondae's pov but like considering the consistent pov shifts, it wouldn't be too bad to at least make it so that we can flesh out the other members and their relationships with each other too?

but like what do i know?

maybe i should've seen moondae's easy rise to platnium and quick skill up as an indicator that this novel isn't really focused on drama and breaking the kneecaps of its mc like what i prefer. i dunno i just thought that was a bait or smth and things escalate hard later or smth HAHAH yeah i guess when i saw the death failure, i jumped to conclusions and thought this novel would be a really gritty one that might touch on and explore the messed up behind the scenes of kpop

[myrskytuuli]

When will creators of famous and beloved franchises realise that no fan in the history of fandoms has wanted the sequel with the new generation to have higher stakes and more angsty drama than the original.

A Fan: Wow, can’t wait to see the heroes’ children living in a world that has been made better by the original heroes, having a loving and respectful relationship with the hero I loved and respected as a child, and dealing with their own adventure that might not be as high stake as saving the world, but is important for their own personal journey. 

A creator: How about the world is ending again, the new generation hates the heroes, who have become major assholes for no reason, and everything is bigger and goes more boom.  

[tommybaholland]

Hi! I love you blog. May I have a one shot where Todoroki has a huge crush on the reader and has no clue what to do. So he goes to the flirt of 1A Denki. And can it be fluffy with a hint of suggestive. Thanks! 💓

setting up shoto

featuring: todoroki

was inspired by the first ep of s5 and really ran with this idea so i hope it’s okay! this turned out pretty long so get comfy and enjoy the read! x 

todoroki had felt many intense emotions before, but none as intense as a romantic love. he didn’t know what he was feeling whenever he saw you. he felt as though it was just simple admiration, that you’re his friend and he is your friend. nothing more and nothing less. he wrote off the pang in his chest when he would suddenly see you as a surprise, like he felt when he watched you walk outside the grounds of the dorm building. however, he didn’t feel the same feeling when another voice appeared behind him. 

“hey, todoroki! whatcha doing? oh, spying on y/n i see. planning to make a move?” kaminari observed.

“i wasn’t spying, i was just passing by. and what do you mean? i am moving.”

“no, dude, like, tell them you like them.”

“why would i have to tell them that? they’re already my friend.”

“no, like, more than friends.”

“i’m not sure that it’s like that.”

“so you don’t like y/n? you just stare at them all the time on purpose?”

“i don’t stare. and of course, i like them. i just told you that they’re my friend.”

kaminari looked at him in disbelief. “you can be really dense sometimes, you know that? look, man, i have a sense for these things and you like them way more than a friend.”

todoroki never took the time to let his feelings marinate and process them properly. he didn’t need people to tell him how to feel but it could be difficult to compartmentalize when many years of your life were spent in spite and anger. he considered that kaminari could be right about this. if someone else could play witness, he feels as though he can’t be wrong in liking you more than a friend. 

“besides, i think if you tell them you like them, they can’t say no!”

“why?”

“because you’re like a babe magnet! and that’s coming from the guy with an electricity quirk.”

“why me?”

“i’m pretty sure most, if not all, of the girls secretly fawn over you. also, i’d be lying if kirishima and i hadn’t talked about who’s the best looking guy in the class, not including ourselves, of course.” 

he had heard this once before, but he couldn’t really care less about who’s the ‘best-looking’ in their class. not to mention that todoroki had absolutely no idea why they would pick him. he could say he is strong and has a pretty good handle on his quirk but other than that he’s pretty regular and nothing out of the ordinary. the fact that he’s hearing this from no one other than kaminari makes it even less credible. 

“look, man. i know you’ve been pining after them for three years now, ever since we all joined class A! i think it’s time you guys get together! and you came to just the right guy.”

“you came to me.” 

“so you’ll let me help you?”

“uh, sure?”

“yes! okay, you won’t regret this. actually, you’re probably going to be thanking me so you better practice now.”

“...thank you?”

“okay, come by my room later tonight. by then, i’ll have a plan that is sure to work for you.”

todoroki didn’t really see the point of this and he almost didn’t go but he said he would let his friend help him. so that’s how he found himself out front of kaminari’s dorm room, not knowing what to expect. 

he knocked politely on the door. there was some shuffling around and then he heard a voice through the door.

“password, please.”

“denki, it’s me.”

“i texted you the password.”

“yeah, but i don’t really want to say that--”

“just say what i texted you!”

“i don’t even know what it means.”

“it’s okay, you don’t have to know what it means! you just have to say it.”

todoroki sighed, preparing to humor his friend. “uh….big dong boys?”

“password accepted.” the door opened and as he entered the room, todoroki was greeted by another familiar face.

“hey, man!” 

“hope you don’t mind that i invited kirishima as well. he’s good support,” kaminari explained. 

“so todoroki,” kirishima began. “i heard about your crush on y/n.”

shoto liked these guys but sometimes he really didn’t know how to interact with them. 

“uh, sure?”

“that’s awesome, dude! i’m sure they’ll love to go out with you. kaminari and i have been brainstorming for a bit and we think we’ve come up with something good. you wanna explain?”

todoroki looked over to denki who nodded. “thank you. alright, so you and y/n are at the same work study, right?”

“yeah. it’s me, them, and camie.”

“okay, good-- wait, CAMIE?! that chick from shiketsu?”

todoroki blinked in his pause. “yeah.”

“why didn’t you say anything? that girl is so hot. oh my god, dude, you have to help me after this--”

“alright, man, can you just keep going with the plan?” kirishima chimed. todoroki appreciated that at least one other person didn’t want to completely waste his time. 

“right. right. so we were thinking that you and y/n could go on a mission together to ‘fight a villain’ or something dangerous like that.”

todoroki was perplexed by this seemingly simple solution. “but...we always go out on patrols together.”

“yeah, but this time, you guys will apprehend a villain and save people together and they’ll see how totally awesome and manly you are!” kirishima added. 

“i still don’t see how that’s any different from what we do normally.”

“hmm, yeah, now that i think about it, there doesn’t seem to be a lot of stakes here.” kaminari thought out loud. 

“hey, wait, remember that thing we read about earlier?” 

“oh, you mean that quiz about which haikyuu boy would hate you? i already told you, man, atsumu would definitely have beef with you. no question.”

“no, not that!” kirishima refuted. “although i do agree. he’d be pretty jealous of me.”

todoroki was rethinking about trusting these two with something like this. 

“but i’m talking about that thing we read about with the bridge?”

“oh, yeah...but can you explain it? i’m still a little lost by it,” kaminari admitted.

“okay, so earlier before you came in, we were doing some research on how to make someone more attracted to you and we found this study where they had people walk across a super tall bridge and rate photos of people. and they monitored their heart rate when they were on the bridge so they figured out that there’s, like, a connection between liking people and dangerous situations.”

todoroki grimaced while trying to work it out in his head. “so...you want to put y/n on a bridge and then they’ll...be attracted to me? i don’t get it.”

“no, i’m saying that there should be some kind of danger to them and then you save them or something--”

“and they’ll be like, ‘oh, todoroki, i love you! kiss me!’ mwah, mwah, mwah.”

kaminari made kissing noises at todoroki, very close to him, in fact. 

“okay, i think i see now,” he replied, pushing kaminari out of his face. “so do we just wait for a villain to show up or?”

“no, that’s part of the ruse!” kaminari clarified. “don’t worry, dude. we got it all sorted out. you just have to be your icyhot heroic self!”

“but you’re not actually going to hurt them or anything, right?”

“no, because you’ll be there to help them!” kirishima jumped in again. “i think we all know you’re pretty capable of handling anything.”

“i’d at least like to know what i’m up against.” 

“no, that’ll ruin the fun! then it’ll be more like a real fight,” kaminari justified. 

it was true that most villain encounters are a surprise and you never really know what you’re getting yourself into as a hero. in fact, that’s the majority of being a hero entailed: being ready for anything. however, todoroki could not escape the feeling of something going awry, despite this being planned out. but he figured that it could be worth it to try. 

“alright, let’s do it,” he agreed with the other two boys.

“yes! don’t you worry one bit, man. just leave it to me and kiri,” kaminari promised as kirishima nodded in agreement. 

they told him that they would shoot for two days’ time, after they got the villain or whoever set-up and it was during a shift at the agency. however, not even a day had passed until word got around the dorm of what was going to happen.

“todoroki,” yaoyorozu caught his attention one day in the common area of the dorm, while some of the class was eating dinner together. “is what kirishima and kaminari been talking about true?”

suddenly, almost everyone’s eyes were on him. luckily, you weren’t in the room but this conversation seemed to take place at an unfortunate time. 

“uh, what have you heard?”

“that you’re trying to woo y/n by saving them from a villain,” ashido interjected. “as if they couldn’t already save themselves!” 

“i know they’re capable and strong, but kirishima and kaminari said it would help,” he explained, recalling what he could of their conversation from the night prior.

“that sounds like something those idiots would come up with,” jiro pointed out.

todoroki shrugged. “they said it was based on science.”

“yeah, hold on a second, jiro,” called out the electric boy himself, who entered the room with mineta. “it’s backed by science, so it has to be legit!”

jiro only rolled her eyes while uraraka tried to de-escalate. “it just sounds really dangerous, that’s all.”

“gosh, it’s like you guys have no faith in him. i mean, this is todoroki we’re talking about!” kaminari refuted. “try telling me you guys wouldn’t want to be saved by him! that’s right, you can’t.”

“listen, it’s not that your plan won’t work, kaminari,” yaoyorozu reasoned. “it’s just that he might want to try something more practical and...sensible.”

“yeah, like take them out on an actual date!” ashido exclaimed. 

“but that’s so boring!” 

“guys, why don’t we ask todoroki what he wants to do since he is the one involved,” yaoyorozu offered. 

“okay, yeah. you have been pretty quiet. what do you think, todoroki?” kaminari questioned. 

todoroki blinked a few times, thinking lightly on his options. “i’m not sure. i agreed to let them help me but--”

“BUT,” kaminari interrupted, getting in his face again. 

todoroki pushed him out of the way before continuing. “yaoyorozu and the others do have a point.” 

“yay! now you can let the girls help you out!” ashido declared. 

“oh, yeah! we could set you and y/n up on a cute date,” uraraka chimed while the other girls nodded in agreement.

“okay.”

“what?! you’re just going to let them take over? ugh, fine. i guess it’ll be better this way. but don’t blame me if their plan gets completely messed up,” kaminari huffed. 

“yeah, but imagine if it does work, dude,” mineta spoke up. “it’d be so hot to watch them kiss and feel each other up.”

everyone ignored that comment and continued to help form a new plan for todoroki. while he appreciated the concern and help from his friends, the girls did ask a lot of questions. 

“what do you like about them?”

“should we tell them that you like them?”

“have you thought about tonguing them down yet? c’mon man, we need details!”

todoroki had half a mind to freeze the perverted grape. nevertheless, thoughts and feelings had crossed his mind many times. he had more time to think it through and at this point, his feelings cut through him deep. he tried to express everything he could about the subject at hand. 

“well, i feel different around them. different than i do around everyone here. even though they’re my friend just as much as any of you, my body feels...weird around them. there’s this pang in my chest when i see them and even when i know i’m going to see them, i feel these tingles throughout my body. sometimes i find myself not being able to speak around them and it’s harder when they’re looking right at me. i don’t know what it is, but their eyes just make me lose my words. my face gets warm whenever they smile or laugh or even when they talk, i feel different. despite that i feel like this, i never want them to be too far from me because i kinda enjoy the feeling they give me. i hope that all makes sense.”

everyone just stared at him with expressions of awe. there was no other way he knew how to say it.

“oh em gee,” ashido finally broke the silence. “you sound like you’re in love, todoroki!” 

“yeah, this is more serious than we thought,” kaminari added with everyone nodding in agreement. 

love? 

“are you sure? i thought i just had a lot of admiration for them,” he replied. 

“while a lot of admiration is one thing, having a physical reaction to their presence seems to be another,” yaoyorozu analyzed. “you seem to like them a great deal and that could be something comparable to love.” 

he had never considered the possibility of being in love with someone. sure, he had felt love from other people in his life like his mother, his siblings, and his friends. however, those were different kinds of love; familial and platonic. those were types that he was comfortable with or grew to be more comfortable. 

romantic love, though, was completely beyond him. there was a time when he barely had any friends, let alone romantic prospects. but now he has many friends and the fact that out of all his closest friends that you were the one he has immense feelings for, must mean it’s love. 

-

after replacing the fake villain ploy with a date idea, todoroki thought he might feel a little more at ease. but that was not the case. 

he had been trained his entire life to be the strongest, greatest hero of the new generation. although part of that had been an ulterior motive to spite his father, todoroki felt more natural in situations where he could put all that work into practice. he wanted to be a hero so that’s what he was meant to do. 

he never imagined he’d be sitting alone at a small side street restaurant waiting for you. the plan involved you meeting up with him for lunch after you finished getting a few extra work study hours at the agency. the girls urged him to ask you out and with a little more encouragement, it seemed to work out alright. although it was a little awkward, considering he decided to ask you right after you came from a shower.

“hey, y/n?”

“yes, todoroki?” you replied as you shifted your weight, standing in front of him in nothing but a towel, your hair damp and your shower kit held against your chest. 

“uh,” he tried his hardest not to stare at the idle droplets of water still resting on your shoulders and chest. “do you like noodles?”

“well, i like pho. you know that,” you smirked in response. 

“right. of course,” he shook his head, almost forgetting where he was going with this. “there’s this noodle bar place and it's kind of in a weird spot in town but they have really good soba and other types of noodles so...i was just wondering if you wanted to go or something? maybe tomorrow for lunch?”

“oh, um, yeah. i could do that. i have a small shift tomorrow at the agency. camie and i are doing some teamwork building type stuff but i can meet you there after that. is 4 too late? we should be done by then.”

even though he likes hearing your voice, he almost blacked out after you said, “yeah.” it wasn’t until he heard your voice again that he caught himself staring.

“todoroki?”

“oh, um, i’m sorry. what did you say?”

“it’s okay,” you let out a small laugh. “i asked you wanted to meet up at 4 after i’m done at the agency.” 

 “oh, of course. sounds perfect. i can text you the address.”

you nodded in response, turning slightly on your heels to leave. but he wanted a little more confirmation. 

“so i’ll see you tomorrow?” 

“yep! see you.” 

he had been texting you ever since then but your messages had slowed down due to what he assumed was your start of your shift at the agency. he checked the group chat that kaminari had made called ‘setting up shoto’ which included everyone who became involved in this whole thing. kaminari said it was where he could tell them the ‘deets’ after you and him had met up. he didn’t really think he would need to tell them but even if he did, there was nothing to report. he did show up thirty minutes before your agreed meeting time, but he wanted to make sure you didn’t show up early somehow, therefore making him the late one. he felt like he’d rather be safe than sorry. 

4pm came and went. soon fifteen, twenty, and now thirty minutes had gone by without a message from you or the others. he thought about texting you to ask if everything was alright, but knowing how strict the agency was with phone use, you probably wouldn’t answer right away. he figured everything was probably fine and that you were just running late. he couldn’t argue that there were several occasions in which you all had to stay a little later because things just happen sometimes. 

although, he admitted that he wished that you would show up soon so the hard part would be over or he would stop feeling so ‘lovesick’ as ashido would say. suddenly, his phone vibrated loudly against the steel table, making him jump in his seat. 

it was kaminari.

“hello?”

“DUDE!”

todoroki pulled the phone from his ear, wincing at his loud voice coming through the speaker. 

“ow. that hurt my ear, you know.”

kaminari seemed to ignore him as he frantically continued. “todoroki, you gotta get downtown. there’s a freaking huge, scary villain here and y/n is--”

todoroki sighed. “denki, i thought we agreed that we weren’t doing that anymore. i’m sitting here waiting for them to eat with me but they seem to be running late.”

“that’s because they’re here fighting this thing!”

he heard loud background noise that was comparable to screaming. 

“wait, are you serious?”

“yes, i’m serious! kirishima and i came out to make sure they were on their way to you but then we heard screaming-- wait, here i’ll show you. hang on.”

todoroki pulled the phone from his ear to watch the screen change from audio to video mode. kaminari’s face showed up for a second before flipping the camera to show the view of the street. they seemed to be hiding with several civilians behind a building as the camera creeped around the corner. todoroki watched and his eyes widened as he saw a huge, black, slimy-looking villain which was filling up the street and trapping people in its path. the quality wasn’t great but he could pick out what looked like you and camie trying to stop or distract it from causing any serious destruction. however, it seemed to only be provoking it more. todoroki stood up from his seat as he recognized where this was all happening.

“can you see him?”

“yeah. i--”

“you have to come help us, todoroki! i don’t have my support item and kirishima can’t land a good punch on him without getting stuck in this gross tar stuff. you have to hurry!”

“okay, i think i know where you are. just try to stall until i get there and get people to safety.”

he quickly hung up and focused on getting to the scene as soon as possible. he was still only a student, a hero-in-training. he’d probably get in serious trouble for taking matters into his own hands but he couldn’t sit back and watch his friends and you get hurt. he didn’t have his hero costume, support items, first-aid, nothing. he also didn’t have time to run back to campus to get his hero costume or any supplies. he’d have to make do with just his quirk alone. 

he arrived at the scene from the alley where kaminari and kirishima were gathering civilians to safety into an entrance on one of the sides of the buildings. kaminari and kirishima exclaimed simultaneously at his presence. 

“oh, thank god. you’re here!”

“alright, todoroki!”

todoroki tried to quickly assess the situation. “did you call the police or any pros?” 

“we reported it and the police should be here soon,” explained kirishima. “there are also several pros but this thing is really putting up a fight. even fat gum couldn’t handle him!” 

“looks like i’ll just have to freeze him--”

“wait, dude, no!” kaminari grabbed him. “that’s why this has been taking so long. he’s able to hold hostages easily!”

todoroki observed the scene in front of him. the sticky goo was everywhere and seemed to have no limit as to how far it could move. there were several civilians still trapped, along with you and camie at the center of it all. 

“trust me, i thought about electrifying it all but that wouldn’t be fun for the people who are, you know, trapped.” 

“we need to get everyone to safety before we do anything drastic!” kirishima reasoned. 

todoroki kept quiet as he tried to think it through. there wasn’t going to be enough time to try to save everyone and stop it from taking anyone else. 

“i think i have an idea but we’re going to have to be fast.”

maybe he couldn’t freeze all of it but his fire could be just as powerful as his ice. he started at the back, where the goo seemed to end and couldn’t move much further. he used his fire to put pressure back on it while freezing any parts that tried to attack him. kirishima and kaminari quickly collected the freed civilians and the pros that were there followed suit to help them out. camie was freed at the base of it with the rest of the hostages and helped to distract it from what todoroki was trying to accomplish. 

“wow, shoto. it’s like you have a sense for danger. so cool!” she complimented brightly. 

the thing was holding you up high, presumably to keep you from attacking, which made it more difficult to free you. todoroki decided it was time to freeze the rest of it so it could be stopped. he used ice that wouldn’t freeze you to death and stopped it so the ice wouldn’t completely cover you. 

the goo stopped moving and seemed to be fully imobile. you were safe but todoroki still had to free you. he sliced through the ice with his left hand, detaching you from the whole. he had kirishima catch you, as you were still caught in ice and goo. 

“i’m going to melt the ice away now,” he explained as he was back at your side again.

you nodded, too cold to speak, and he placed his left hand on top of the ice, melting it away quickly. unfortunately, the goo was still intact underneath and apparently could still move when detached from the source. it looked like it was expanding to cover your entire body, which made you begin to panic. 

“todoroki! what’s happening?”

“i, i don’t know but just relax, okay? we’re gonna get you out of this.” 

he looked around to see the top that was left exposed in the ice detached itself and moved over to where they were. 

“todo-- mph”

“y/n!” 

he looked down to see that the goo was slowly covering your face. he tried to pull it down but the sticky, thick substance was almost unmoveable. suddenly a deep, ominous voice appeared.

“release the rest of me or they die.”

todoroki gritted his teeth, an angry scowl on his face. “you have no room to make threats.”

“and you have no room to compromise. they’re going to suffocate if you don’t make a decision.”

he looked down to see that you stopped struggling, your eyes closing as the goo had almost covered your entire face. 

“fine. take it and leave,” he replied, angrily throwing a fireball at the ice. steam flew into the air as the body was released.

“much obliged,” the villain snickered before snaking into one of the sewer drains. 

the rest of the goo on you had moved up and off your limp body. 

“y/n?” 

-

you opened your eyes with a jolt, your brain fuzzy for a moment as you took in your surroundings. it looked like you were back at the dorm in your room. it was strange as you last remember seeing todoroki’s face. 

“are you awake?”

you gasped at the sudden voice. 

“todoroki!”

“sorry. i didn’t mean to scare you.”

you didn’t know what question you should ask first. “why-- where-- what happened?”

“well, you were unconscious so i brought you back here. i wanted to make sure you woke up so i waited,” he explained. “are you feeling alright?”

“um, yeah. i’m okay,” you replied as it was all coming back to you. it also explained why you were still in your hero costume. 

“what time is it?”

“it’s late. almost 11. are you hungry?”

“yeah, a little-- wait, we were supposed to go to that place, right? you and i?”

he grinned at your sudden thought. “yes.”

“i’m sorry i missed it! i really wanted to go but didn’t think we’d have to take care of a villain.”

“it’s okay. it happens, right?”

“yeah, that’s true. do you want to order something and eat now? i know a place that delivers late and i’m pretty sure they have soba,” you offered. 

he felt that pang in his heart when you grinned at him. 

“yeah. i’d like that.”

he ordered the food and remained in your room as you went to wash up and change out of your costume. when the food arrived you simply ate and talked. he was grateful that you did most of the talking, as he was a bit sleepy and he was normally in bed by this time. nevertheless, he enjoys listening to what you have to say even if he’s a little out of it.

“by the way, how did you know about the villain?”

“what?” he asked incredulously. 

“the villain, how did you know?”

“oh, um, well, i, um, kaminari told me.”

“oh, right. i remember him and kirishima being there too. what a coincidence, huh?”

“actually, it wasn’t,” he admitted, causing you to look confused.

“what do you mean?” 

“they were there because, um, because…”

“because?” 

“because i love you.” 

your expression kept him talking. his heart was talking. 

“i really admire you and kaminari and the others think that i’m in love. today was supposed to be part of a plan to get me to spend time with you. i don’t want you to blame yourself for what happened though because to be frank, i’m happy wherever you are. even sitting here while you were lying unconscious in bed. sorry if that’s weird. i practiced how i was going to tell you what i feel but it’s so complicated. now i am thinking that there’s only one way to say it. everyone was right. i’m in love.” 

todoroki had felt free only once before now. when midoriya told him to claim his power as his own. claiming his love for you felt the exact same. 

“i love you too.”

it was his turn to look shocked. 

“y- you do?” 

“yes. and i’m so glad you told me. i could never really gauge how you felt so i hid it for a long time and tried to enjoy just being as close as i already am with you.” 

his head was a mess upon hearing this but in a good way. he didn’t think he’d come this far or have this result. he’d admit that it was a bit overwhelming. 

“can i...can i hug you?” you asked, breaking the pregnant pause. 

“oh, um,” he stuttered. he really, really wanted to hug you. he’s held you before but that was different. that was when you were unconscious. this time would involve awareness.  something about the thought of touching you in a rather sensual way made him even more rattled. 

“it’s okay if it’s too much right now. you can let me know when you’re ready.” 

“i would like that. to hold you, i mean,” he answered. 

“okay,” you grinned before slowly moving over to him. 

you wrapped your arms around his shoulders to pull him against you. no matter how prepared he thought he could be for this, he wasn’t at all. he gasped softly at the impact of your body against him, part of his face slightly smooshing into your neck. his arms slowly came to wrap around your waist, his fingertips barely touching your back. soon enough you felt his arms tighten around you and his face nuzzling deeper into your neck. he gripped the back of your shirt lightly and the noises emitting from him sounded like he was crying. 

“are...you okay, todoroki?” you questioned, concerned that you were making him uncomfortable. you pulled back slightly, your eyes meeting with glossy, familiar ones. 

“yeah, i,” he chuckled to himself, wiping the stray tears. “i think i love you more than i thought.”

“me too,” you agreed. 

“can you say my name?”

“todoroki.”

“no, my first name.” 

“shoto.”

“i like that,” he mused, his eyes bright and cheeks red. his hands trailed up your back, pressing you back into him. 

“and i love you.”

“i love you too, sho.”

he planned on never letting you go. 

-

bonus:

“what a beautiful sight,” kaminari observed, watching the young couple hold hands as they walked in the distance. 

“yeah, they’re so cute,” agreed kirishima.“i can’t believe it’s already been almost a month since they started dating.”

“yeah,” kaminari concurred, wiping a fake tear from his eye. “our little shoto todoroki is growing up so fast! i’m still gonna credit myself for that, even though he hasn’t thanked us yet.”

“well, y/n did almost die, dude. i don’t think he’d be too happy to hear that we were behind it,” kirishima point out.

“maybe so...but like i said, he had it all under control!”

“i still can’t believe you went through with that, just to get to talk to camie.”

“that was not the only reason! i did it for todoroki and had complete faith in him. it only proved how much more he loves them, really,” kaminari justified.

“yeah, i guess i can’t argue with that.”

“and besides, i guess karma has come. camie already left me on read.”

“aw, that sucks dude.”

“but thanks for helping me set everything up with rappa. how did you repay him for getting the asphalt guy?”

“oh, i put in a good word for him at the reform program at fat gum’s agency and he seems to really like it.”

“that’s so cool! you know, i always believed that most villains could turn around. it’s like-- oh my god, dude! camie just texted me!”

“well, what a coincidence. maybe now you should be the one thanking todoroki and y/n.”

“yeah, yeah, yeah. whatever.”

last one for tonight’s bnha night! requests still welcome..

[storytellerofuntoldlegends]

promise me that you’ll start where i end

A/N: 3rd Life SMP but i make it more dramatic. also i made the mistake of listening to drivers license by olivia rodrigo while writing this and cried. i'd say enjoy but i don't think that's the correct emotion to experience while reading this. (title is from Boreas by The Oh Hellos)

Summary: An argument before Scott's world- one of color, light, and love- falls to pieces and turns dark. And the friend who tries to collect those pieces and bring back a little light to him.

Warnings: minor violence, talk of death, arguing, hugs, crying, canonical character death, grief/mourning, bittersweet ending

-

Scott leaned against the potions table with a sigh. There were too many close calls today. Each brush with Dogwarts nearly cost either him or Jimmy their lives, not to mention that Cleo lost one of her lives trying to escape the Red King and his men. Then there was the whole issue with Joel, his attempt on Scott’s life, and their wall- he wasn’t looking forward to rebuilding it, especially just out of cobblestone or some other stone. A small smile was brought to his face as he remembered how Jimmy instantly wanted to go after Joel, even though the other man was already long gone. It should have been concerning, how fast Jimmy could seemingly switch between being a lost puppy or a feral wolf on his red life. Instead, it was actually sort of endearing. It would be more endearing if it didn’t give Scott a near heart attack every time his husband tried to rush forward into danger. Scott squeezed his eyes shut at the sudden onslaught of memories- Jimmy running through lava for a prize, his eagerness to pick up a piece of tnt and the resulting destruction it caused, Jimmy staring Ren down as he burned the Dogwarts flag (and then himself), Jimmy drawing his bow when Scott was trying to de-escalate a situation and just ask if Dogwarts had anything to do with their wall burning- Scott wasn’t sure if he was proud of or angry at Jimmy’s recklessness. There was one thing Scott knew for certain- he would never be able to erase the memories of Jimmy’s deaths from his mind, and everything he did was to make sure that Jimmy would survive. And himself too, of course, but Jimmy was the one with no lives left.

“Scott?” a voice asked, causing his eyes to snap open. He looked over to see Jimmy stepping through the nether portal. He looked a little shy, and Scott smiled in spite of himself at his husband being in his “lost puppy” mode.

“I’m just working on some potions. Y’know, for future encounters. What’s up?” Scott asked. Jimmy fidgeted for a moment or two, not quite meeting Scott’s gaze.

“Just wanted to check in on you, after uh… everything,” he asked sheepishly, finally looking up at Scott’s eyes.

“Could be better, could be worse. There were a couple of close calls, but that’s why I’m working on potions,” he replied with a shrug. Jimmy’s brow knit in concern, and he reached out to Scott for half a moment, but quickly dropped his hands with a frown.

“It was too close today,” Jimmy muttered under his breath. Scott huffed out a laugh, shaking his head.

“It was, you’re on your last life- you’ve gotta be more careful,” he reprimanded. Jimmy’s sheepish gaze snapped defiantly to Scott’s, and he jumped a bit in surprise at the fire in his husband’s eyes.

“I was talking about you! Martyn’s arrows nearly took you out!” Jimmy shouted, hands gesturing wildly.

“Jimmy, my armor’s better than yours, and I have all my lives left. I would have been fine- you wouldn’t have,” Scott said, a little taken aback at Jimmy’s sudden ferocity.

“Just because you have all your lives doesn’t mean you can throw them away, Scott!” Jimmy protested. Scott gave Jimmy an incredulous look.

“I’m not throwing my lives away, Jimmy. I have good gear, I negotiate and build alliances with other factions, I’m making potions- if anyone’s throwing away their lives around here, it’s you!” Scott shot back, voice coming out more frustrated than he meant it to. A hurt expression crossed Jimmy’s face, and part of Scott wanted to take back what he said, but most of him didn’t regret it at all. Didn’t Jimmy understand what was at stake here? Scott tried his best to look out for him, but each and every time he rushed forward into things he shouldn’t have.

“Scott, I know I’ve messed up. You don’t need to keep reminding me. But I can’t just stay put and do nothing like you!” Jimmy shouted.

“What do you mean, doing nothing?! I’m trying to build up our defences-”

“Going on the offensive is the only thing Dogwarts will understand-”

“I’m just trying to protect you!” both Scott and Jimmy exclaimed at the same time. Both of them blinked in surprise, and all at once things started clicking into place.

“Scott, I’m no strategist like you. I’m not even as good in combat. But I’m on red- I’m the fighter here. So let me fight for you,” Jimmy said softly. Scott made a sound that was half laugh, half scoff.

“Jimmy-”

“I can’t stand the thought of letting you die, Scott,” Jimmy said, refusing to meet his gaze. A bittersweet smile came to Scott’s face, and he took a step closer to Jimmy, tilting his head to try and meet Jimmy’s eyes.

“Jimmy, I’ve seen you die twice. Don’t you think that I can’t stand the thought of letting you die either?” Scott asked. Jimmy finally looked up at Scott, eyes watering. Scott let out a fond little scoff, reaching out to wipe at Jimmy’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Jimmy said wetly. Scott didn’t answer at first, instead reaching out to pull Jimmy into a hug.

“Don’t be. And don’t cry you idiot, you’ll just disintegrate faster,” Scott teased fondly, relieved when Jimmy let out a laugh in response. Jimmy pulled away, wiping at his eyes and smiling. Scott couldn’t help but smile back, happy to see his husband in a marginally better mood.

“We’ll be okay, right Scott?” Jimmy asked, still soft and as timid as before. 

“I’m working on potions, we’ve got allies, and we’ve got each other. We’ll be alright,” Scott said, voice soft but no less determined. Jimmy gave his usual dazzling smile, filling Scott with warmth and light at the sight of it.

-

It was dark when Scott made his way down the hill from Jimmy’s grave. He wasn’t even there when Jimmy had died, he had told Jimmy that they would be alright and they both weren’t. Scott was on yellow now, the gleam in his eyes and the gold shimmering in his hair making that absolutely certain. Scott’s preparedness hadn’t even saved either of them! His potions certainly didn’t do much good as Scott died early on in the battle. Maybe he and Jimmy shouldn’t have allied with anyone. Maybe they should have stayed within their walls and retired, like Scott wanted to. Maybe Jimmy would be alive now. But there was no use dwelling on the “what-ifs”- all Scott had was the now. And the now was crushingly lonely and dim.

Scott jumped at the cackle of a witch, narrowly avoiding a thrown potion. He drew his sword and cut her down without a second thought. She poofed into ash, leaving Scott to stumble forward into the dirt. He drove his sword into the ground with a cry of rage and sorrow.

“I can’t even mourn?!” he cried, shouting at the universe for what he had lost and what he had endured. Scott wasn’t sure how long he had knelt there in the grass, a white-knuckled grip on the hilt of his sword and a hand over his mouth to stifle the sobs that threatened to escape. It wasn’t until the growls and skittering of other mobs approaching that Scott finally picked himself up, yanking his sword from the ground and feet moving on autopilot. 

He soon stumbled through the nether portal to the cave behind it, shaking hands reaching for a book tucked away on one of the shelves. He opened it carefully despite his trembling hands, not wanting to damage what was inside. Between the pages laid a collection of pressed flowers, one of them being the poppy that Jimmy had given him when they first met. Scott finally allowed himself to crumble, falling to the floor and sobbing with the book of pressed flowers cradled in his arms.

“Scott?” a voice asked. His head snapped up and he looked to the cave entrance, heart skipping a beat at a flash of blond and red- but then saw the brightly colored wings and deflated at the realization that it was just Grian. Scott quickly wiped at his eyes, gently closing the book before holding it tight against his chest and standing up.

“Um. Hi,” Scott said, unsure of what to say. Grian didn’t look like he knew what to say either, feathers rustling slightly before he cleared his throat.

“I just wanted to uh. Check in on you,” Grian said. Scott let out a shaky sigh. How many times had Jimmy come in, asking the same thing? Checking in on Scott, making sure he wasn’t overworking himself- sometimes checking in on him wasn’t even for Scott’s own benefit. Jimmy would need reassurance, and Scott would joke and tease to cheer him up. What Scott wouldn’t give to hear Jimmy’s laugh one last time.

“I think you can see how well I’m doing,” Scott said, tone coming off a bit more brusquely than he meant it to. Scott winced as soon as the words escaped his mouth. Grian didn’t deserve to have his grief taken out on him, but frankly Scott wasn’t sure how else he was supposed to respond to that. His friend’s expression twisted in sympathy.

“Sorry. We did avenge him, at least,” Grian said softly. Scott let out a humorless laugh.

“Yeah. I just thought I’d feel some sort of satisfaction from it, or that it would make losing Jimmy hurt less,” Scott replied, voice as hollow as he felt. Silence hung between them for a few moments, before Grian stepped a bit closer. He cautiously reached out to put a hand on Scott’s shoulder, and Scott peered up slightly at the touch.

“It probably won’t help much, in fact not at all, but what if we put a stop to Dogwarts? For all the things we’ve lost- and for Jimmy,” Grian offered. A small, weak smile crept onto Scott’s face. He wouldn’t let Jimmy’s death be in vain- he believed in a world without Dogwarts, a world where he and Scott could live out their days in peace. And even if Jimmy wasn’t able to live it with him, Scott knew that Jimmy would want him to move forward, to the life they had wanted.

“For Jimmy,” Scott said, warmth in his tone for the first time since Jimmy had died. For a brief moment, he thought he felt a hand ghost across his, paired with a reassuring touch on his back and a breath at his ear. The moment was there and gone, and Scott desperately wanted to curl his fingers around familiar ones he swore he had just felt- but it left Scott’s smile a bit brighter all the same.

-

MCYT Taglist (ask to be added/removed!): @corazon10000 @damiensaidno @franticfandomfanatic @space-ace123

[themangolorian]

look how long this love can hold its breath

Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five

pairing: javier peña x reader

summary: (slow burn/fake married) When Pablo Escobar escalates his war on Colombian law enforcement, the DEA is getting desperate to pin down his location. Reader is forced to go undercover with another agent, one she can’t stand, Javier Peña. Worst of all, she’ll have to try to infiltrate the Cali Cartel while pretending to be Peña’s wife.

warnings: mild language

a/n: i know it’s a generally overdone trope but i couldn’t resist doing my own version of fake married Javi with a pretty antagonistic reader. hope you all enjoy!

You’d been assigned to an undercover assignment of sorts. You were infiltrating the Cali Cartel. Sort of. The mission was simply to gain inside information on Escobar’s whereabouts. To finally bring that hijoeputa down.

The only problem was your assigned partner.

Javier fucking Peña.

You’d never worked with him, but you knew his reputation as a womanizer. His machismo. And, worst of all, he was an American.

You’d encountered him briefly on separate occasions in the briefing room and each time he’d rubbed you the wrong way. He had a habit of talking over you and every other woman in the unit. Well, honestly, him and his partner Murphy liked to talk over everyone but- to put it plainly, you didn’t like Javier Peña.

“What’s the plan?” You asked in your typical no-nonsense way as you joined him and Murphy in the briefing room.

Incredibly, the up aboves had put these two pendejos in charge of the operation.

“Hola amor,” Peña lilted at you with a smirk from his seat across from you, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

You glared at him. “What the fu-.”

“You’re married.” Murphy tossed the manila envelope on the table in your direction, interrupting your outburst.

He knew you and Peña got on each others’ nerves. This was his way of avoiding the inevitable bickering. It was a shitty way of doing so though.

You cursed under your breath as you fell into a chair and swept the envelope open.

The other two were quiet as your eyes scanned the documents.

“Fuck no.” You pushed the papers containing your’s and Peña’s aliases back at them.

Señor y Señora Villalobos. Dealers disguised as diamond salespeople. Married. To each other.

“Told you.” Peña told Murphy, his tone all-knowing.

“Cállate,” you snarled at Peña.

“You first,” he glared back.

“Hey,” Murphy exclaimed. He rested the tip of his index finger on the files and glared at you both now.

“This isn’t a request. These are orders.” He rubbed at his mustache and this time directed his gaze at you. “You either follow the mission or find another job.”

You glared from him to Peña who didn’t meet your gaze, too busy staring at a point on the table.

You threw your hands up in defeat, reached across and snatched the folder then huffed out of the room, muttering all the while. “Estos tontos Americanos vienen a mi país y piensen que tengo miedo de ellos, malparidos...”

Murphy looked from your retreating figure to Peña who was watching you walk away with amusement in his eyes. “What was that? What did she say?”

“She’ll do it,” Peña said, smirking. He stood and picked up his own file. “And learn Spanish while I’m gone, cabrón.”

Peña rapped Steve on the arm with the file affectionately and then he was gone.

Steve rubbed his face again, tiredly, worried that given the short fuses of both you and Peña, the DEA was making a huge mistake.

*****

“¡Apúúúúúúrateeee!” You dragged the word out, tapping your foot impatiently against the brake.

You were in an agency assigned car waiting around the corner from Peña’s flat for the pendejo to come outside so you could start the long drive to Cali.

Finally.

He threw his bag into the backseat then slid onto the passenger’s seat.

“Amor,” he greeted you with a sardonic smile as he slipped his sunglasses on.

“¿Y por qué tardaste tanto?” You ignored the stupid nickname he was no doubt using to taunt you in order to ask him what had taken him so long.

“I couldn’t find the rings.” He held up a shiny golden wedding band, and you saw a matching one already around his own finger.

For a beat you merely glared at the ring as if all of this was its fault, then you were taking it and roughly sliding it onto your own finger.

“Careful,” Peña said as he inclined his seat so he could sleep. “Keep being so charming and all the narcos are going to want to marry you.”

You revved the engine and took off jerkily, turning the volume of the radio up to drown him out.

The trip was a long one. You both took turns driving. Peña kept turning down the radio while you drove so he could sleep, and you kept changing the station while he was driving. You argued over where to eat and what temperature to keep the air at or whether to open the windows.

“We’re supposed to be married, not divorced,” he’d quipped at you once while he was driving after you’d knocked his hand out of the way of your water bottle as you reached for it.

You turned the heater up then, knowing it would bother him, even though you were already sweltering. He left it though, too stubborn to engage you at your game.

Until you opened your window. Then he was slamming the shut off button for the heater.

You glared at him...then- A mansion outside his window caught your eye. You watched it whiz past.

“What?” He slowed and turned the radio volume down.

“You passed it.” You sat back in your seat. “Coño.” You muttered under your breath.

He pulled the car over. When he let the car idle instead of turning around, you looked at him to see him already watching you, sunglasses off.

“What?”

“This is it. One wrong move and we’re both dead.”

You couldn’t believe your ears. You glared fiercely his way. “Are you reminding me how to do my job, Peña?”

He sighed. “Just- I know we don’t get along, but this weekend, we don’t have a choice.”

You rolled your eyes. “Look just because you swooped in from the grand US of A to save all us heathens,” you fluttered your hands mockingly, “doesn’t mean I need you to remind me of my job. I’ve been doing this for longer. If anyone in this car understands what’s at stake, it’s me.” You finished, angry.

“That why you hate me so much?” He asked thoughtfully in a tone so soft you had to look at his face to discern his intent for asking.

He wasn’t glaring anymore. If anything, he seemed curious.

“I don’t hate you,” you muttered but your tone belied your words.

He chuckled. “That’s a good start.” He started turning the car around. “Amor.” He added and suddenly you were fuming again.

*****

The introductions with the narcos and their wives went well enough, better even than you’d hoped. They accepted you as one of their own. It wasn’t hard for you to fit in, you were Colombiana to the bone. Peña on the other hand… But he’d sold it well. Almost too well. This had been your first opportunity at seeing how much he’d picked up during his time in Colombia so far. And it seemed like he’d picked up a lot.

Peña hadn’t been wrong when he’d indicated some of the narcos would take an interest in you. They greeted you both warmly, but their hands enveloped yours tightly and their eyes lingered just a moment too long. You thought Peña must have noticed too, and surely he worried that allowing such blatant flirting would endanger your cover.

That must have been why you suddenly felt his arm encircling your bare shoulders. You tried not to tense in surprise, so much so that you let yourself relax against him in a natural manner. He continued the pretense, kissing your forehead as he made a joke with the narcos about keeping the wife happy.

Inside, though, you were having a crisis and you hoped the look on your face was one caught between amused and loving. A shock had gone through you when Peña’s lips had met your skin. His act was so convincing; how was he so good at this?

You thought back to the first stop you’d made earlier on in the car drive. When you’d gotten out of the car, Peña had whistled softly upon seeing your sundress, warming your cheeks and angering you simultaneously. But he’d said nothing else. And you’d thought on it during the ensuing drive. Normally you wore suits to the office, pants and skirts, but suits all the same. And you’d made a point of never going out with Peña or Murphy. So he’d never seen you in anything else. Against your will, you wondered what the whistle had meant. Not that you cared, but you didn’t need to add one more thing to the long list of things you already had to think about.

You smothered the thoughts. They were distracting and unnecessary and right now you were lucky that Peña was so good at this because he was carrying you both.

As you trailed the narcos out back to sit and have drinks by the pool, you slipped your arm around his waist, needing to carry your weight in the farce and not wanting to have to hear later from Peña about what you should have done.

“Así,” you heard him murmur approvingly.

You dug your nails into his side and heard him grunt in pain.

Your smile then at the wife of one of the narcos holding out a drink for you was genuine.

You spent an hour bantering back and forth with the other couples.

If you didn’t know any better, you would think Peña was happily married in his private life. He played the part perfectly.

As you were both sitting at the poolside table, he would reach over absently and take your fingers in his. The first time a jolt went through you again. But you took the cue. You alternated touches. You would rest your hand on his thigh. You swore he jumped the first time you did that, but he hid it well. He took long draws from your glass. Once he even fed you an olive. If you didn’t know any better, he was enjoying torturing you. He knew you hated olives. But the gesture drew laughs from the men and awwws from the women. It was then you noticed how they were swooning over Peña. It upset you only because you realized that if the pinche idioto was in the position to do it, he’d sleep with all their wives.

Finally and blessedly, your hosts suggested that you two retire to your room before dinner. Peña was to join the other men in Pacho’s office just before dinner for a discussion. You assumed that was when any useful information would be recovered. You realized then that you were here more for decoration than anything.

You fumed as you let Peña lead you by the hand up the mansion’s grand staircase. You both followed the housekeeper who led you to your room.

You dropped Peña’s hand the second the door closed behind you. He gave you a look but then the two of you were scouring the room, searching for any hidden recording devices. You shook your head at him, but he put his finger to his lips and tilted his head toward the bathroom. You raised your hands questioningly but followed him all the same.

He was reaching into the shower and turning it on full blast.

“¿Qué haces?” You hissed at his ear, having to get close to be heard.

“We don’t know for sure it’s clear. We only talk freely like this.” He murmured into your ear, his breath tickling your skin. You shivered involuntarily at the sensation.

You both established that your cover had been bought. And what most likely awaited him at the meeting. You left him to take a shower and went to lounge on the bed.

Several minutes later, the door to the bathroom opened releasing a wall of steam and-

You sat up, glaring, “What are you doing?”

Peña put a finger to his lips furiously. “Adonde está mi maleta, amor?” His sweet tone was a direct contradiction to the furrow in his brow. He shook his head at you, gesturing to his suitcase as if to ask how you expected him to get dressed without clothes.

“Allí, corazón.” You said for show, just in case, glaring at him as he took his time going through his bag to find an outfit. Your eyes tried not to linger on his bare skin and the way water from the shower trickled down his toned back.

You averted your eyes when he turned back, but he was smiling as if he knew you’d been watching him, so you flipped over on the bed to face the other direction.

When Peña left the room with the sound of a fake kiss, you were too nervous to sit still. You had to get ready for dinner anyway. But you were anxious all the same. Your cover could be blown at any second. You stored a handgun under the bathroom sink before getting into the shower and kept an ear out for any strange noises. But nothing happened. You dressed and put your perfume and makeup on. Still Peña was absent. You slid a smaller gun into the holster on your inner thigh and went to join the other wives wherever they were.

They turned out to be in a bar off the kitchen. Luckily already tipsy and talkative. They handed you a drink, but you took only tiny sips as you engaged them in conversation. You struck gold when one of them brought up Tata, Escobar’s wife. They were gossiping over who had a better kitchen. You hung onto every word while providing input as shallowly as possible. Apparently your and Peña’s kitchen was inlaid with marble and dark hickory wood.

Nothing they said gave up the location of the Escobars though and the subject soon turned to jewelry, at which point the women fawned over the diamond necklace provided to you by the agency. Which was your cue to try to sell them diamonds.

Soon enough the staff came in to lead you all to the formal dining room where the men were waiting. They all stood but it was Peña’s face you were focused on.

His lips parted when he saw you and his brow smoothed over. His eyes traveled from yours down along your entire figure. You couldn’t help but get the slightest bit flustered. You avoided his gaze, but he was coming your way to take your hand and lead you over to the seat next to his. It was strange. Surrounded as you both were by actual enemies, it felt like you were the only two in the room. It confused you and irritated you, but you managed to catch your breath again once you were seated at the dinner table. You ignored Peña’s dark eyes on you and took a long sip from your wine glass, trying to focus on the mission at hand.

“Not too much,” you heard him whisper as you placed the wine glass back down.

And there he was.

Underneath the table, you adjusted your feet, “accidentally” stepping on his shoe with one sharp heel.

The curse he muttered in pain under his breath had you smiling as you dove into the conversation, ready to take on a room full of the people who had played the bad guys in your life for so long.

masterlist

[sims2bellaswan]

pas de deux VII [Bruno Bucciarati x Reader | Risotto Nero x Reader]

[SFW]

AO3 VERSION

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

You’ve worked your whole life to earn a place in the Rome ballet company, yet everyone seems to work against you.

Between the stress of working to match the other dancers to unforeseen romantic issues, problems just seem to pile up.

Your alarm woke you up, much to your annoyance. You had slept like a baby last night, the evening spent working. You took a long, warm shower before applying topical pain medicine to your calves and thighs. Taking your sweet time to make a hearty breakfast, you savored every bite before leaving. You deserved it after all the hard work you had done last night.

The walk was leisurely, quietly checking different social medias. Your accounts were full of ‘congratulations’ after officially announcing your entrance to the company. You smiled to yourself, taking the moment, while stopped at a crosswalk, to slip your phone back in your pocket.

The doors are still heavy but instead of feeling dread at the aspect, you open them with a start. Today’s a good day: you’re well-fed, you’re early so you’ll get to practice a bit before your first class, and it’s sunny. The labyrinth of decadent halls, while dimly lit, were bustling with enough activity that you felt pleasant.

The morning sun painted the studio gold, refractions of its light on the floor from the mirrored walls. Where you expected an empty room, you saw Bruno, stretching in silence.

“G’morning, Bruno.” You set your bag in the corner, giving him a moment to respond. Sitting down, you slipped off your civilian shoes and pulled on your ballet slippers, giving him another moment to respond. “Bruno,” you had turned your head back to him.

“Did you have sex with Signore Nero last night?” He deadpanned. It made you do a double take. Now, he was giving you a moment to respond as he rose from the stretch.

“Excuse me?”

“Did you sleep with him?” He sounded angry but with his back to you, you couldn’t see his expression to make sure.

“Absolutely not.” You felt your face heat up at the very thought. Turning back to your shoes, “I’m offended that you would even entertain the thought.”

Bruno sighed, deeply. Did he really think you were lying? Why would you lie about this? “I heard that you were here until eleven,” He began. “As your friend, I-”

“As my friend, you should trust I wouldn’t lie about something like this.” You cut him off, a bit more harshly than you intended, but your frustration began to get to you. “He walked me through a pas de deux, that’s literally all we did.”

Whether he believed you or not, he didn’t voice his opinion.

The tension continued through the lesson. You didn’t initiate conversation with Bruno afterwards, nor did he wait for you at the door. You caught up with him in the halls, panting a bit as you slowed to a stop to match his pace.

The two of you were silent for a long moment, walking together as you always do. Though your destinations differed, this was precious time to spend chatting about technique or making small talk. Today was different, neither of you wanted to break the wall that had been built.

Gulping down your nerves, you began, “I don’t think this is reason enough to ignore me, Bruno.”

He glanced at you for a split second, no answer from him.

Thus, you continued. “You know full well I’m not that type of person.”

He took a deep breath in, quickening his pace slightly. “I advised you not to see him, yet you did anyway.” His brow furrowed for a moment, in thought, then relaxed. “Do you not care about your reputation?”

“He was helping me, my reputation shouldn’t be at stake because I needed extra lessons.” You tried to match his pace. The frustration from the morning reviving in your chest, your face felt hot.

“I was helping you, was that not enough?” Bruno stops at the entrance hall, turning to you. For the first time all day, you can read him like a book. He’s upset, not angry with you, but disappointed, a tang of heartbreak towards you. You felt guilt begin to eat away at your frustration.

Trying your best to swallow down the guilt, to swallow down an apology, you steeled yourself. Friend or not, he had no right to dictate whether or not you received external help. “It was more than enough and I’ve thanked you more times than I can count.” You felt your lungs constricting in anxiety. “But, even so, I need his help.” You were near pleading.

“I could help you, we could help each other.”

“That’s not what I mean, Bruno.” You bit your inner cheek, a distraction from letting things you don't mean spill out.

“Then, what do you mean?” His tone hurts your heart.

You don’t know what you mean. You can’t say that, you don’t want this to escalate any further. “Bruno,’ You trail off, not quite knowing what you want to say to him.

Bruno was a man deterred. He opened his mouth, slightly, to speak, but decided against what he would’ve said. It took a few moments of silence before he tried again, “I don’t want you to fall victim to a man who doesn’t care about you or your reputation.” He sighs, “I’m only angry with you because I care.”

He cares. He cares and you were frustrated with him for caring. God, you felt like such an asshole. “You’re not understanding me.” You tried to reason, “This is a huge break for me, this could mean everything.” Without giving him a chance to interrupt, you rush your words out. “I’m willing to do whatever I can to make this work.”

His expression turns, back to the faint anger you saw before you felt guilty. “Doing whatever you can shouldn’t mean whoring yourself out.” His tone is bitter. “You’ll have no luck making a name for yourself with such pitiful acts.”

Woah. Ok. Wow. You’re dumbfounded for a moment. He still doesn’t believe you. After you confided in him about your fears with Risotto, after the fiasco at the gala. He still isn’t on your side. You don’t know what to say, fearful anything you could come up with will only result in an aggravated retaliation.

“You should be ashamed.” With that, he leaves. You watch him exit, unsure of whether to follow him or just pad home like a hurt animal. You turn, using the wall as support.

There is something stopping you from breaking down right then and there. The halls are empty, most dancers found their ways out for lunch. Head in hands, you can't bring your tears to fall. Whether it be pride or just the absurdity of your closest friend turning on you, everything felt wrong.

A deep breath, then another, you push yourself up and off the ground.

The restroom was empty too. Eerily so, you felt like you haven’t seen the company empty for any long amount of time. Maybe, everyone heard the hushed argument with Bruno and decided to haul ass before it got too heavy.

The woman in the mirror was one you saw often lately. Puffy eyes, reddened cheeks, she was a visage you found little comfort in. Though, after today, you guessed you’d find little comfort just about anywhere else too.

[chibimyumi]

Hi

I hope you're doing well

I have questions if you don't mind

Who do like Axel von Fersen in Marie Antoinette or Axel von Fersen in 1789 les amants de la bastille and also do you like Marie Antoinette in Marie Antoinette or in 1789 les amants de la bastille

Thank you for answering my questions

Dear Anon,

I am doing well, thank you very much! I hope you too.

Hmmm, as a quick answer I would say I prefer both Marie and Fersen from ‘Toho MA’, but the full answer is slightly more complicated.

Firstly, it is almost unfair to compare them to each other because in MA they are the main characters, whereas in 1789 they are main-support or secondary-mains at best.

Secondly, MA has a far bigger focus on the characters because that is what drives the plot, while the opposite is true for 1789, which mainly sells a spectacle. I myself am more fan of subtle and deep story-telling rather than spectacular shows, so the MA versions of Marie and Fersen are more to my liking.

Thirdly, the quality of the characters also depends greatly on the cast. My first view of MA is the A-cast, and therefore my impression of the characters is that they are incredibly well written. After comparison with other casts however, I started to wonder whether it was just the A-cast being too good, and the musical itself being ‘fine’. (In short; I’m not fully sure how much I’d ‘clearly’ have preferred MA Marie and Fersen were it not for A-cast. Click here for a comparison between the two casts written by my friend @wildandwhirlingwords)

But, I shall go into more detail for both characters why MA’s version appeals more to me - someone who enjoys character writing most.

🌹Marie Antoinette🌹

M.A. 2018

In my opinion Marie Antoinette is better in MA because you see her journey and her motivations. We all know that the historical Queen screwed up majorly, but in MA we see why, and in what ways she indeed had very little other choice from her own perspective. She was a flawed foreign woman in a time and place where flawed foreign women were hated most.

In the beginning of the musical the King comes tell Marie that she’d have to live more economically. Marie is clearly not very enthusiastic to hear that, but she also never protests. She just asks ‘why’ and then accepts the answer - albeit broodingly. More importantly however: we need to keep in mind that despite being called Madam Deficit, the historical Marie Antoinette was actually quite economical at first because the Austrian court where she comes from was way less extravagant than the French. It was after her marriage into French royalty that she became more extravagant, because she was criticised for “not being a proper royal” by the French. According to the court, the 14 year old Marie was “a peasant unworthy of becoming Queen.” When you’re that young and criticised by your entire new life, you do everything in your power to make sure you can actually have a life; you adapt. So when Marie was then suddenly told to stop ‘adapting and be a proper Queen worthy of the French”, we can see why more is at stake than “Karen needs to deal with only 10 dresses a week.”

Something else that adds depth to her character as opposed to her 1789 counterpart is that as the story progresses, Marie actually grows. She becomes more mature and more serious, and you see in her how all the events have a clear toll on her. From her own perspective, she really was trying very hard, but anything she tried was inadequate to improve the situation. What she didn’t know is that no matter how hard she tried, the situation was already un-salvageable before she was even born. The populace AND the court had already decided to hate her for being an unintelligent foreign woman from an enemy state, after all. This is an insight most historians nowadays agree on.

In a later scene where Margrid confronts Marie, she asks the Queen: “what makes you think you are better than us?” Marie confirms nor denies, but replies: “I am merely Queen as I was appointed by God.” When she adds: “All I know is duties, you are free,” there is also a clear sense she genuinely doesn’t know why she was appointed by God, but as she is now, all she can do is her best. She is still ignorant, which was a genuine problem about her. She does not know the hardships of not being from the top rank, allowing her say something as insensitive as: “at least you’re free.” But again, despite her ignorance, her feelings are sincere. From all the unfair expectations she was made to live up to from age 14, you really do see why ‘a life without duties’ seemed so much more appealing to her.

1789 - The Lovers of the Bastille

Marie in 1789 is more of a side-character, and the musical itself just is not very character/story driven as MA is. 1789 has the tendency to take the tropiest of tropes and stay on surface level with the characters. Ouki Kaname is an incredibly good actress and she tries her best; but she cannot do more than the script gives her to work with.

In this musical Marie is not portrayed in a very relatable or sympathetic light. She is extravagant because she has escapist fantasies, but we don’t really see what she’s escaping from. The sympathy from the audience is supposed to be drawn from the tragedy that she’s married to the King but is in love with Fersen. Oh, and she has a son but he’s mortally ill. Meanwhile however, you don’t see how her life is so bad she needs to escape... and you also don’t see Marie really being worried about her son than an occasional: “Oh Ill again? Sucks I guess. Gotta cry my eyes out on my lover’s lap, AHHH FERSEN 💗” It was not until her son had already died that Marie woke up, but the lack of portrayal of Marie’s perspective and the pacing really makes one legitimately wonder whether the child did not just die of Marie’s neglect. And about the forbidden love ...we’ve seen enough love triangles with star-crossed-lovers... I don’t know about you guys, but I am numbbbbb to this “problem”.

When Marie receives message from Olympe that she finally gets to meet her lover after a long separation at the Palais Royal, one of the first things she says is: “is that not the place where revolutionaries and prostitutes are gathered?” This immediately sets up an empathy-barrier between her and the common people. This Marie clearly views herself too good for people who do anything to get by; why would you care about her then? Because Marie’s story is not fleshed out you don’t see parts that can make you go: “oh, the revolutionaries really hate her for reasons beyond her control, she is in danger.” Or “she was raised by a puritan society, making her hate on sex-workers; that’s part of her character flaw.” Instead it’s just this Diva being quite judgemental.

Ouki was trying very hard to make the focus about her own safety, but with the script being what it is... she’s still a mostly unsympathetic character who is a martyr of forbidden love.

There is one scene where we see her take on a much more mature and responsible role. That was the first time I personally felt like Marie from 1789 is an actual human being with feelings and personal difficulties. But in great part this is Ouki’s acting... (the other cast didn’t do much for me). What is also important is that Marie was ‘humbled’ because her son died. Marie did not have much of a personal growth, and then she changes to a more sympathetic person because of an external factor just... feels less earned.

In the finale Marie appears again in her execution clothes, and the way Ouki appeared really felt like a punch in the gut. She sings “as a recompense for our griefs, people have learnt forgiveness.” However, the story skimped over the characters so much I was left to wonder: “who learned to forgive whom?” Do you think the people forgave you? Or was there somebody you hated but now learned to forgive? What was your grudge? Do you understand the angry mob’s grudge?

The finale of the musical treats like after the heroic sacrifice of the protagonist (Ronan) the oppressive monarchy was replaced by a good democracy, and a Reign of Terror will DEFINITELY not happen under Robespierre or something. But if you’ve had a BIT of European history you just know it’s a blatant lie. So the finale just feels too simplistic, and this simplistic feeling was in part presented by Marie’s very empty, lip-service-y line.

⚔️Hans Axel von Fersen⚔️

M.A. 2018

Fersen is a bit harder to compare which version is better, because honestly, depending on who plays Fersen in MA, Fersen is either the most generic Hollywood sweeping-lover-hero, or a diamond mine to excavate. In the same post linked above by my friend, she explains in detail the differences between TashiroFersen and FurukawaFersen. K-musical fans, don’t @ me, but from what I can tell, the Korean Fersens are also very... typical.

In this post I have discussed Furukawa’s Fersen in great detail, so I shall skip over these for this post. But to summarise, when portrayed by Furukawa at least, Fersen in MA is very nuanced and restrained. Even if we do not fully credit Furukawa however, then at the very least the script allows enough space and material for an actor to flesh him out so phenomenally well (I think Tashiro and some other actors just.... really missed out on the potential).

Fersen in MA incredibly memorable because the main atmosphere of the imminent doom awaiting everyone is carried by him in a way nobody else does. The moment Fersen enters you feel the tension that the musical wishes to tell. Fersen has seen revolutions, he’s seen the power of anger; he knows shit is going to hit the fan because he’s familiar with this trajectory. 

Fersen has excellent self control because he knows how a lack thereof would hurt Marie’s reputation and escalate the growing chaos. You can see very clearly how Fersen does want the intimacy, but to him duty and the grander picture has priority. In all the small actions from Fersen you see how he is a savvy intellectual through and through. (More about reservation later).

In contrast to 1789, we also get to see so much more of Fersen in MA because he is the narrator and a main character. Throughout the musical he’s been trying to de-escalate the chaos and even though his plans were actually well thought-out, the problems were just simply too big for any one person to solve. When Fersen mourns Marie there is a clear sense that he is not really surprised, just really upset that things had to come so far. Instead of singing something accusatory to the angry and hungry people, he sings: “fate, why did you give her everything, only to show her hell in the end?” Fersen truly understands why the people were duly angry, but that not taking away his sorrow of losing Marie who he knows is a better person than people make her out to be.

Also in great contrast to 1789, the finale of MA is rather grim. It does not suggest hope or that all problems will eventually disappear. The story for these people have ended, but the problems and the world will continue to our days, and days far beyond ours. It gives a feeling that the world of MA is so extensive that we - the audience - are part of it. In the finale when we see Fersen again, he also stays in tune with this feeling. “How can the problems of the world be solved, what is true justice? We remain clueless” he sings, and the way he looks into the unknown distance is almost a reminder to us that nobody has reason to stop worrying and fight for justice.

1789 - the Lovers of the Bastille

Now if we were to compare MA’s Furu Fersen to 1789′s Fersen, we see a stark contrast between the two. Where Furusen was incredibly reserved and hyper aware of everything, 1789′s Fersen is just the over-romantic lover who had been pining for his love. For a moment Marie realises she probably should not be cheating on her husband and backs away. Fersen however, is the one to make further advances, actively pulling her back to his side.

When he embraces Marie you see how he is just dreaming and indulging, something Furusen would never do. Furusen might hug Marie, but not without sh*tting 50 colours. 1789′s Fersen is the sweeping Romeo that most of history makes him to be, and little more. But again, Fersen plays but a very small role in 1789, so it is also unfair to compare him to MA’s Fersen.

Regardless of whatever nuance might or might not be there however, it is also just quite hard to like this Fersen because he is ‘just another privileged aristocrat who is just needy’. When making out with Marie in Palais Royale they find out that Ronan fell asleep there drunk. Ronan simply complained that Marie was too loud and woke him, and Fersen immediately shuts him up, and then draws his sword at him for ‘speaking rudely’.

First of all Fersen and Marie, if you’re gonna do a clandestine meeting, you CHECK your surroundings. Second of all, FERSEN Ò.Ó, this peasant is untrained and weaponless; you can’t just unleash your high-ranking martial arts at him with a shiny sword. This is EXACTLY the reason the revolution happened; the people were sick of the suppression of the powerless by the powerful. UGHUM. It truly is mind-blowing to consider how 1789 Fersen and MA Fersen are both...Fersens.

This Fersen is not very involved with the revolution from either side. He just proposes to help Marie and the King escape once, but got dismissed immediately. The following time we see him it is in the finale.

There he stands, a knight in shiny armour singing a really hopeful phrase to a relatively upbeat and hopeful music: “do not rely on force, but seek for hope and courage.” Here again unlike with MA’s Fersen, you don’t really feel like this Fersen has experienced anything. It was like he was an employed special guard, told by his boss there’s nothing he needed to do, his boss is dead, and oh wellll, moving on!

Conclusion

Because Marie and Fersen in MA are main characters whose stories are fleshed out, it really is very unfair to compare them to their 1789′s counterparts in a race of ‘who is better’. In the end of the day, 1789′s aim is to sell a spectacle, and it realllly is a phenomenal piece if you’re there for the spectacle. The choreography, songs, stage, everything is masterpiece-level. So if you’re there for the spectacle you get exactly what you went there for. The story and characters however... not so much. If one is more drawn to a direct, glittery spectacle with hands-down-amazing-songs however, they’d probably find Marie and Fersen from 1789 more enjoyable. If you’re into first and impressive impressions, the MA counterparts might demand a BIT too much attention and patience to get into.

Related posts:

Introduction and character analysis Fersen ‘MA’ 2018

Comparative commentary on MA Cast M and Cast A

[gayregis]

blood and wine rewrite au basic layout

i already posted something like this before but i cant find the post so im just rewriting all of this from the top of my head

everyone’s repurposed roles:

geralt - he’s still a witcher. he’s geralt of rivia. obviously. i don’t have time or interest to think about how to rewrite the entire witcher 3 game to be lore-friendly, but i assume there would be less triss and more dandelion involved in it. for this let’s just take him as geralt having done everything in tw3 but with the personality of geralt from the books because geralt from the games doesn’t have much of a strong personality good for writing or thinking about.

regis - a bitch. nah jk. he’s same regis but just what he was like 100 years ago when he got his head cut off. he’s less spiralling-into-doom than he was then, and is less desperate and hopeless overall, but is slowly getting there once again. he doesn’t remember anything about learning from his mistakes and becoming a good person, because this regis didn’t get any of that. to this regis, it’s like no time has passed at all since he died, and he’s ready to start partying again without any thought of the consequences. he’s moved to toussaint because everyone’s already tipsy there and the north is plagued by war so it’s not a really great source to be drinking from (like if there was a sewage leak near the vineyard you sourced your wine from). he doesn’t remember anything about maturing up or about becoming a surgeon or about the hansa, so that sucks.

dettlaff - not a fucking maniac. actually a character geralt will likely spend a good amount of time talking to. total character overhaul because he does not have a personality in the actual DLC. he arrived in toussaint because he had heard that regis had returned and wanted to fix things wih him, he had previously left him.

syanna - not a fucking dumbass, yet still naive in her own way due to being blinded with the promise of power. in this, she is planning to stage a coup on the duchy (because she is the older sister, so it IS her right by law) and she supports regis’ slow dive again into uncontrollable insanity because it helps her prop up rumors that her sister’s reign is ineffective against real threats and is cursed. but this alliance does not go as she planned...

orianna -  in this, she is the owner of a gladiatorial school (instead of an orphanage), and is still like in canon a wealthy and influential individual of beauclair, yet reclusive from human society. she is regis’ best friend and goads him on, because she never fixed her own issues with alcoholism and now is elated to have him back and forgetting that they had disagreements which drove them apart in the first place. they’re best friends (NO romance) and it’s just good to see how insanely different orianna and geralt are because they’ve both been regis’ close friends at different points in time.

the purpose of this:

fix regis’ relationships with the vampires. he slowly drove all of his good friends away by going off the deep end and many are likely wondering whatever happened to him. but books regis would never consider partying like that again, so we bring the party regis back and then slowly de-escalate him into normal books regis again, and we finally get closure with him and his old friends.

cool dramatic stereotypical vampire shit. i’m talking about a final battle or conversation in a giant dark castle with large open windows and billowing drapery.

regis’s hairstyle

give syanna actual agency as a character and give her motivations that extend beyond pure revenge (although they are related to revenge) and make her more unique so she is not just a ripoff of renfri. 

demonstrate anna henrietta and geralt’s relationship as it was in the books. he was genuinely intimidated by her and i interpret him as being jealous of her relationship with dandelion, so he in practice was quite withdrawn around her as she was her overemotional and embellished self

give dettlaff an actual character, holy shit. i hate how sorely underdeveloped he is in the game. i understand why because it’s not meant to be writing, it’s meant to be a video game, but come on. i hate having the vampire with the cool character design be the ultimate villain of the whole narrative. in this, he’s someone geralt can talk to and sees himself in. he’s emotionally mature and doesn’t mix with the other vampires. since we already know what regis is like, we don’t have to sit through dettlaff making excuses for him and trying to describe what his character is like. we also get a better view of regis’ past through dettlaff’s lense. 

give orianna an actual character, holy shit. i hate how they didn’t even try with her and just used her as a “surprise, she is quite evil!” gimmick. have her actually have a larder for blood that is lore-friendly yet still jumps out at the audience as morally wrong.  give her more personality and development.

examine regis’ backstory without actually getting into every single year of those 4 centuries. we can examine how it started good, turned bad, went worse... there’s a lot of loss involved and i think this would be nice to process it.

roughly what happens (under cut because if i ever do write this fic out, this is spoilers, literally the synopsis of the whole thing):

anna henrietta sends envoys to geralt. they establish that the duchess has no conflict with geralt and that her conflict was with dandelion, only. she has requested his help because he effectively dealt with many monsters while he was in beauclair and established a trustworthy reputation (also, he’s famous, and toussaintoirs are superficial). instead of the beast of beauclair killing particular victims, it’s the countryside which has been plagued by vicious attacks of the devil knows what.

geralt arrives and examines the scenes of the attacks. the sincere majority of the victims are alive, so he speaks to them. they remember nothing, but woke up with their village fucking absolutely trashed and with vomit everywhere. they all have wounds on their necks. geralt thinks he knows what’s up, but is reluctant to deal with it because of his memories of regis, who he misses

damien de la tour is assigned to geralt as a sort of backup. they argue and geralt manages to get him to stay put in beauclair while he rides to a village they believe will be attacked next. it’s not even a full moon so the vampires don’t even come out in their bat form (disappointing) but instead just mesmerize their way in in humanoid form. dettlaff sneaks up on geralt who is (ahem) staking out the situation, and is like hey dont kill regis hes not evil hes just misguided!! and geralt is like REGIS? EMIEL REGIS? THTS WHO’S LEADING THEM? i ..... i know him.... and dettlaff’s like what the fuck how... then they get caught and regis is like oh hey dettlaff who’s this guy and geralt feels very left out :( and also sad bc regis doesnt remember shit and geralt even lists the hansa members by name and regis is still like O_O ok yeah im just going to hypnotize you to get lost ok goodbye! but dettlaff prevents him from doing this and they both get thrown out of the party.

after the party geralt is a mess and is like wtf so hes back and what... how... huh... and dettlaff doesnt know how he returned or why he returned either but they compare geralt’s knowledge of how regis died with dettlaff’s knowledge of how regeneration works and they figure out that regis just regenerated from his past body and that’s why he doesn’t have any of his memories from when he turned good.

then they eavesdrop a little more and find out that syanna has been talking to regis and making deals with him (its... not really like she thinks, regis really hasnt been doing anything he doesnt want to. shes just like “hey can you attack this village here” and regis is like yeah i was gonna host a party there tomorrow night ...) so they are like who the fuck is this woman and track her down to her base of operations, and then they find out that THEY got followed by damien de la tour, who identifies her as sylvia anna. geralt is a little miffed on behalf of dandelion that damien seems to be so close to anna henrietta but i digress.

geralt reports his findings to the duchess but does NOT mention regis because the duchess knows who regis is. then we get the same vampire talk from canon b&w where the duchess and damien are sorely misinformed on every single thing ever.

geralt is defeated and has no idea on how to fix this and hes looking hard into a mirror by candlelight and then decides to go to bed so he turns around and regis is right behind him like hey. cue ‘holy shit what the fuck’ moment and freaking out. regis explains himself and says that he doesnt remember him but the fact that he gave so many specifics weirded him out and he kind of wants to know more out of curiosity. also he wants to talk to dettlaff but feels too bad about how he argued with him like 3 centuries ago that he cant just ask him directly.

so they talk and geralt is all :(( and regis is like ok well. i kinda want to get these memories back because they sound pretty significant and also im pretty miserable. but also im not going to stop partying bc its the only thing that makes me feel alive rn. so long!

geralt and dettlaff talk to orianna and she dislikes them both but still talks to them and then regis materializes and also begins bothering them and its quite civil but this scene just serves to demonstrate how annoying they are as friends lol

there’s scenes where you can either save damien / syanna from being unalived by the vampires’ / regis’ hand, only if you let syanna die will the duchess be mad and accuse you of being heartless like dandelion is and then geralt and the duchess actually get into an argument bc of that comment but geralt ofc loses bc hes scared of her lol

no matter what you get regis his memories back but your decisions to either continue helping him or not is what makes him change or not. even after he gets his memories back (or because he gets his memories back?) he decides to raze beauclair bc hes just so fucking miserable and geralt has to talk him down, if you are harsh and not understanding and shame him etc then he doesnt change, if you condemn his actions but still offer your support then he does.

if you offer your support > geralt talks about the hansa like For Ever and regis then adds in everything and yay regis is back to normal. theres like a wholesome montage of geralt being like “just TRY to sew up a wound i promise you you will be good at it” and regis does and hes splendid at it. regis and dettlaff finally make up and are bros once again. we help orianna with her issues and she realizes stuff but is still going to have a drink once in a while. if syanna is alive she doesnt hate on any of this but just decides to make up with the duchess and then become captain of the guard (damien gets fired for being a dumbass).

if you do not offer your support > regis goes to cry in a delapidated creepy old castle and you have an epic fight (geralt is backed up by dettlaff) and he turns into a bat and geralt almost dies, they manage to decapitate regis again and put him in the ground and set a timer for 50 years

if you redeem regis then there’s an ending scene where the duchess is like “oh regis i didnt know you were in town” and hes just like <:) ahaha... yeah...

cue crying about milva/cahir/angouleme For Ever. maybe link this with the fic where geralt and regis bring them all back as ghosts/real ppl and then they have to deal with those consequences

[rivkahstudies]

hey Rivkah! I've seen you post about having career goals related to linguistic anthropology and you've also posted that discrimination, especially linguistic discrimination, is one of the worst things about society your opinion. I was wondering if you had any ideas about how one could counter linguistic discrimination, either as part of a career or on the side. I'm especially interested in hearing your thoughts on how one might be able to do this outside of doing ling anth in academia.

Hi honey! I’m really honored to receive this question because it’s so insightful and dedicated to something I’m incredibly passionate about. It overlaps with sociology, law, and politics. So, first I’ll talk about what I’m personally planning to do outside of/past academia, and then I’ll talk about other avenues one can take, both on a large and small scale.

Right now, my goals are to be either a medical or legal interpreter, and I’m leaning toward the latter. What that means, for those that don’t know, is that I want to go through a graduate degree or certificate program in order to be certified to translate specific languages orally in a highly specialized workplace, namely a hospital or a courtroom.

The reason why I’m so passionate about this job is because, while we have laws such as Title VII of the Civil Rights Act (which prohibits discrimination based on “national origin,” which is closely tied to the native language you speak) we still see a lot of prejudice and violence against people who choose to speak their native/a different language on their own terms in public. 

More specifically, what I aim to do is make it easier for non-native English speakers (especially, but not limited to, immigrants) receive the same services all people have a right to but they may have difficulty getting, such as medical attention or accurate legal representation. Interpretation is incredibly high stakes in my eyes because you have to translate automatically, in person, with a lot of pressure on you to do it quickly and accurately. And that’s really scary, but to me, what’s scarier is that someone might not be getting the care they need or be understood in a courtroom, and that could impact their health, their safety, their freedom, or their ability to get justice.

While someone might not necessarily be actively sabotaged in a courtroom or a hospital, those are high profile environments with a lot of pressure, and not a lot of time for patience and forgiveness if you’re trying to get through a case or to the next patient. The odds are stacked against someone who doesn’t have the specific vocabulary needed to accurately describe their symptoms or deliver their testimony. 

And that’s not even counting the ingrained and/or active biases that are found on a serious level in the United States healthcare and justice systems. One of the reasons I’m leaning toward legal interpretation is because I would love to be employed by an organization that protects immigrants from being exploited or abused by our current administration. And that’s so much easier to do when you have bilingual representation to fight with you for your rights.

So, that’s a little background on what I’m specifically studying and fighting for. Here are just a few quick bullets that I always tell people when talking about linguistic discrimination and our role in it.

On a large scale, you can:

Go into a career like mine (law, interpretation, translation, etc) that focuses on combating it.

Support political campaigns and anti-discrimination bill campaigns by volunteering your time to organizations like the ACLU (American Civil Liberties Union) and RAICES (Refugee And Immigrant Center for Education and legal Services)

SPEAKING OF WHICH, if you’re like me and you use Lyft, you can donate to RAICES with each Lyft Ride. They’ll round up to the nearest dollar on your fee and donate that extra. All you have to do is go to the app and opt in under “Donate.”

Attend conferences, meetings, workshops, and rallies that center around this topic and intersecting ones that you may be interested in.

Volunteer your time to places like housing projects. This is something that I’m on an email/calling list to do. Specifically for me, it’s the Boston Housing Authority, and their volunteers send in a resume, state which languages they have high proficiency in (mine is currently only Spanish) and then attend a training to understand how to do it accurately and with cultural sensitivity. It’s great practice if you need to polish your language skills, are planning to go into a career like mine, or want to use highly-specialized vocabulary. I’ve had to pick up a lot of words that have to do with landlords, rent, housing laws, etc. A lot of the people serviced by the BHA are immigrants or non-native speakers and struggle with things such as reading official letters or making appointments with native English speakers. When they struggle to do this, they’re more likely to get taken advantage of by landlords, evicted unfairly, or mistreated.

Support (through volunteering, donating, etc) indigenous or indigenous-helping groups that combat issues ranging from seizure of land in the Amazon to indigenous groups working on their terms to preserve/revitalize their language(s). It’s really easy for indigenous voices to  

On a small (but equally important) scale, you can:

Call out linguistic discrimination that you see, such as people denying individuals service based on hearing them speak in another language, or unnecessarily bothering them in public. Whenever possible, take video of the incident.

Have polite and informed discussions with people who want to know more about it or might not understand why it’s a problem. This is particularly important to have with kids, and while I was volunteering/teaching Hebrew I made sure that it was integrated into the lessons.

Remain informed on cases involving linguistic discrimination.

Call your representatives when cases come up concerning linguistic discrimination or immigration policy.

Vote for representatives who believe in acceptance and equality for people who come from different backgrounds/languages. 

Boycott/denounce companies and organizations that improperly handle workplace/customer discrimination or instigate it themselves.

Follow native speakers, particularly indigenous individuals and/or minority language speakers, as well as linguistic/social activists and journalists/academics, on your social media feeds (my preferred one to check is Twitter) for updates and opinions on issues that may help you get more informed outside of a classroom/professorial setting.

Be aware of the kinds of resources you should reach out to (administration, superiors, HR, etc) should you find yourself experiencing or watching someone experience linguistic discrimination.

Disclaimer: before stepping into any confrontations, make sure you assess the danger of the situation (this where it’s really good to go to trainings to learn how to handle these kinds of situations). Your goal is to always de-escalate and make the person being discriminated against safer, as well as of course keeping yourself safe too. If there’s violence or anyone is in immediate danger, call the authorities and document whatever you can safely. I’ve only ever seen people being verbally abused for their use of their language(s), but it’s a scary world out there right now.

Overall, it’s really important to remember that this kind of discrimination does not exist in a vacuum and almost always has ties/roots in other forms of discrimination and racism. While it may seem like you’re only doing something small by stepping into and diffusing confrontation/condemning discrimination, you’re having a ripple effect that lets people who linguistically discriminate know that they should be ashamed of their words/actions. 

ALSO, friendly reminder that people who discriminate/harass someone for speaking in another language, having an accent, etc, are not entitled to be put up with due to free speech. That isn’t what it means.

A couple more resources on language discrimination in the workplace:

Language Discrimination & Workplace Fairness

Legal Aid at Work

World Language Education: Preventing Linguistic Discrimination

THIS IS BY NO MEANS ALL-ENCOMPASSING! It is also fed by the researched but incomplete knowledge I have on the subject as a non-expert and a student who is aspiring to meet these kinds of goals. Because I’m a student, I’m always learning, and that means growth must sometimes take the place of changing things I thought I knew and admitting mistakes. 

If you have anything else you want to add to this, please feel free to message me or reply/reblog. 

If you see any inaccuracies, incomplete information, or other concerns/issues with what I’ve written here, please take the time to contact me and educate me! 

I hope this is a good answer and satisfactorily answered your question, @stressfulsemantics ? Please feel free to ask any follow-up or message me for anything you may need!

[crimethinc]

Storming the Gates: The New Wave of Frontal Attacks on Prisons, Jails, and Detention Centers

In response to a viral video prisoners released detailing moldy conditions inside of the Dekalb County Jail, fifty people flooded the jail in Atlanta, Georgia, on April 12, 2019, clashing with correctional officers and setting off smoke bombs inside the jail and fireworks outside it. The following month, a group twice as large marched to the jail, facing down over 100 police officers. Prisoners smashed the windows in their cells in order to communicate directly with the protesters outside. Smaller actions at the jail and outreach to the families and friends of inmates are ongoing, exerting pressure on the administrators, who have stopped commenting to the news, and contributing to a growing tide of anger against the facility. This is just the latest flare-up in a nationwide wave of struggles against jails, prisons, and other detention facilities from outside as well as within. In the following text, we review some of the highlights of these struggles, address why they are so pressing today, and discuss the necessity of an emancipatory politics that opposes both traditional means of incarceration and the alternative forms of control that are emerging from the restructuring of prisons, jails, and borders.

The Dekalb County Jail in Atlanta, Georgia.

Timeline of Resistance

Let’s start by reviewing recent rebellions against carceral infrastructure from outside the walls. When we understand the following events as a constellation, it appears that a new strategic perception is developing across the United States. This list leaves out the countless beautiful and dignified acts of rebellion taken by prisoners or detainees directly—from individual subversion to coordinated nationwide strikes—in jails, migrant detention centers, prisons, juvenile holding facilities, and involuntary in-patient medical institutions; it also does not include individual acts of sabotage. You can find more information on such actions here.

July 21, 2017 - St. Louis: When the air conditioning was cut off in the St. Louis County Workhouse, temperatures rose to 108 degrees. Prisoners reached out for help; some could be heard desperately shouting from their windows. When protesters arrived, including anarchists and others close to those who were incarcerated inside the facility, some people in the crowd attempted to tear down the outside fencing of the jail, pulling one section entirely out of the ground.

June 17, 2018 - Portland: When Stephen Miller’s family-separation policy for undocumented migrants became a public scandal, a small number of anarchists initiated an encampment in the doorway of the Oregon headquarters of US Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE), in Portland. Later, more people arrived and blocked ICE employees from exiting for a full night. Eventually, hundreds joined the encampment, facing down repeated police attacks despite promises from the Mayor that they would be permitted to protest there.

July 2018 - Nationwide: Occupy ICE blockades, encampments, and protests spread to facilities in Tacoma, Olympia, San Antonio, San Francisco, Charlotte, Los Angeles, Louisville, Atlanta, Philadelphia, Tampa, Sacramento, New York, and elsewhere nationwide. In Lincoln, Nebraska, courageous individuals smashed windows out of the Republican Party headquarters and painted “Abolish ICE” outside of it. At some encampments, clashes broke out between protesters and police; elsewhere, fascists attacked the demonstrators. The encampments in Los Angeles and Philadelphia drew massive support, including widespread participation by the homeless. In multiple cities, liberal mayors paid lip service to the demands of the movement. Even celebrity politician Alexandria Ocasio-Cortes adopted its slogans, albeit watering them down. In some cases, city contracts with ICE were nullified completely.

Nebraska: A smashed window at the Republican Party headquarters, with “Abolish ICE” spray-painted on the sidewalk.

February 3, 2019 - Brooklyn: The electricity at Metropolitan Detention Center (MDC) in Brooklyn, New York was partially shut off, disabling the heat. Inside the facility, temperatures plunged to 49 degrees. In response, a determined crowd forced its way into the atrium of the facility and clashed with police. The following day, lines of anti-riot police surrounded the MDC to keep protesters and journalists out. Electricity and heat were soon returned to the entire facility.

Demonstrators at the Metropolitan Detention Center in Brooklyn.

April 12, 2019 - Atlanta: After inmates released a viral video decrying moldy food at the Dekalb County Jail, inside the perimeter of Atlanta, 50 protesters forced their way into the atrium of the jail, many of them masked, and clashed with police outside, throwing firecrackers, smoke bombs, and traffic cones while spray-painting the outer veneer. Police made multiple arrests, but demonstrators surrounded their vehicles, temporarily preventing them from conveying arrestees through the hostile crowd.

May 15, 2019 - Atlanta: Following the melee in April, a larger crowd blocked Memorial Drive, a major east-west artery outside the Dekalb County Jail. Inmates smashed over a dozen windows in three different buildings and shouted out of their windows to protesters below, who were able to communicate with them via megaphone. Around 100 police officers from multiple jurisdictions formed cordons, also blocking on-ramps to the highway next to the jail. Police attacked protesters, who defended themselves, resulting in only three arrests.

May 16, 2019 - Atlanta: A 40-person march with an armed escort marched to the jail again, forcing the police to mobilize 100 officers once more. Inmates banged loudly on the windows. Because of the previous day’s actions, inmates were able to call local prison abolitionist groups who had left their information on the sidewalks in chalk. The facility later blocked the phone number, but a new one was circulated among prisoners via word of mouth. A week later, the jail administration blocked all of the exterior windows of the facility, while prisoners continued to report abuses to local abolitionists outside. During the May 16 protest, the mother of Damien Christopher Boyd spoke on the news about the death of her son in Dekalb County Jail in 2018. Via telephone, prisoners detailed other unreported deaths in the facility.

Tearing down the fence outside the Workhouse in St. Louis, Missouri.

Confronting the Carceral Future

Culling the laboring classes in ritualized cycles of warfare and internal violence is one of the original mainstays of statecraft. Prison and deportation also serve as ways to control the population of those the market deems expendable—what some economists call the “surplus population.” Historically, the incarceration and deportation of a particular demographic have died down whenever a role opened up for it in the market—for example, the Chinese immigrants who built railroads across the US in the 19th century—and escalated as soon as that market niche contracted.

In the period of urban de-industrialization that started in the 1970s, black workers were laid off from factories and firms across the rust-belt via “last hired, first fired” policies. Automation and global outsourcing emptied urban centers and rural resource extraction zones of their working populace. At the same time, the “War on Drugs” served as an excuse to imprison millions just as they were losing their jobs and, in some cases, resorting to illegal forms of commerce to make ends meet.

Since the 1970s, workers have poured into clerical and service-sector industries as manufacturing, logistics, and other heavy industries have automated, replacing large segments of the workforce with machines. Now, those service and clerical jobs are being restructured, as firms such as Amazon and Uber develop cost-cutting logistics and artificial intelligence to reduce their reliance on human labor. If the role of prisons is to facilitate the management of unemployed and “undesirable” populations—including the racialized, neurologically atypical, and otherwise criminalized—then we can be sure that mass automation, austerity measures, and layoffs will dramatically increase the number of prisoners.

Prisoners call out to demonstrators from within the Workhouse in St. Louis, Missouri.

At the same time, thanks to the introduction of various “smart” devices, more and more of our activities are becoming unwaged work, yielding considerable profits for the techno-capitalists while enabling unprecedented surveillance. Just as unwaged labor has profilerated, the disciplinary logic of the factory is penetrating our “leisure time” as well. In the future, it will be less and less necessary to pay us for the labor that keeps the system running, and each of us will be more and more expendable in the eyes of the market.

This is why everyone has a stake in opposing the development of carceral technologies and infrastructure. A system of government dedicated to securing wealth and power for a few, regardless of the consequences for the vast majority of human beings and other life forms, requires the constant pre-emptive militarization of space, the suppression of all forms of participatory resistance, and the balkanization of the population into rival groups in segregated zones, each with its own localized system of control. If we wish to be free—or simply to survive—we need to normalize resistance to this on every level. We have to fight the logic, the technology, and the physical infrastructure and facilities of incarceration.

Today, Trump’s racist call to “build the wall” is the latest discourse to legitimize the continued militarization of police around the country and expanded coordination with foreign law enforcement. In cities and along the borders, the military technologies first deployed throughout the Middle East and North Africa are appearing in “peacekeeping operations” against the poor and desperate. Technology firms are developing facial recognition infrastructures, predictive analytics, tracking service, and drone surveillance tools that will be used—not coincidentally—to facilitate both commerce and repression. In the same way that weapons designed for warfare are being used in a time of “peace,” technologies designed for trade are proving useful to carceral contractors.

Migrants in a US detention facility. What is done to the least of us today will be done to the rest of us tomorrow.

Occupy ICE in Portland.

“Just as it has been necessary to deploy troops around the world to secure the raw materials that keep the economy afloat, it is becoming necessary to deploy troops in the US to preserve the unequal distribution of resources at home. Just as the austerity measures pioneered by the IMF in Africa, Asia, and South America are appearing in the wealthiest nations of the first world, the techniques of threat management and counter-insurgency that were debuted against Palestinians, Afghanis, and Iraqis are now being turned against the populations of the countries that invaded them. Private military contactors who operated in Peshawar are now working in Ferguson, alongside tanks that rolled through Baghdad. For the time being, this is limited to the poorest, blackest neighborhoods; but what seems exceptional in Ferguson today will be commonplace around the country tomorrow.”

-The Thin Blue Line is a Burning Fuse

From the burning hills of Los Angeles and the hurricane-ravaged cities of the Gulf to the flooded neighborhoods of Jakarta, the disasters wrought by climate change will continue to trigger mass human migration at an unprecedented scale. In the decades to come, some nations may collapse as a consequence of mass migratory flight and nativist violence. Elsewhere, technology firms, xenophobic militias, and police forces will work together in hopes of facilitating the swift transfer of refugees through the country, containing them in sophisticated carceral environments, and transforming all urban space into a highly repressive terrain—and sometimes slaughtering them en masse. New markets will emerge in weapons and remediation as corporations cash in on disasters. The overwhelming majority of those industries will require very few workers; they will rely largely on robotics, forced prison labor, information gathering, and artificial intelligence.

A billboard in Louisville, Kentucky.

Occupy ICE, San Francisco.

We can already see signs of this future today. As the overall population of federal prisoners begins to wane, the number of people locked in county jails and migrant detention facilities is increasing, as is the number of people subject to punitive forms of supervision such as probation, pre-trial diversion, house arrest, and drug court. Technology firms such as Securus and Global TelLink are already making profiles and permanent accounts not only for inmates who use their services to call family and lawyers, but also for those on the outside who receive the calls—logging and storing audio files, card information, and phone numbers.

Soon, we will have to expand bail funds to cover arrest and probation fees. Noise demonstrations outside of jails and prisons may be replaced by vigils outside of the homes of those who are trapped inside them as a cost-cutting practice by the state, so the government will no longer be responsible for housing, feeding, or providing healthcare to those caught in the system?

A reworked quotation from Thomas Hobbes on a banner at a demonstration against the Dekalb County jail in Atlanta. Hobbes imagined life was hard in the stateless conditions of wild nature, but we know it to be hard indeed in the era of the police state.

When I saw the video from inside the Dekalb jail, I knew we would have to respond. I myself have been imprisoned in this jail, with its wet walls and moldy food, and so had many of my friends. In my case, I was in a car stopped on account of an automated license plate scanner affixed to the back of a police cruiser; they took me in for a “failure to appear” for a traffic citation. I wasn’t even the driver of the car.

Around me, our small crowd had donned masks and were preparing to storm into the facility by any means necessary. This time, the Correctional Officers were the ones backing up in confusion, taken by surprise by the growing rage against them and the suffering they administer. We entered the building. A trash can crashed through the metal detector; drums reverberated off of the walls around me. The element of surprise is exactly what all of their tools and technologies are designed to prevent. There weren’t many of us, only a few dozen, but we were determined. At that moment, we had gained the upper hand. We knew we could not keep it for long, but we were going to make the most of the time we had.

An Emerging Strategy: Frontal Attack, Complete Refusal

Since 2010, a prisoner-led movement has spread throughout the United States. In December 2010, thousands of prisoners throughout Georgia used smuggled cell phones to coordinate work stoppages and hunger strikes with almost no outside support. The Pelican Bay hunger strike of 2011 drew the support of anti-prison groups throughout the Bay, especially anarchists. Over the following years, smaller strikes and protests occurred in North Carolina, in Florida, in Indiana, and elsewhere.

After the uprising in Ferguson, Missouri in 2014, prisoner struggles became more militant around the country. In Alabama, at the Holman Correctional Facility, C-block prisoners have repeatedly ambushed and overpowered guards and engaged in mass actions and strikes. In 2016, a nationwide prison strike grabbed national headlines as prisoners across the country refused forced labor. During the strike, rebellion, rioting, and arson broke out in multiple facilities around the South. Strikes and other acts of resistance have become normal at facilities across the US; another nationwide strike took place in 2018.

The determination to resist debasing conditions in jails, prisons, juvenile detention centers, and migrant holding facilities is growing across the country, as is outside support for those activities. It is especially inspiring to see combative outside actions accompanying prisoner rebellions. Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, the cartographer of the gulags, wrote in the third volume of The Gulag Archipelago that such outside actions would have made all the difference for prisoners struggling against the total repression that prevailed under Stalin’s regime.

At the dawn of a new carceral century, this couldn’t come too soon.

Demonstrators confront uniformed mercenaries outside the Workhouse in St. Louis. Missouri.

If we don’t succeed in changing the course of history, tomorrow’s freedom will look like the probation of today. From the ways that our smartphones track our movements to the new round of anti-abortion laws threatening reproductive autonomy in the Southern US, the matrix of repression is penetrating ever deeper into our lives.

Some well-meaning prison reformers will unwittingly play into carceral discourse by demanding early-release programs and the like. If these are granted, it will be on the condition of increased surveillance at home, the suspension of the Fourth Amendment rights, reduced freedom of movement, exile, anti-association clauses, ankle monitor tracking, fees and fines. Our opponents will not hesitate to import repressive tools and techniques from loss-prevention firms, from fraud-detection alert systems, from anti-graffiti legislature, from any area, army, country, government, or firm they can find—nor will arms manufacturers or firms that produce censorship technology turn down new markets.

The weapons that are used against those who are lower on the social hierarchy today will eventually be turned against nearly everyone. This is why we must not prioritize the freedom of some over the freedom of others, by defining some as “innocent” or “nonviolent offenders.”

Alongside the immediate physical destruction of all carceral facilities, we should advocate and fight only for unconditional early release, the reduction of sentences, earlier termination of probation, and guaranteed access to parole. We must oppose the proliferation of tracking devices and coercive technological identification on every front, while normalizing and defending practices that preserve anonymity.

Above all, we have to completely discredit the discourse that legitimizes punishment and control of any form, so that struggles against existing jails and prisons do not simply provide cover for the authorities to extend new oppressive measures into the so-called free world in the guise of humanitarian and economical pragmatism. To this end, we should also be experimenting with transformative methods of conflict resolution that leave no space for coercive institutions of any kind.

As we were marching up, a traffic jam piling up behind our banners, police already forming lines to confront us, inmates in the jail began to smash their windows up above us. We could see the glass crack and shatter—first in one building, then another, then another. We held our position, blocking the street below as police grabbed and shoved the people in our front line, slamming them to the ground. A few bottles flew over my head, but mostly we just held on to one another tightly. I knew they could not arrest all of us, however hard they tried. The solidarity of our crowd was too great; I was being embraced by people on every side, just as I held them in turn. In refusing to unblock the streets, we had preserved the publicity of our action: a line of commuters was watching from their cars, filming the police, and occasionally expressing solidarity with us.

Inmates were yelling down to us for help, shouting that they were being pepper-sprayed. Rarely have our struggles intersected so viscerally. Imagine if the walls themselves were smashed, instead of simply the windows?

Demonstrators outside the Workhouse in St. Louis. Missouri.

Against All Authority—Against All Confinement

The time is ripe for mass struggles against confinement. Already, protests against ICE have drawn popular support. Even Republican Senators acknowledge that prisons are overcrowded, if only to justify increased funding. In terms of both carrying capacity and perceived legitimacy, the carceral system is nearing a breaking point. Carceral reformists hope to use this opportunity to introduce adjustments that will stabilize the regimes of confinement and control for another century. But at this juncture, inspiring actions could catalyze a confrontational movement that pushes for abolition rather than reform.

Many contemporary struggles take on ideological opponents, such as fascists and other white supremacists, or political leaders and legislation. These limited points of intervention rarely facilitate the emergence of long-lasting and uncompromising movements. But the struggle against incarceration is no single-issue campaign. It offers a point of departure for a movement that could span from resisting borders and migrant detention facilities to opposing juvenile holding facilities, police weaponry manufacturers, city jails, forced work arrangements, companies that profit on incarceration, and the police and courts themselves.

In a world that is continuously rearranged to foreclose the possibility of unforeseen developments and unanticipated encounters, the struggle against incarceration is also a struggle against the contemporary organization of our lives. This particular element of governance is absolutely necessary to the functioning of the system, yet large sections of the populace hate it.

It remains only to demonstrate that together, we can do something about it.

Chants could be heard from inside the prison: “Help, help!”—“Unclean Water!”—“Let us out!”—“Shut It Down!” Inmates put their arms through the grates and twirled towels, spreading a banner between two windows reading “HELP!” At one point, we could hear the inmates singing. The words were indecipherable; we could only make out a beautiful, low, melancholy harmony.

Three hundred hundred strong, we advanced, creating a cacophony with pots, pans, air horns, and bells, the front line of the march attacking the fence itself, shaking the outer ring and removing the clasps that adhered it to the poles. Several people took advantage of the gap under the fence to crawl underneath it, scale the second fence, and shout to inmates, before climbing down and scurrying back under to avoid arrest.

The police begin to form lines between the workhouse and us. They know that we won’t stop at ripping down the fence, that when we get the opportunity, we’ll rip the whole place apart, brick by brick.

Sooner or later, all walls fall.

Further Reading and Viewing

Taking a Global View of Repression

A Crime Called Freedom, Os Cangaceiros

Carceral Capitalism, Jackie Wang

Locked Up, Alfredo Bonanno

Discourse on Colonialism, Aime Cesaire

Inside-Out—Sub.Media

[feministicfellowship]

Feminism on Popular Culture: “Place + Gender” Terminology Phenomenon

The socio-political climate of Hong Kong is escalating by the day.  The increasing political demands are not the only thing that arise in the social movement.  One thing that surprised me is the transformation in society's perception of girls in Hong Kong.  Popular culture has named them  "Kong Girls"(港女).  The term typically depicts girls as materialistic, egotistic and carries the "Princess Syndrome" (公主病) ¹.  Yet now, society sees them as brave, flexible and altruistic.  Today, I would like to address the root source of this "place + gender" terminology and its increasing appearance.

Under the influences of popular cultures arisen from social media or the Internet, we often find ourselves stereotyping types of events and even persons.  "Kong Girls" is the product of this phenomenon.  The slang "Kong Girls" is commonly used to describe the qualities affiliated to the said gender.  Such terminology imposes a great deal of generalisation and oversimplification of genders.

To further illustrate the stereotypes, I would like to give an example in Taiwan.  With the legalisation of same-sex marriage since 2019, Taiwan has become one of the most liberated Asian countries.  Yet, the popular culture of this "treasure island" still shares "place + gender" terminology through the characterising "Tai Girls" (台女).

Upon further research, "Tai Girls" implies much more than I initially surmised.  It's hard to sum up the whole development of the term so I will address its implicit meaning.  "Tai Girls" can imply Taiwanese girls who fantasise about being a "sugar baby" ² in a heterosexual relationship.  To put it straight, this refers to Taiwanese girls who expect males to pay for everything, ranging from meals to jewellery.  "Princess Syndrome", as mentioned, is one of the dominant traits of "Kong Girls".  It also forms a significant part of the "Tai Girls" definitions.  Another term that is closely correlated with the slang is "Feminism Buffet" (女權自助餐), which means girls who take the emancipation of female power for granted.  Both terms signify females who disregard responsibilities under gender equality.  They often reject facing the same consequences as the other gender in the circumstances surrounding as laws and orders, sexual harassment, etc.

"Kong Girls", or now "Tai Girls", are nuisances to females since they often bear a negative impression towards the gender of a particular region.  Coincidentally, males have been the creator of both slangs.  You could say this is the retaliation of their bad experiences with women.  However, placing a negative stigmatising label shows women's stake since the 20th century.  As suggested by Simone de Beauvoir, one of the forerunners of feminism, women are often the ‘negative’, or the ‘other’ sex.  The terminology in discussion contrives a relatively curbed social construct for women and creates a dichotomous view on gender with only males and females.  The term alienates and generalises females from a particular place by adding derogatory meaning to it.  People then use the terms as a synonym for a recurring abhorrent impression, which categorises how women originated from an area act and associate them with unpleasant traits and perceptions.

However, stigmatisation also happens among Taiwanese boys. The term "Tai Boys" (台男) came from a social issue about a male murderer.  It generalises Taiwanese men who fantasise over the idea of marrying an obedient, domesticated and submissive wife.  This terminology, on the other hand, accurately sums up how de Beauvoir sees men think under patriarchy.  Furthermore, we can notice how these terminologies usually derive from the encounters of unhealthy relationships.  This can be the real-life example of what compulsory heterosexuality is, an idea suggested by Adrienne Rich, one of the famous American feminists.  The phenomenon rejects the acknowledgment of women who identify themselves with other sexualities.

All of these keep me wondering: why are there no such expressions as "Patriarchal Buffet"?  Are the 'women as other' theory still haunting us till this modern age?  Hasn’t this "place + gender" terminology in the other way round exacerbated the social interactions between genders?  You can see that frankly, the definitions have no cultural or historical references towards the locality part of the slangs. Therefore, rather than stereotyping the specific traits of one gender from a place, shouldn’t we just keep these terms as neutral as they were literally?

Seeing people in my community celebrating over the “positive liberation” of the term "Kong Girls" saddens me.  Such changes of implied definition also raise questions on whether this name-calling culture of gender from a particular region is needed.  It is time to acknowledge the versatility of people and see each person as presented before our eyes.  We have to get rid of these “place + gender” terminology once and for all.  

Key:

¹ “Princess Syndrome”: girls who believe they must be treated the best with everything from their male partners

² “sugar baby”: person receiving material or financial benefits in exchange for company to another person

Reference: de Beauvoir, Simone. “Second Sex.” The Essential Feminist Reader, edited by Estelle B. Freedman, Modern Library, 2007, pp. 251-262. Rich, Adrienne. “Compulsory Heterosexuality and Lesbian Existence.” Signs, Vol. 5, No. 4, Women: Sex and Sexuality (Summer, 1980), pp. 631-660

[whatdoyouexpectthistime]

Blood Spatter - Part 8

Part 1 : Part 2 : Part 3 : Part 4: Part 5 : Part 6 : Part 7

________________________________

It’s with both joy and dread I approach the exterior of Pale. Jazz on one side and that pathetic excuse for a vampire on the other, I should feel at least half way supported, but the fact is I’m heading into the storm otherwise known as Sebastian.

Knowing all I do now, this will be far from smooth sailing.

“Relax,” Kiril instructs.

In my peripheral vision I see his hand lift like he might have placed it against me, but it drops to his side again.

“Just shut up and make sure you don’t aggravate him,” I drop flatly, side-stepping a little closer to Jazz.

“My very presence aggravates him,” he points out, and I hardly disagree.

“There’s a bit of that going around,” I grate, and Jazz takes my hand.

“Don’t leave my sight,” he volleys coldly, and at this I stop and look at him.

“I am not your pet,” I tell him sternly. “And since you made it perfectly clear I’m not girlfriend material, you’re only my shadow for as long as it takes to break this spell – then, you can rid yourself of any concern of me.”

“Twenty minutes and you are tearing at your skin like a deranged junkie,” he points out, and while he’s right, it doesn’t excuse giving me orders, nor the tone in which they are issued.

“Just sit your ass in a booth and don’t move,” I tell him. “I have a business to run and I don’t need a supervisor.”

“Jazz?” a female voice inquires, and all eyes turn to where Selina has come out to open the club’s front doors. “Jazz and Miho! You found her!”

The young woman’s excitement is palpable, though in honesty we don’t know each other well. I can only think it’s transference: Sebastian’s constant worry.

“Yep, found her,” I confirm, linking arms with Jazz and approaching with a smile.

“Seb’s going to be thrilled,” Selina grins, holding the door open for us, and her smile only widens as she spies Kiril who follows in our wake.

All the scents, the sounds of Pale wakening in the evening, serve as a momentary distraction from the impending clash I anticipate. Sebastian will be glad to see both me and Jazz, but not the one stalking my trail. Luckily, there are no patrons.

And that is even before our regular employees demand explanations, or at the very least a recount of our ‘holiday’.

If I don’t take control, I just know I’m going to end up repeating myself a thousand times, and I want our return to be a celebration, not the continuation of a particularly challenging day.

Of course, Sebastian demands the full force of my attention the moment he lays eyes upon me, even more so when Kiril makes a point of standing close at my shoulder, but the rise of my hand calls everyone gathered to silence.

“We’re back, thanks for your patience and the warm welcome,” I declare, and the smile on my lips is genuine.

It feels odd.

Yet a bit sad.

“No doubt Mieke and Sebastian – along with all of you - have done an excellent job in our absence, and for that Jazz and I are both thankful,” I continue, avoiding Sebastian’s gaze altogether, because in them I know there are questions I shall not answer here.

Well wishes and a little bit of jealousy precedes my path upstairs – how lucky Jazz was to win a vacation; how glad they all are we’re back and all is explained – but the moment Sebastian closes the office door it’s like a guillotine beheads the joyful atmosphere.

It rolls across the floor and comes to a stop at my feet.

“Lottery vacation? That’s the best story you could concoct?” Sebastian scoffs.

Clearly, he’s having difficulty deciding who to glare at because his stare dances between Kiril and me. Jazz seems to be spared his ire.

“Not everyone needs to know the ins and outs of our personal lives,” I point out, trying to keep the irritation from spilling out; it is – after all – not all on account of him.

“I’m not everyone,” he counters quickly, finger-pointing in a stabbing gesture. “And I know who he is, and his persisting presence here is not only bad for business, he’s bad for you.”

“You are welcome for my assistance in the safe return for your friend,” Kiril pipes up, and it’s obvious he’s doing it to add fuel to the fire.

“Were it not for you and yours no doubt she’d not have needed saving in the first place!” Sebastian blurts.

Immediately I can see him calculating ways to explain what he means without revealing the truth.

“And, pray tell, what are me and mine?” Kiril drawls, approaching the other man until I hold my arm out to stop him.

“Ruthlessness,” Sebastian spits. “Dangerous, provocative manipulators who get what they want at the expense of others – you’re not wanted nor welcome here so take your…”

“The invitation of Miho and Jazz would suggest otherwise,” Kiril notes airily, not attempting to force his way through my flimsy barricade.

He’s getting what he wants.

Again.

“Stop it, Kiril,” I snap, giving him an ineffectual shove.

“Stop what, Sparrow?” he smiles infuriatingly.

This time the shot is at me, a bullet with a message on it aimed at centre mass; Sparrow may have begun as some teasing term of endearment, but now it sounds like a way for him to disconnect.

“Look, Sebastian,” I level, trying to keep my calm, trying not to sound condescending. “I know you don’t like the guy, but for the time being he’ll be hanging around.”

“Why?” Sebastian challenges, shifting his feet.

Obviously, his anger is riled by this. The suspicion in his eyes begins to burn.

“What did you do?” he hisses at Kiril, his fists clenching in warning a physical confrontation might be imminent.

“Other than offer my wealth and resources to find Miss Mann? Nothing,” Kiril answers glibly, even though that isn’t entirely the truth.

“Miho,” Sebastian prompts, sliding forward and slipping his fingers against my throat, tucking his palm against the underside of my chin.

The slight pressure he exerts there tells me he’s looking for something very particular.

“What are y…” I begin, but he stumbles away before I can finish thanks to the solid shove Kiril applies to his chest.

A rush of joy floods my system but is quickly dampened by the reality that Sebastian now looks ready to throw punches.

“Stop it!” I shout, planting myself between them. “Enough of this school yard bullshit, just calm the fuck down!”

Glowering fiercely between the two men, I can only pray they don’t push back. Knowing what I do of them both, it’s unlikely I could stop a brawl. Luckily, I’m not on my own.

Jazz finally leaves the window she’d been staring out of and comes to stand a little way in front of me.

“And what have you got to say for yourself?” Sebastian charges.

“You were worried, and I’m sorry for that,” Jazz says slowly, attempting to de-escalate the situation. “And I’m sorry for putting you and Miho in a tough spot…”

“I’m more concerned about the ‘tough spot’ Konstantin Lambert has put you in,” he volleys, his voice low, “and whether Miho was actually able to save you at all.”

“From?” Jazz exhales in exasperation, but Sebastian calls her bluff.

“You think I don’t know a fledgling vampire when I see one?” he barks, and this rhetorical question hangs sharply in the air, a neon sign advertising the blood-sucking cat is out of the bag.

“Maybe I thought you’d be able to put our friendship before the secrets you’ve been keeping!” she snaps back, all calm eluding her.

“If only I could find a way to commercialise this drama,” Kiril thinks aloud, and all eyes fix on him.

“I’d like you and Jazz to give Sebastian and me a chance to talk in private,” I declare firmly, anxious Jazz’s temper might boil over into something else. “We’re not making any progress like this.”

“If Mr. Ross can be trusted alone in your presence,” Kiril baits, amused.

“Get out,” I direct curtly, pointing in the direction Jazz has already stomped. “Do your job and keep an eye on her.”

Surprisingly, Kiril offers no further barbs and even shuts the door gently behind him.

A new silence suffocates the room, until Sebastian asks the question he has wanted to since the moment he saw me return with Kiril.

“Did he turn you?”

“No,” I reply honestly. “And he never tried, despite having every opportunity to do so.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean why, Sebastian?” I scowl, spreading my hands. “And what’s with the accusatory tone, huh? If anyone should be pissed off she was literally left in the dark about vampires, it should be me!”

“So, I should have just shown up for shift one night and said, ‘Oh hey, Miho, did you know half a dozen vampires are regulars at Pale?’ Ironic, right?” he drops sardonically. “I’m sure you’d have believed me.”

“You don’t know what I’d have accepted,” I hiss, beginning to pace. “We’ve been friends for how long? Were intimate how long? And you’ve known about vampires, for how long? No, let me answer that – long enough to find a way to convince me!”

The end of my exclamation is punctuated by the dramatic throw of my hands into the air.

“So, what about how you came upon this knowledge in the first place?” I grunt breathily, hands moving to hips, eyebrows raised.

His lips part, but when no sound emerges for several seconds I go back on the attack.

“It’s a pretty simple question, Sebastian,” I prompt. “All other things on the table…”

That’s a lie.

“It’s in my blood,” he replies finally.

“What is?” I push.

“I’m a hunter,” he admits finally, and I have to think Kiril had known this and chosen not to tell me.

“Explain,” I huff, and Sebastian sighs, running a hand over his face as if in fatigue.

“It’s an inherited thing, very old in its origin,” he expounds. “Hunters are, or were, monster slayers, tracking and destroying creatures that prey upon humans.”

“Were?”

“Things are far more complicated, political now,” he elaborates. “It’s different all over the world, but here in the U.K. the governing hunter body and the vampire leadership have a treaty in place that restricts the activities of both sides, providing rules are upheld by both sides.”

For a moment, I process this.

“No harming humans? No staking vampires at will?” I pose, and he confirms this with a nod. “So you take orders from this ‘governing body’?”

“Uhm, not exactly,” he reveals awkwardly.

“Explain,” I say for the second time.

“Like every organisation it has a mission statement, goals and practices, and after many years in services to questionable ideals, I decided to extricate myself.”

“So you’re a lone wolf,” I surmise. “What is it that you disagree with so much?”

“It’s complicated,” he answered, the same answer for the second time.

“Look, I’ll tell you everything you want to know,” he continues. “But right now I’d like to discuss Jazz.”

“She’s not for hunting,” I assert defensively.

It’s a knee-jerk reaction I can’t help.

“No, no - Jesus, Miho, of course not,” he rushes. “But she is a vampire, yes? Which one was it?”

Forcing my muscles to relax, I respond.

“Konstantin,” I disclose. “She - they - swear it was a mutual decision.”

“And how much do you know about them? The Lamberts?”

“Enough to know Jazz is in deep shit if Konrad ever finds out,” I mutter, finally turning away from him with a heavy sigh.

“And you…” he impresses. “Which is why…”

“I should stay away from Kiril Lambert?” I pre-empt. “Yeah, well, it’s complicated.”

Yeah, how do you like a taste of your own evasive medicine?

It’s with this thought I realise how pointlessly adversarial this conversation has been. Yes, I’m angry he didn’t tell me about the vampires. Yes, that he is a hunter like Kiril says I am, adds one more layer of complexity to the situation I’m stuck in, but making an enemy out of Sebastian isn’t going to help me in any way.

So, I try to let it go.

“Look, Konstantin needs to focus on keeping his father happy, so for the time Kiril has taken on the role of mentor for Jazz,” I tell him, moving to the window to look down into the club.

Below, Jazz is chatting at the bar with a couple of customers. She looks happy, smiling and laughing, and for a moment I can almost forget the mess we’re in.

“I’m not blind,” Sebastian exhales, close behind me. “Lambert looks at you like an object in his collection, a possession.”

Before responding, I scan for the object of Sebastian’s ire. There Kiril sits in a booth - he is not alone. Like a flame he’s drawn beautiful moths to him, women with long legs and commercially perfect bodies, pouty lips and swaying hips.

My teeth clench against the jealousy that raises my temperature.

“And that look on your face…” Sebastian adds.

“It’s disdain,” I fill in. “I know what he is. I know what he does, and I know the dangers. But for now, until Jazz is fully capable of functioning as a vampire without hurting anyone, Kiril is a necessary evil.”

“I’m sorry, okay?” he whispers, his hand coming to rest in the small of my back. “Everything I’ve done has been to try and protect you, even though it may not seem like it.”

“Yeah, I know,” I murmur, quashing the urge to throw him off. “I just want to get back to some semblance of normal.”

But the fact is, normal has been redefined. There is no going back to ‘what was’.

Sebastian is caught between giving me space and wanting to hover, and I feel as if he notices my every glance at Kiril and his bevy of bimbos. Each time, his worry deepens, his hate congeals, but there is nothing I can do about it.

“Hey!” Selina chirps, plopping down on the barstool at my right elbow. “You’ll get wrinkles if you keep frowning like that.”

“Wrinkles are the least of my worries,” I chuckle, swinging around to face her. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Having an open bar is awesome,” she grins, her cheeks flushed with a few too many drinks; I’m surprised she isn’t slurring.

“Don’t drink me out of club and home,” I say, envious of the innocence in her expression. “You want to remember your time here.”

“I know, I will,” she nods. “Remember, not drink too much,” she adds, giggling intermittently. “But what I really want to know is what the deal is between you and Hottie Mc Armani-pants over there.”

Hopefully, Kiril didn’t hear that.

“Don’t make that face,” she pokes, attempting to squish my cheek, but missing by a comfortable margin. “You and he have been making bedroom eyes at each other since you came down.”

There is a denial on my lips, but she’s probably right.

Despite his rejection.

Despite feeling wronged.

Kiril and I cannot help but feel attracted to one another no matter our true feelings.

“I suppose there’s no accounting for taste,” I quip, trying to throw her off any further inquiry.

Selina simply changes.

“What about my brother then, hmm? I thought you two were screwing.”

“We were screwing, yes,” I respond, and I see Kiril look over, his head tilted a little.

“Were?” Selina persisted. “You kick him out?”

“It’s not like that,” I sigh, letting a little of my irritation slip out. “I’ve just had other things to think about.”

“You going to screw him again?”

“What are you? His pimp?” I laugh.

“Matchmaker maybe,” she grins, leaning over at me. “You guys are cute together. I know he’d do anything for you.”

Her pupils are dilated, so dilated, in fact, I can hardly see her irises at all.

“Selina, did you take something?” I inquire, studying her more closely.

“Stop trying to change the subject!” she protests. “Seb looks tense; you should loosen him up, you know, now Jazz is back and everything is fiiiine.”

“Who’s fine?” Sebastian pipes up, appearing behind his sister to look brightly at me.

Brightly is the wrong word.

Cheeky, maybe.

“Your sister isn’t,” I point out. “She is high, and I want to know who supplied her in my club.”

“Pfft, I am not,” she scoffs, but I’m done observing her; now I’m sure. “Come on,” I prompt, getting to my feet and taking her arm. “Point out who gave it to you. Right now.”

“Hang on a minute,” Sebastian reasons, moving around. “Selina wouldn’t…”

There is no denying it, however, when he also gets a good look at her face.

“Take her upstairs,” I instruct. “Mieke can check the cameras while Jazz and I look for anyone else who’s taken something.”

There is no disagreement from him, though Selina protests as she is herded away.

“Perhaps if your head of security was not so preoccupied ogling you, he would have seen the drug dealer in your midst,” Kiril states, close at my shoulder, and I cannot suppress a shudder of desire.

“I don’t need your commentary,” I spit, despite the urge to lean back against him. “I have work to do.”

He just needs to leave me alone, leave me alone, leave me alone, or I’m going to crack and surrender my dignity, but he just can’t help himself. His hand falls on my shoulder, so hot I want to melt even though his sin is cold, and my shoulder reflexively relaxes beneath his touch.

“God damnit, Kiril!” I bark, whirling around to slap his arm away.

“Yes, Sp…”

My nickname stalls on his lips and I feel a mix of disappointment and triumph; his instinct was to use the pet name, but his stupid pride forces it down. Pride, or whatever it was that made him throw me away like garbage.

“Yes, Miho,” I grate, slathering smugness over my ongoing hurt. “Stay out of my way, or you’ll be the vampire I kill for my awakening.”

It’s an outrageous lie, not even a bluff, but it hits where it is meant to.

 Kiril clicked his tongue, a sneer forming in the wake of Miho’s departure. He’d pushed her away – their lust for one another was born in magic after all – and though it had been his choice, it left a sour taste in his mouth where he’d rather have the taste of her.

Irritably, he set his sights on the crowd and began to sift through the throng of gyrating bodies. Locating the origin of the drugs would not be difficult, and he was certain he could identify the perpetrator before Miho and her people could. There were down sides to being a vampire, but the benefits were many – in this case, given Selina Ross’ symptoms, those with elevated heart-rates and heat signatures beyond the wildness of dancing, were clear victims.

But he wasn’t interested in them.

“You, however,” he murmured, zoning in on an individual seemingly like all the others.

No one paid Kiril much attention as he slipped through the gyrating bodies, and sidled right up to his target unnoticed.

“You and I need to chat,” he whispered into the attractive man’s ear, one hand on his forearm.

A flicker of anger sparked in the man’s eyes, but it died swiftly, and his expression softened as Kiril’s thumb brushed against his skin.

By the hand, Kiril led the man across the club, careful to avoid both Miho and her security staff, before letting him out the rear service exit into the dumpster-lined alley.

Click.

He hit the brick wall solidly when Kiril swung him and let go, collapsing in a daze onto the wet asphalt.

Kiril had no words for him; a warning would be pointless when the guy would be dead soon.

“What the hell, man?” the drug dealer sputtered as he pushed up on his elbows, but he was met a moment later with Kiril’s boot stomping against the middle of his chest.

Ribs began to give way.

“Kiril!” Miho barked, bursting through the door, fierce and demanding. “Stop!”

“I will handle this,” Kiril sniffed, satisfied by the snapping sensation beneath his sole.

“You will not!” she opposed, grabbing his arm and attempting to pull him away from his victim. “This is my club – get off him!”

Though she could not make him budge, Kiril was forced to divide his attention a little, especially when Miho began digging her fingernails into his clothing.

“Miho!” he roared in frustration, frustration that she had interrupted his kill, frustrated she didn’t appreciate what he was doing for her, and frustrated that the heat of her physical attempts against him stirred a different yearning.

This combination burst a rarely compromised bubble within him.

He lashed out, and with a swiping motion threw Miho away.

For several seconds she was airborne, flailing in a graceless arc before slamming into the rusted metal side of a dumpster. Flakes of dark blue paint rained down where she landed in a winded, gaping slump, silver dancing in her eyes.

“Damnit,” Kiril growled through his teeth, ending the drug dealer with the precise crush of his heel against the man’s throat.

Blood wafted from where Miho was struggling to lift her chin from the ground - sweet and potent – a call perhaps stronger than the witches’ magic that bound them.

Groggy, dizzy, her whole body crying out, Miho fought to remain conscious and to make sense of what had just transpired.

“Miho? You out here?” Jazz queried, joining the grizzly scene only to gasp.

Miho in a heap.

Kiril approaching her slowly.

Instinct kicked in – not that of a vampire, but that of a sister – and Jazz blurred past Kiril and adopted a shielding posture.

“Don’t,” she snarled, teeth snapping with all the ferocity she could muster.

She was fully aware Miho was bleeding, but some things could transcend the thirst – even that of the newly turned.

“Go back inside,” Kiril commanded, but this only caused Jazz to double down.

“How about you fuck off,” she retorted with rhetorical savagery. 

“She is bleeding,” he pointed out. “And you are not entirely in control of your bloodlust. The chance of you causing her harm…”

“Harm like this?” Jazz persisted, helping Miho to slowly sit up while not for a second taking her eye off Kiril.

“It was an… accident!” he roared, his fingers flexing like they were itching to lash out and Jazz saw as much.

“You go and deal with that,” Jazz instructed, pointing to the dead man further up the alley.

Working his jaw, pressing his tongue against the ache of his fangs, Kiril finally moved away with a rumbling curse.

“Can you get up?” Jazz murmured to Miho, who continued to groan.

“Think so.”

With help, leaning heavily on Jazz, Miho managed to get upright, but was swiftly filled with a flush of nauseating warmth. The world tilted one way and then the next, leaving her muscles watery and weak.

Keeping one eye on Miho and the fledgling, Kiril made a quick call then snatched the dead man’s wrist before dragging him carelessly toward the alley’s mouth.

He wanted to be with Miho - needed to know she was okay - but more feverishly, he needed her to understand he never meant to hurt her.

Self-loathing took him completely by surprise. He tried to chalk it up to the witches again, but something gnawed deep down where he hid painful and undesirable truths.

That Jazz might lose control over her bloodlust was another very real concern, but he dared not call upon Konstantin to manage her, lest his relationship be discovered.

There was far too much time for him to think after Miho and Jazz had disappeared, too much time alone in the dimness to contemplate the bloody smear against the dumpster.

Before conscious thought emerged, he’d reached out to touch his fingertips to the wet, already cold. It beckoned him in a way he did not think Jazz would be able to resist. There was no one to see, no one to know if he tasted - just a little - but for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

“Master Kiril.”  

The feminine voice cut through Kiril’s thoughts despite its low tone, soft but with an undeniable undercurrent of steel, subtle yet definite, resolute.  

“Finally,” he muttered, tipping his chin in the direction of a sleek sports car crouched under the streetlights of the main road. 

Liana’s silhouette was visible emerging from the dimly lit interior of the driver’s side door, while a pair of dark eyes peeped through from the back seat, large and wide against a pale round face, over a small mouth hanging slightly open.  

“It has been some time since you have called us for this purpose,” she noted, stepping silently through the shadows to where Kiril stood and glancing past him to the cadaver. “Could you perhaps not damage people so severely? Kai will learn nothing about the trachea from this… mush.”

“Excuse me for not providing pristine corpses,” he snapped. “This was not planned. Just get rid of him, I have somewhere else to be.”

“You will explain yourself,” she told him plainly but he sent her a look that said she should not push.

He didn’t linger, left the clean-up to Liana and her assistant, who waited at the rear of Kiril’s Jaguar, ready to receive their cargo.

With it wrapped in a body bag, Liana carried it effortlessly down the open street in plain view of the public, but she knew what passers-by would see, and it wasn’t a murder clean-up. Though he was out of sight, Kiril’s illusion persisted, shrouding Liana’s grim task in the visage of an empty London road.

“He didn’t tell you what happened, did he,” Kai stated, helping to fold the body into the narrow confines of the trunk.

“When he has time, he shall,” she assured.

“And Miss Fujiwara?” he persisted.

“I did not see her, but I am sure she is at the centre of this.”

“Hmm,” the diminutive vampire mused. “We need to find a solution more expediently. I’m worried.”

“About?” Liana prompted, closing the trunk and motioning Kai to return to his seat.

“Kiril, how he is with her,” Kai admitted.

When Liana had settled in the driver’s seat, her charge continued.

“He… kisses her -  I still find such a thing disgusting - then tells her no, but is desperate to be near her yet doesn’t drink from her? Why? This behaviour is quite illogical, especially for one of such stature as he.”

“Is your seatbelt fastened?” 

When Kai nodded, Liana put the car into gear, once again admiring the low, smooth purr of the engine matched by the near effortless handling of the vehicle as it pulled into the traffic flow.  It was when they were well onto the thoroughfare home, that Liana glanced into the rearview mirror and picked up on Kai’s earlier query.

“What makes you think illogical behaviour must be exclusive to those of a certain stature, Kai?” 

Her tone was almost dry, only the barest lift of one eyebrow an indication otherwise.

“My father may be an unacceptable parental figure, but he is king of the United Kingdom,” Kai explained. “As his second son, does it not behoove Kiril to behave with more… um… more…”

“Decorum?” Liana thought, filling in the blank as Kai struggled to find the word he was looking for. “Consistency?”

“Be more… respectable,” Kai finished finally, and Liana couldn’t help but laugh.

“Not a word I would use to describe him,” she chuckled. “Not now or ever in my knowledge of him.”

But that wasn’t entirely true - she knew he came across as irresponsible, even delinquent, but beneath all the bluster and bravado, Liana had witnessed Kiril do great things for honourable reasons. She had some insight into why he was the way he was, but this was not the face he showed often.

“As far as we know, Miss Fujiwara is not responsible for the spell that binds her to Kiril, so she does not deserve to be treated so discourteously,” Kai asserted, and Liana smiled.

Proud of her ward’s attitude.

“The emotions they are being forced to feel are complicated,” she explained. “And Master Kiril is not used to… being attached.”

In the emergency department of Royal London Hospital, Miho was seen relatively quickly as her scalp continued to bleed.

While this was rectified, Jazz found it impossible to remain, the bloodlust growing in ferocity every second she lingered. Everywhere, there were sources that baited her hunger, invading her senses - and while she had resisted the urge to jump Miho, she knew she couldn’t hold out indefinitely. 

In the park outside she fidgeted with her phone, waiting for Sebastian to  answer her text message, dying to send one to Konstantin. When Sebastian did reply, it was with a flurry of abuse - not at her of course - but at Kiril for whom he also blamed Selina’s ‘trip’.

Meanwhile, Miho was literally getting her head examined to clear her of skull fractures. As she held her breath as instructed, she played the scene in the alley over in her mind.

“Did I really forget vampires are monsters?” she asked herself, trying her best to ignore the hollowing of her stomach the longer she spent away from Kiril.

“Miss Fujiwara, please try your best not to move,” the radiology technician requested.

“Sorry.”

But it was a pointless apology, when a second later she felt a sharp snap. It sounded all throughout her body and sent her reeling, slumping from her seat to the linoleum, much to the alarm of staff nearby.

Their voices were muffled, drifting in a sparkling miasma and fading tingle of her skin. Even the throbbing of her head took a backseat to the blurry, floating disconnect between her body and consciousness.

“Dying?” she wondered.

Then pain rushed back in a jarring torrent, and she blinked furiously sideways at the nurse beside her.

“...ujiwara?”

A murmuring groan was all she could manage in response, but amid the burning in her head she could not help but notice the absence of something.

“Kiril,” she croaked tearily, but he was gone, no sense of him remaining, no emptiness. “I, I’m okay.”

Sceptically, the nurses helped her back up and began checking her vitals, before continuing with the x-rays. 

Miho, meanwhile, searched inward, seeking out remnants of Kiril in her flesh and mind. Though she knew no magic, she was sure the spell that had bound them together had - for some reason - been broken. Perhaps Liana had discovered the cause and managed to counter it, but it came so suddenly, without warning, and if she was honest with herself, she thought they’d have at least warned her.

Surprisingly, there was alarm. 

Though being bound to Kiril had caused her heartache and physical pain both, not being connected to him now felt altogether wrong.

It persisted as they talked at her, reported there was no fracture but they’d like to keep her in for observation given her ‘turn’.

“No thanks,” she declined politely, offering the doctor and nurse a lean  smile.

Of course they protested, and made her sign a waiver before allowing her to leave.

On her phone, Jazz had left her several messages, including where to meet her.

“What will happen now?” she wondered, slowly crossing the face of the hospital. “He had to stay with you before, even after… but now he won’t have to.”

With the spell broken, that concept should not have bothered her, and as she realised it did, she stopped.

“Fuck,” she dropped, gently touching her temples.

She had definitely not intended… to collapse into unconsciousness.

But that’s what happened.

Part 9